We became the proud grandparents of two kittens last night. I wish I had my camera rolling as it was downright comical! I was sitting in my Lazy Boy chair with rat terrier Bouncer, Chihuahua Chippie and Mama Cat, rubbing her tummy because that is all she wanted me to do the last couple of days. Rub a tummy, rub a tummy. Super Farmer Chad was on the couch snuggling with the biggest baby around, Biscuit, our 90-pound pit-lab mix. Well, honestly, Biscuit was cuddling and ‘leaning in’ hard while Chad was grumbling.
We were trying to watch a movie amid the family settling when Mama Cat's water broke – all over me, of course. I jumped up with her in my hands and yelled at Super Farmer, "Her water broke, she's in labor," as the two dogs fell onto the floor. Chad, not seeming to grasp the gravity of my proclamation, slowly stood up with Biscuit falling in the space he left and came to me. I'm still standing there holding this poor, in-labor cat, out in front of me. Then, on cue, we both started running around like we were looney! The dogs barked and circled us while the cat dripped water all over and meeeooowed.
Chad instinctively ran upstairs for her box. I quickly followed him as the dogs, now excited, jumped into the fray as if they knew more playmates were coming. Mama Cat was unimpressed with their antics and was even more nervous as the meeeeooooowwww became a plea to get the annoying canines away! Chad asked me on the way up if he should get water. I’m thinking, water? For what? I said, “No, I just need her box.” He later said the water was for her to drink as needed during the birthing and overnight. I thought, “When did you become a kitty midwife?”
We continued to run, yes run, into my office where her box was waiting in the privacy behind my chair. I gently placed her in, but she didn't want to be in a box behind furniture and jumped out. She wanted to be on my plush lounge chair. I then struggled to get her birthing basket out from behind the green lounger to place it on top, as Mama Cat’s continued demands and dogs' nudging demands to take part persisted. She rested into the box and I rubbed her tummy again.
I can hear Grandpa in the background still mumbling about water, clean towels and, I thought, something about cigars. In a half hour, kitten No. 1 made his appearance! Chad let out a huge sigh of relief and started making phone calls to let the family know he's a grandpa again (well, he might have). Kitten No. 2 came later, much later. As a matter of fact, I missed it because around 2 a.m. I was tired of waiting and rubbing. Mama Cat was on her own at that point. She did just fine as kitten No. 2 arrived and started nursing this morning. I know barn kitty had her kittens a few days ago also, I haven't found them yet. Yep, that's what you call farm excitement!
I was outside feeding the ducks when a power company truck drove by slowly, honking its horn. Well, this salty old farmer has been around the barn a few times and knows by instinct and past experience that a slow-moving vehicle honking in front of the farm means one thing … trouble! And that's exactly what I got! I ran to the front and what did I see? Sweetie, our mama llama, outside the fence by our big concrete hand munching away on the grass that is always greener on the other side, especially near the road!
I slapped my hand to head with near bruising force and moaned so loud that she looked up at me. I ran to the barn to get a cup of grain in hopes of a quick end to the escape. Of course, as I ran to the barn, the goats saw me coming, trotted over, and stopped in front of me baaaaaaing to make sure I saw their starving bodies. I dodged to get a cup of tasty sweet grain, ran back to the front where the escapee was and left my front gate open so I could coax her back in that way. It didn't work.
Sweetie decided to gallop around the fence, going in the opposite direction with me following. Baby llama was upset that mama was on one side and him on the other so he followed her from the inside crying. She ran around the back and parked herself in the corn stalks. I looked up to the heavens and said in a loud frustrated voice, "Lord, I can't do this. I need help!" Within a minute, a car pulled over and a nice woman with a little girl got out and asked me if I needed help! I thankfully said yes and the three of us ran with outstretched arms following a llama who had determined not to go back.
We chased that llama until my legs went numb. Emma, the sweet girl, guarded my fallen gate to make sure the other llamas didn't make a run for it while I gave her a crash course in do's and don'ts about llamas. She understood and was great. We got mama llama in and did not mimic the recent viral llama-chasing video on social media. It was then I had a sickening remembrance as my brain went into replay mode, reminding me that I left my front gate open because I was going to chase her back in that way.
Another hand slap to the forehead! I looked over and what did my little eye spy? A donkey and a horse across the street eating my neighbor's grass, you know, the folks who don't care much for the Addie Acres antics. I yelled at the nice woman who thought she was done animal chasing for the year, pointing to the new adventure. We took off, running across the street. These animals are smarter than the average bear and knew I was coming over to catch them and subsequently took off running alongside the road turning into the subdivision.
Our grumpy neighbor came out of his house not wanting to miss yet another chance to glare with his arms folded across his chest and the 50-50 look on his face that a call to animal control was very possible. The two renegades galloped between houses, cars, fences and me with the nice woman named Laura in pursuit. I tricked Dunkay with a cup of grain slipping the rope around his neck. He was not happy that the human outsmarted him so he took off running across the yard with me behind him hanging onto the rope that ended up giving me rope burns. I am now aware that my donkey is bigger and stronger than me. It took a few seconds, along with threat of never being fed again, to make him stop.
Laci the mini tank continued to run behind us as the nice woman closed the gap behind her. They headed for the road and, of course, there were cars coming. I ran ahead, waved my arms like a crazy person to make all vehicles stop so the circus could cross the road. It was quite the comedic picture as the crazy farm woman pulled an unhappy donkey, while a mini-horse followed and another woman behind the wagon train, crossed the road in view of the four or five idling cars. I'm sure they were laughing, shaking their heads, or filming the entertainment!
The folks around here are still trying to figuring out the occasional Addie Farm antics! Escapee animals have happened before, but not with that many critters at one time. We finally got everybody in and I thanked the helping hands as I went inside to nurse my own wounded hands. On reflection, I am thankful that only three animals were out and that the Lord sent me help. Emma, the little girl, wants to be a veterinarian and has a small horse for 4-H. God knew specialty help was needed and saw fit to have her and her momma come by right on time. Woo hoo, as we say, only at Addie Acres!
PS ... true story!
Ah, spring time at Addie Acres! The birds are chirping, the sun shines longer, the snow is melting, the temps are rising and the frozen ground makes deep, muddy, poopy puddles. I have to wear thigh-high, water-proof boots and take along my imaginary rubber boat to get out to the barn. I paddle my way to the metal building, as I push waterlogged animals out of my way. Once I get inside, I run to the back pen before every soaked animal is able to shake off the brown water and drench me in smelly yuck!
After everyone has been fed, I typically sneak out the back barn door, past the llamas who refuse to go anywhere near dirty water, and quietly float my way back to the house without being seen by the natives. If they spot me, they gallop full speed through the slop and try to stop me, demanding I take them with me to higher ground. If they get to the gate before me, I have to turn around, paddle to the far gate before they figure out what I'm doing!
Once in a while, they seem to split up into groups and guard every exit. That's when I have to lecture them about how animals live in barns and frolic in pastures, even when flooded, while humans live in houses and eat yummy food inside. They have their space and I have mine, now get out of my way! Yup, you guessed it. Doesn't work! I push, threaten, plead, bribe, trick and yell my way to get past them. Sometimes I make it, sometimes I don't.
When they 'win' the battle, they get through the gate and head for the house. That's when I find myself running with a pack of furry farm animals to get to the back door first. My neighbors must love us! I can see them sitting on their porches watching the circus performance for free. What a show with a crazy farm lady yelling at a donkey, horse, two goats and an alpaca as she runs swinging her arms in the air, as all the while, smack in the middle of the galloping herd is a giant pit bull nipping at the heels of both goats making them BAAAAAAAAA! Yep, can't wait to go out again today!
The royalty of Addie Acres are King Dillon and Queen Sierra. They rule with an iron hoof. They know when the food is coming and make sure they gobble their share before allowing the large animals, despite the fact that the larger animals outweigh them by 200 pounds.They will push, grunt and butt with their heads, willing the others to let them eat first. More like the Robbing Hoods of the farm, they often resemble bandits than beneficent royalty.
When in the pastures, they walk side by side commanding the chickens to remain in their place or the royal couple will head butt them back over the fence. Once the peasant chickens are in line, King Dillon and Queen Sierra turn their attention to the nobility, lady-in-waiting Laci, and our mini-horse and knight of the round table Sir Dunkay. They chase the brave knight away from anything that might resemble food or shaded soft green grass that hasn't turned brown in summer’s heat. With Laci, they keep her “in-waiting” as they dare her to cross the invisible line that protects the 'goats only' side of the pasture realm.
Neighboring kingdoms are not safe. I have seen them raid the peaceful duck lands with typically serene ponds disturbed as one goat gobbles and the other stands guard for enemies who may want to share in the plundered treasure. Even reinforcement protectors-of-the-realm dogs are turned away with head butts, and beggar kitties, who mistakenly sit on their bale of hay, are shown no mercy.
The four mystic llamas and lone monk-like alpaca are the only inhabitants of Addie Acres seldom encountered. The llamas’ ability to keep out foreign invaders such as coyotes and neighboring looting dogs are usually left to accomplish their tasks in peace. Only occasionally, have I witnessed nose to nose encounters as goats bleated and llamas lowered heads with spit ready to fly. Suspicion and plotting are ever present with the royal two.
The king and queen live in a castle with a tower containing special sleeping quarters up and away from the larger animals. They rule from on high and enjoy beds overlooking their subjects. With smug furry faces, they know that they rule while the others drool (no really, they drool). I'm sure that before they fall into slumber, they get nose close, planning out revenge on all who dare to impede the royal will. Yes, King Dillon and Queen Sierra, goats who came to us as paupers from the petting zoo, have ascended and conquered the subjects of Addie Acres.
I've often wondered why the goat keeper at the zoo was so willing to hand them over and “for free.” Why she steered me to the only two goats out of a hundred that were standing alone next to the climbing rocks with others seemingly keeping their distance. However, they were free after all and how can you pass up a free animal or two?
The blues of winter affect not only us two-legged creatures, but also the furry four-footed critters we share our lives with. For me, winter produces a confining sense of tiredness, irritation and grumpiness. I force myself out of the house each morning as I repeat, “I love these animals, and they are worth the effort.” Like our valiant postal folks mantra, “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds,” I trudge forward. After the needed rounds and back safe in the warmth of the house, I spend a few minutes peeling off my pink nightmare Carhart snowsuit. The splatter of ice crystals and horse poop pieces on my wood floor only adds to my disdain for the season. Now I'm even grumpier as I have to clean up after the barn animals inside the house too!
One encouragement that helps break up the dreary winter days comes in the form of our warm blooded 80-pound pit-lab mix Biscuit. He seems to be oblivious to the penetrating cold or malaise of winter as he will joyfully run through snow drifts, poop-filled pastures, through doors whether open or not, and up over the gate so he can run, run, run! Usually, the goats will run alongside him, not out of playfulness, but out of annoyance trying to butt him away.
My large animals comprised of llamas, a donkey, mini-horse and alpaca spend 90 percent of their day inside the barn. They act like bratty siblings with each other. Though plenty of tasty grain or hay is available, their table manners are atrocious with a little push here, a shove there, a nip, a grunt and kick or two to get first dibs on the meal at hand. They refuse to go outside because of the snow or blowing wind, which leaves huddling and picking on each other as the entertainment.
Most days, I have to settle a dispute between Dunkay the donkey and alpaca Lincoln, who rarely lives up to his namesake for being wise or benevolent. I lecture them on the benefits of being respectful to each other and the consequences of being naughty, like no grain for the day or threatened time out in the frozen back pasture where the snow is the deepest. They are so grumpy in the winter that I've thought about renting them out until spring to an optimist who needs a challenge. I reason, there must be better things to do than settling barnyard disputes and pushing apart nipping animals that outweigh me by hundreds of pounds.
I need everybody to chill and be on their best behavior until the robins come back. I desire the peace, joy and warmth most usually associated with the harmony of farm life and contented critters. Are there any interested optimists or critter whisperers out there looking for a bit of fun this winter?
Winters in Indiana can be bitter cold, harsh and downright scary if you run a farm. We have an interesting variety of animals occupying the Addie Acres landscape. A few llamas, an alpaca, one ultra-curious donkey, and a mini-horse nicknamed “The Tank” due to girth whose curiosity doesn’t extend beyond a feed bucket and mocks the title "mini." We also entertain a couple of goats, literally entertain, as Dillon cozies for repeated hugs and Sierra, our would-be mountain goat, is an apparent stalker. How can she can spend up to 90 percent of her day staring at the house as if to say “Come feed me, NOW!”?
In the summer, the herd has plenty of luscious, thick green pastures to graze on. They have plenty of room to stretch, run and chase each other away from preferred patches that they saw first. I so enjoy the unfolding unique renderings of spring, summer and fall. I pet, scratch, brush out and gaze upon the furry critters from my rope swing, and sip coffee as I yell at the dogs to “STOP” whatever mischief they are currently engaged in.
Winter time, in my mind, is not a season for any reason when it comes to farm critters. Winter was created for a warm house, roaring fireplace and roasting chestnuts. It is for snuggling in a warm blanket and finishing that book that has been waiting for you all year. Winters are for lovers’ mid-February embrace! Farms in the winter are anything but cozy, warm and relaxed. This is the time of year when everything standing on four legs becomes grumpy and smelly. They demand the only warm spot in the barn! They demand the extra cup of grain! They demand that I get ‘him’ away from ‘her.’ They demand that they be fed first!
When it comes to my attempts to lighten the mid-winter menagerie mood by sneaking in people food or tasty sweet grains, they become downright piggy and lose the gentility most often associated with our Addie Acres crew. Green llama phlegm spit indiscriminately at others jockeying for position only takes a second to reach the huddled horde around the feed bin the moment I lift the lid. It may actually be safer in Pamplona with the rushing of the bulls at times!
And then there is the delicate balance of maintaining my ice ballet and mud wrestling skills depending on the thin red line of the thermometer. When the line plunges, I have to become a ballerina skimming lightly along the ice. I’ve learned to twirl without falling while kicking a leg up behind me as I glide down the hill holding plates of rolls, potato skins and stale cereal. My not-so-perfected double axel over, around and above snow drifts, a loose hen and a staring goat would certainly go viral on YouTube. At times, I have ice skated with Dunkay while holding onto his mane like an awkward Olympic partner.
When the thin red line creeps upward, the mud muck grabs at my boots and seeks to permanently plant them in the pasture. Sierra, the stalking goat, even pauses from her willed demand for food to enjoy the occasional bootless plight. Those inevitable days of combined plunging temperatures with slick and mud and winter accumulated animal droppings heighten the suspense and dread for the winter disdain I feel.
Needless to say, I don’t like winter. I dislike hauling water to fill bins, the three-minute race to numb fingers and toes and the half-frozen poop I don’t find until I walk into the house and need to peel it from the bottom of my pink boot. Nope, I don’t like winter.
Ever since November 1, I have been praying for spring to come early. Until the ground thaws and the songbirds fly back to their empty nests, I ice skate my way to the barn dressed in my Pink Nightmare snowsuit, carrying plates of tasty treats for my sure-to-be-having-temper-tantrums animals, hoping that I make it there alive and back inside my cozy home in one piece. Why can’t Super Farmer simply take up residence in the barn like a hibernating bear, take care of the critters amid slumber and emerge with the sight of the first robin in the spring?!
Have I mentioned lately how much fun the farm is? You know, raking out manure, carrying 50-pound sacks of tasty goat grain or chicken scratch, or fighting off large animals who circle you like hungry sharks every time you open the grain bin can be invigorating, right?! Then, there is the truly fun things experienced everyday with my goofy animals.
For starters, there is mountain goat Sierra who starts and finishes every single day by staring at the house. No matter what time I get up in the morning, she is out by the gate, glaring straight up at my bedroom window. She doesn't move a muscle. She focuses, willing me to come out to feed her and only her, NOW! She ends her day with her catatonic stare for about 30 minutes before bed time. I don't think she even blinks when she gets into the zone!
Then there's Dillon, my other adorable little pygmy goat. He loves his people! He usually runs out to greet me demanding a pat, or better yet, a hug. He will follow me into the barn, sometimes making me trip over him. How can I get mad at a goat who adores me? It's easy not to, especially when I'm picking myself off the ground as he sticks his face into mine!
And Mr. Favorite, Dunkay, the donkey who thinks he's a dog. He “hee-haws” at the sight of a human he thinks may be on the way to feed him. He will almost always back his butt up to me, not moving until I give him a good scratch. He loves to play with balls, boxes, empty plastic tubs, the 4-foot-tall Santa or Frosty the Snowman Christmas decorations, the bird bath, our grandson’s toys or the chickens. He pushes the chickens with his nose, grabs ahold of those items and throws them high up into the air. He will follow me or Super Farmer around in the pastures. Dunkay will stick his nose into every job we do whether it’s finding eggs, pounding in fence post or cleaning out the garage. He has mastered almost every gate. We are now tying our gates closed with rope, I'm sure he is studying the knots so he can untie them!
Our mini horse, Laci the mini-tank, is named so as she's a bit plump and stubby. She loves to chew on plastic bags while nudging me with her nose. She can squeeze that round little body between gates and posts, under the fence or holes she has worked on to make big enough for an escape. Like an NFL fullback she pushes and shoves until she makes a green grass gain.
Laci making a funny face.
My boy llama Sammie is laid back. He allows Super Farmer to scratch his behind and stroke his long neck. He pretty much stays out of trouble. His side kick, Lincoln the Alpaca, is in a world that only he can visit at times. He does his warning cry toward anything that moves such as birds, a floating leaf, cats, cars, lawn mowers, people, dogs walking by, a swaying branch. If it moves, he llama screams at it!
Our two girl llamas, Sweetie and Violet, stick together like two peas in a pod. They eat and sleep together, stroll through the pasture, peek inside our windows and fight like sisters inevitably will on occasion. Typical women displaying a love-hate relationship!
Two months ago, an unexpected baby llama joined our family farm. We named him Promise because he is a promise from our Father in heaven that things are going to get better. He is our delight! Promise jumps and runs around like a normal child. He is curious about everything he lays his little brown eyes on. He is friendly and has learned to trust us. He makes us smile and is a true blessing.
My animals make me laugh whether it is putting on a hay wig as Sammie did this week, making funny faces, kissing me, or just putting on a 'here they go again show.' I can’t count how many times I have felt like giving up on life, but once I get inside the barn and feel annoyed, I get happy, letting the peace of God settle over me as I watch His gifts fight, play and nudge me with their soft, velvet muzzles.