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Tuesday, September 22, 2015

6 months in a blink

Once again, I've fallen into the category of 'blog slacker'. But this time I have a good reason. We've had a *few* things going on. Rather than write a novel I decided to summarize the past 6 months in a series of overused, overdone, often sarcastic cliches, quotes and phrases.



Making the commitment was the hardest part. We were comfortable at our house. Everything was redecorated, re-tiled and re-organized. The house was just the right size, not to mention we had fabulous neighbors. The milking parlor was gleaming white and brand new, the basement was outfitted with a double sink and shelving to make goat kidding season more efficient. The pens were built, the fences strung. If we could have just picked it up and moved it a bit north, life would be perfect. Work was getting the better of me and my poor sleeping habits so we put our little farm in podunk Amish where-the-heck-is-Adario up for sale. Shockingly, in 2 weeks our little farm in podunk Amish where-the-heck-is-Adario was sold! 

We searched and scoured southern Lorain and northern Ashland counties for the "new and hopefully improved" Capra Lane homestead. The trouble with buying acreage in this area is that a) it's sparsely populated and b) most of the mid-sized plots of land have either no home or a century home on them. Having lived in a newer home for several years now we just weren't up to the task of maintaining an old farmhouse, no matter how charming the shell may appear. Through a series of well timed conversations we fell on an opportunity to purchase a home in Brighton township, a 20 year old 36+ acre farm that served as a thoroughbred boarding and breeding facility in its past life. Of note, Brighton was named over 300 years ago as the area was heavily wooded except for the town square, where the sun shone brightly. Thanks, Rog.



Before I talk about how utterly painful the move was, there are a few more missing pieces. 



In that case, I LOVE the lawnmower. I LOVE the baler. I LOVE the brush hog. In LOvE with the manure spreader. Because every freaking thing we own broke in the weeks leading up to our move. And not just once. Fixed the knotting mechanism, the next day the whole shaft broke. The the steering shaft on the mower. Then the belt on the brush hog. Then the other belt on the brush hog. It was really trying. We were certain our neighbors had put a curse on us for moving ( they still haven't fessed up 😏 ) because there was just no other reason for us to be so miserable. Maybe we should learn our lesson and not buy equipment from the 50's...




We lost Elina, queen of goats, at age ten this spring. She was beautiful, stubborn, and a force to be reckoned with. At times she was kind of a pain in the arse but she was also sort of a 'goat ambassador' for visitors to Capra Lane. She demanded attention and back rubs and would clear the other goats before throwing herself against the fence and looking over her shoulder with narrowed eyes until someone obliged and rubbed her back. Her twins from this spring are still here- Elliott, her doe kid is a complete spaz, bordering on suicidal. Flash, her son, may get lucky here in the spring with some of our younger does. We also brought back into the herd Maribel, a daughter of Macy and Capone.


At the same time we were dealing with Elina's rapid decline and death, Luna, the barn favorite turned into quite a disaster. She first started limping, mild at first, then more pronounced, favoring one of her front legs which eventually developed into a rupture/ dislocation at her knee. She spent more time lying down than standing and started losing weight. Once the pasture greened up in the spring, she foundered on top of the pre-existing leg injury. So with 4 sore bruised feet and a leg in a cast, she earned a private princess stall where we modified her feed intake and pumped her full of meds to allow her to heal. She wore her cast like a champ, that is, until she started favoring the opposite shoulder from using it to push off the wall. The awful ripple effect continued and led into a deep infected wound on that shoulder which necessitated a t-shirt for protection. So poor Luna, barn favorite, 1st goat- is a wreck. Many months later, she's getting around like a champ, still in a cast as her knee remains unstable and (ick) only bends backwards. Her shoulder has healed, her hooves have calmed down. She trots, she grazes, she flirts with the boys by beating her cast on the gate. Yep, quite the charmer. I haven't broken it to her yet that her breeding days are over!




The yearly county fair came and went, complete with the usual cast of characters. Although this year the 'fair uniform' paired exposed buttcheek bottoms with tube tops and chunky necklace bling instead of tacky cowboy boot bling. Most importantly the cheese curd truck arrived, better late than never. Mmmmmmmm.......




On to the move. We were blessed to have 'early access' to the barns at the new house and moved a few loads of 'stuff' over the course of the month of July. We had to be out by mid-August, so the race was on. We had plenty of much needed help, plenty of bottled water and microwaved hot dogs and plenty of late nights. Cleaning-painting-flooring-moving-redecorating simultaneously is not that fun while milking goats and living in 2 locations. And moving a farm no less! But yet again, I convinced myself we'd get it all done. We had help trailering the goats to minimize trips. We baled hay at the last minute at the old place and dug up the beets from the garden. On the last day, we hit a wall. The chickens were adopted by the new owners of the Adario house because we just flat out ran out of energy and couldn't catch them too easily. The last loads were moved out and Rog made the slooooow drive with the tractor and haybine after dark. We've decided we're done moving. Really. And super thankful we had the foresight to not raise turkeys, meat birds and hogs this summer.





I'll admit this one time only. I missed having chickens. To clarify, not really the chickens themselves, but having eggs at the ready. We were chicken-less for about a month. Last week we built a coop inside the barn and bought a mixture of 6 laying hens and 18 pullets that should start laying in the coming months. A few breeds are new to us, like the silkies, one bird is wacko, the brown leghorn, and one, the buff Orpington, looks borderline cuddly. For someone. Not me. We are eggless no more.





The goats were difficult. They did not adjust well. There were cattle housed in the new barns most recently, so we had some cleaning to do prior to making permanent housing for the goats. We initially placed them a few to a stall, as we have a LOT of horse stalls now. They're roomy, airy, but you'd think we were killing them. It was hot, They fought like cats and dogs, panted constantly and we saw Blessing spit for the first time. Our everyday routines were completely lost. We built, we rebuilt, we moved, rearranged more times than I can count. And finally things settled. It took at least 2 weeks for them to act civilized again. They're getting braver with each passing week, the front pasture is a scary place as it leads towards the road. Cars are apparently terrifying! Every time someone drives down our rather quiet road they all haul ass back to the barn. Our old place was set back quite far with most of the road noise coming from horses and buggies. They're getting there. 







And so are we. Rosie and the pups have found their sleeping spots and sniffed every corner and crevice. Our socks are in a drawer, the mugs are in the cabinet. My list of winter decorating projects is lengthy. Work is still chaotic, but closer now. The tractor runs a bit longer, the mower gets a workout and we have a LOT of space. Although the sun sets on the 'wrong' side of the barn now, it's finally starting to feel like home. 



Wednesday, July 22, 2015

What's in a dog?

Once you have had a wonderful dog, a life without one, is a life diminished - Dean Koontz


Kaelyn was an old dog. But a wonderful dog. And like all wonderful dogs she left us much, much too soon, just ten days shy of what would have been her thirteenth birthday. A long life for a large breed dog, for sure. A good life, free from injury or prolonged illness. We watch our pets age and slowly decline, sometimes not so gracefully, and rationally we know they won't be with us forever. The not so rational part of us likes to assume they will be.

Dogs’ lives are too short. Their only fault, really. - Agnes Sligh Turnbull

If a dog's story is an extension of our own, then their lives and deaths as beloved family members should never be reduced to 'its just a dog'.  They should be credited as bringers of joy, unconditional love, welcome-homes and cuddlers. Foot warmers, face lickers and attentive, unbiased listeners. And sometimes, counter surfers, bed hoggers and sandwich stealers. Sure, the dog's story will end, as will ours but they too are deservant of  recognition for a life well-lived, a collection of chapters and experiences so closely interwoven with our own that we, their grieving caretakers can focus not on loss but on deeming their story complete.

Whoever said you can’t buy happiness forgot about little puppies.  - Gene Hill


Noone can argue that Kaelyn wasn't the cutest puppy on Earth.She certainly was. The day we brought her home easily makes the top 5. Those eyes! The belly! And the stale bologna puppy breath - perfect!


The first bath. And the first of many times she was a little pissed at us. She ate a lot of rocks, dirt, sticks and dead rotting fish during her puppyhood in Cleveland.


She was a first-mate to the captain.


A protector of goats.


A fearless explorer. 


A surveyor of land after leaving the city for the country.


She was a hunter of all things stuffed. Proud beside her first of many kills.


She liked to dance.


And sometimes she was an old Polish woman.


Who smokes...


She detested the vacuum, more so when I moved the furniture to clean during nap time.


She loved sleeping more than anything in the world. If we stayed up too late, she went to bed. If the weather got cold, she stayed in bed rather than come out for chores. 


Anywhere. . . anytime. . . bed hogger. 


She was so fond of napping she became a contortionist. And fit in the chihuahua's bed. 


And made good use of pillows or laps of any size, never quite realizing she weighed nearly 80 lbs.


She was an excellent mother to any and everything that needed mothering. Baby goats, human babies and stray cats. Thankfully she never quite figured out the chickens. 


She was an effective teacher each time a new misfit joined the household.


Her best friend was a cat, who misses her dearly and is clearly dissatisfied with the option of massaging me instead. 


She was a big sister to many.


And so, so tolerant of their needy behavior. 


She, like many weims, was photogenic beyond belief.


She loved to pose. Especially at the holidays, where Christmas trees equaled unattended tables and cookie trays, in other words. . . opportunity!


She was very routine. At dinner time, at treat time, at rawhide time she would sit, quite literally poking and nosing us and cocking her head side to side as we 'figured out' what she wanted. I waited and waited, sure that some day she would just spit it out and say 'give me my freaking bone already!'


And if we didn't oblige? She would often just join us at the table.




Kaelyn. A full life well-lived. She shared most of our human milestones with us and called Capra Lane Farm home for most of her adult life. She truly ruled the roost here. In a few short weeks, Capra Lane and its many inhabitants will be moving to greener, larger pastures (*more to come*) and her absence will certainly continue to linger. She was a good dog, despite her quirks, which were probably our fault anyway! We'll miss her companionship, gentle nature, loyalty, cuddliness and unyielding affection. The shoes she leaves behind won't be filled so easily.


I talk to him when I'm lonesome like; and I'm sure he understands. When he looks at me so attentively, and gently licks my hands; then he rubs his nose on my tailored clothes, but I never say naught thereat. For the good Lord knows I can buy more clothes, but never a friend like that. ~W. Dayton Wedgefarth