Yep. I took this picture. I also planted the bulbs. I think this could be a postcard or maybe blown up to an 8X10 print.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Friday, April 28, 2006
When Animals Attack
I filled out a questionnaire earlier this morning. One of the questions caused me pause and I tried to define my occupation into one word. I failed miserably. I ended up answering that particular question with "eclectic, entertaining substitute teacher, actor, writer, barn hand, and farmer."
The actual description of farmer isn't exactly what I do. My title is Farmer Kelly and I give barnyard tours to elementary school children. The Weston Red Barn Farm is one of my most favorite places in the entire world. Even when it's cold, wet and muddy or hot, dusty and sweaty, Red Barn Farm is the happiest place on earth. Way better than Disney Land. Okay, I would agree that not everyone would agree with my opinion, but since this is MY blog, I adamantly declare Red Barn Farm FABULOUS.
As a tourguide Farmer, I educate the visiting children about barnyard animals and how farmers and pioneers used the animals and land to live.
There are pigs. Pigs are important to farmers because pigs are good for bacon, sausage, pork chops and ham. Not only that, but also bubble gum, make up and paint brushes. Pigs eat everything, except for glass, metal and plastic.
There are chickens. They are good for eating; fried chicken, chicken pot pie, chicken nuggets, chicken tenders, Bar-B-Q chicken, lemon chicken, baked chicken, chicken burritos, chicken enchiladas. I could go on and on. The girl chickens (hens) lay eggs and the boy chickens (roosters) wake up the farm. They also help make more chickens, but that is a bit too much detail for elementary tours.
There are cows and bulls: a Jersey milking cow (Myrtle), a , Hereford beef steer (Bob), two baby bull Holstiens (Cutter and Cornelius). We get milk and all those wonderful dairy products from milking cows like Myrtle. We get hamburger and steak from cows like Bob and those baby bulls...well they'll end up making more Holstien cows for milk and will eventually end up as hamburger meat. Again...too much information for the children. I tell them how cows eat and inevitably one will poop and then I have to explain that what goes in also comes out.
I tell them about horses, both gigantic ones like the Belgian draft horse that is on the farm and miniature ones like the four mares and one gelding. There is also a donkey and I explain the differences between the three types of equines.
The farm also has turkeys, sheep, a goat, ducks and geese.
Several years ago, there was a mean grey goose. Being a boy, he was a gander, but mean nonetheless. He was not-so-affectionately named Gooszilla. The farmer tourguides stayed outside of the goose pen because Gooszilla liked to bite. If you have ever been bitten by a goose, you will know that it really hurts.
Alas, Gooszilla went to heaven (or more likely became some bobcat's dinner) and the goose pen was once more safe to enter.
This past fall, the farm had one brown goose, a white goose and a white gander. As there are several breeds of geese and the children don't really care what kind of goose they are looking at, I really haven't research what breed these three geese are. All I know is that they are all a different breed and one is a Peking goose. Last fall they were fairly docile and it was relatively easy to catch one, hold it out for the children to see and point out all the differences between a water bird and a land bird.
Then spring came.
The brown goose or maybe the white goose laid an egg. It's difficult to determine which goose laid it as they both sit on it. What is not difficult to determine is exactly which one is the gander. He is the biggest bird in the pen and turns out, the meanest. Seems he has become very aggressive over his girls and the egg.
I learned that about three minutes too late.
When I entered the pen, he came straight for me; hissing and honking with wings spread. I thought, "Cool. This will be easy to catch him." Wrong. He probably thought the same exact thing about me.
As I bent down to catch him, he bit me. Lucky for me, he only grasped my pants with his beak. Then he got a better grip. With each bite, he twisted and shook my leg. I tried to get him off of me, but he just wasn't letting go. That's when the beating started. He spread his wings and began whacking me. The front bones in the wings are much stronger than I ever would have guessed and he pounded me with venom. I managed to escape the onslaught, but not for long. He regrouped and attacked again. This time, he grabbed my other leg. More biting. Once he got a good solid grip, he stared beating me again. By now, I strongly voiced my concern and screamed like a little school girl. Keep in mind, I have a class of kindergarteners and three adult chaperones watching. That's right...WATCHING.
I managed to escape the clutches of the demon gander's beak only to be trapped by him. He had military manueverability skills to rival Rommel and herded me into the corner of the pen where the onslaught continued. So much for the tour and looking remotely adept in the eyes of young children. I leaped over the small fence and stayed several feet away from a craning neck.
Mustering up some pride on confidence, I continued with the tour and completed it with no further difficulties. Once I had the children off to the restroom to scrub their hands with soap, soap is your friend, soap, soap, soap, I told the story of the formidable fowl to another farmer. I then learned that the behavior I had experienced is called "flogging." Real farmers will tell you it's not the biting you have to worry about; it's the flogging.
Oh, yeah...turns out several farmers had witnessed the pummeling. Funny how nobody came to my aid. They stood there and watched, apparently "in" on the joke. Seems they had already been warned of the gander's aggressive behavior earlier in the week and didn't tell me.
So, now, I am ashamed to admit that I had my butt kicked by a bird.
The actual description of farmer isn't exactly what I do. My title is Farmer Kelly and I give barnyard tours to elementary school children. The Weston Red Barn Farm is one of my most favorite places in the entire world. Even when it's cold, wet and muddy or hot, dusty and sweaty, Red Barn Farm is the happiest place on earth. Way better than Disney Land. Okay, I would agree that not everyone would agree with my opinion, but since this is MY blog, I adamantly declare Red Barn Farm FABULOUS.
As a tourguide Farmer, I educate the visiting children about barnyard animals and how farmers and pioneers used the animals and land to live.
There are pigs. Pigs are important to farmers because pigs are good for bacon, sausage, pork chops and ham. Not only that, but also bubble gum, make up and paint brushes. Pigs eat everything, except for glass, metal and plastic.
There are chickens. They are good for eating; fried chicken, chicken pot pie, chicken nuggets, chicken tenders, Bar-B-Q chicken, lemon chicken, baked chicken, chicken burritos, chicken enchiladas. I could go on and on. The girl chickens (hens) lay eggs and the boy chickens (roosters) wake up the farm. They also help make more chickens, but that is a bit too much detail for elementary tours.
There are cows and bulls: a Jersey milking cow (Myrtle), a , Hereford beef steer (Bob), two baby bull Holstiens (Cutter and Cornelius). We get milk and all those wonderful dairy products from milking cows like Myrtle. We get hamburger and steak from cows like Bob and those baby bulls...well they'll end up making more Holstien cows for milk and will eventually end up as hamburger meat. Again...too much information for the children. I tell them how cows eat and inevitably one will poop and then I have to explain that what goes in also comes out.
I tell them about horses, both gigantic ones like the Belgian draft horse that is on the farm and miniature ones like the four mares and one gelding. There is also a donkey and I explain the differences between the three types of equines.
The farm also has turkeys, sheep, a goat, ducks and geese.
Several years ago, there was a mean grey goose. Being a boy, he was a gander, but mean nonetheless. He was not-so-affectionately named Gooszilla. The farmer tourguides stayed outside of the goose pen because Gooszilla liked to bite. If you have ever been bitten by a goose, you will know that it really hurts.
Alas, Gooszilla went to heaven (or more likely became some bobcat's dinner) and the goose pen was once more safe to enter.
This past fall, the farm had one brown goose, a white goose and a white gander. As there are several breeds of geese and the children don't really care what kind of goose they are looking at, I really haven't research what breed these three geese are. All I know is that they are all a different breed and one is a Peking goose. Last fall they were fairly docile and it was relatively easy to catch one, hold it out for the children to see and point out all the differences between a water bird and a land bird.
Then spring came.
The brown goose or maybe the white goose laid an egg. It's difficult to determine which goose laid it as they both sit on it. What is not difficult to determine is exactly which one is the gander. He is the biggest bird in the pen and turns out, the meanest. Seems he has become very aggressive over his girls and the egg.
I learned that about three minutes too late.
When I entered the pen, he came straight for me; hissing and honking with wings spread. I thought, "Cool. This will be easy to catch him." Wrong. He probably thought the same exact thing about me.
As I bent down to catch him, he bit me. Lucky for me, he only grasped my pants with his beak. Then he got a better grip. With each bite, he twisted and shook my leg. I tried to get him off of me, but he just wasn't letting go. That's when the beating started. He spread his wings and began whacking me. The front bones in the wings are much stronger than I ever would have guessed and he pounded me with venom. I managed to escape the onslaught, but not for long. He regrouped and attacked again. This time, he grabbed my other leg. More biting. Once he got a good solid grip, he stared beating me again. By now, I strongly voiced my concern and screamed like a little school girl. Keep in mind, I have a class of kindergarteners and three adult chaperones watching. That's right...WATCHING.
I managed to escape the clutches of the demon gander's beak only to be trapped by him. He had military manueverability skills to rival Rommel and herded me into the corner of the pen where the onslaught continued. So much for the tour and looking remotely adept in the eyes of young children. I leaped over the small fence and stayed several feet away from a craning neck.
Mustering up some pride on confidence, I continued with the tour and completed it with no further difficulties. Once I had the children off to the restroom to scrub their hands with soap, soap is your friend, soap, soap, soap, I told the story of the formidable fowl to another farmer. I then learned that the behavior I had experienced is called "flogging." Real farmers will tell you it's not the biting you have to worry about; it's the flogging.
Oh, yeah...turns out several farmers had witnessed the pummeling. Funny how nobody came to my aid. They stood there and watched, apparently "in" on the joke. Seems they had already been warned of the gander's aggressive behavior earlier in the week and didn't tell me.
So, now, I am ashamed to admit that I had my butt kicked by a bird.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Close Encounter with Destiny
Horses are big, powerful creatures. Even the miniature horses are strong. Humans are physically inferior to equines. It makes sense. Horse are a prey animal. Zebras have to fight and/or escape from lions or else they are lunch. Lions are very big and very powerful with very big teeth and very big claws, both of which are good for killing and ripping apart flesh. It just seems appropriate that horses would be nervous and capable of fighting back.
Horses are also social animals. As expected, social animals have a hierarchy and communication skills. Unfortunately, humans don't speak horse and horses don't speak human. Horses speak horse. After being around horses, it becomes apparent that horses enforce the hierarchy with gentle nudges, which when the animal weighs 1100 pounds is quite significant. They also use aggressive nudges, kicks and bites.
So, imagine my surprise...
The other day, I was out in the pasture with the three mares that I see every Tuesday and Thursday. Blue is the dominate mare. She is 1/4 Clydesdale, 1/4 thoroughbred and 1/2 Dutch Warmblood and a BIG girl. Next in the herd is Brittany. She is a beautiful chestnut mare and stands just as tall as Blue, but not as thick. Then there is the lowest ranking mare, Destiny. She is an Andalusian and compared to the other girls, she is on the small side.
When all three are in the small paddock area near the barn, all is well. They know their places. Sometimes Destiny gets a tad too close to the action and Brittany quickly reminds her that she must wait her turn. Destiny submits and patiently waits.
Once the three have moved into the larger pasture area, things change. Destiny gets to be too big for her breeches. I tried to encourage her to move into the paddock area. Well, she was having none of that and trotted away from me. So, I waited and eventually she came back. I got too close and she walked away. That's when the bribes started. First some treats. She was too smart for that and knew I wanted her to come in and require her to work. So, hay was added. That didn't work much better.
When both bribes were combined, she finally came close to the paddock. A few encouraging pats and she scampered away. The bribes were too good to ignore for long and she inched her way back. Another friendly pat and Destiny took off. For good measure...KATOW!
She let me have it. Full force with perfect extension with uncanny accuracy, she planted her hoof smack on my bum. Let's just say I have a beautiful impression of her foot on my butt. No need to have her present to measure her hoof for a shoe. I know EXACTLY how big her foot is.
I suppose it's just one more right of passage. So far, I've been stepped on, fallen and now kicked. As of yet, no broken bones. I'm certain those will come in time.
Horses are also social animals. As expected, social animals have a hierarchy and communication skills. Unfortunately, humans don't speak horse and horses don't speak human. Horses speak horse. After being around horses, it becomes apparent that horses enforce the hierarchy with gentle nudges, which when the animal weighs 1100 pounds is quite significant. They also use aggressive nudges, kicks and bites.
So, imagine my surprise...
The other day, I was out in the pasture with the three mares that I see every Tuesday and Thursday. Blue is the dominate mare. She is 1/4 Clydesdale, 1/4 thoroughbred and 1/2 Dutch Warmblood and a BIG girl. Next in the herd is Brittany. She is a beautiful chestnut mare and stands just as tall as Blue, but not as thick. Then there is the lowest ranking mare, Destiny. She is an Andalusian and compared to the other girls, she is on the small side.
When all three are in the small paddock area near the barn, all is well. They know their places. Sometimes Destiny gets a tad too close to the action and Brittany quickly reminds her that she must wait her turn. Destiny submits and patiently waits.
Once the three have moved into the larger pasture area, things change. Destiny gets to be too big for her breeches. I tried to encourage her to move into the paddock area. Well, she was having none of that and trotted away from me. So, I waited and eventually she came back. I got too close and she walked away. That's when the bribes started. First some treats. She was too smart for that and knew I wanted her to come in and require her to work. So, hay was added. That didn't work much better.
When both bribes were combined, she finally came close to the paddock. A few encouraging pats and she scampered away. The bribes were too good to ignore for long and she inched her way back. Another friendly pat and Destiny took off. For good measure...KATOW!
She let me have it. Full force with perfect extension with uncanny accuracy, she planted her hoof smack on my bum. Let's just say I have a beautiful impression of her foot on my butt. No need to have her present to measure her hoof for a shoe. I know EXACTLY how big her foot is.
I suppose it's just one more right of passage. So far, I've been stepped on, fallen and now kicked. As of yet, no broken bones. I'm certain those will come in time.
Here Kitty Kitty
For quite some time now, my daughter has wanted a cat. My husband, the personification of patience, and I have refused to allow this to happen.
We have three terriers who would just love to "play" with the kitty. Kitty box crunchies are just too tempting for the pups. We are a military family and move frequently. My daughter who would be 100% responsible for the cat makes little effort to tend to the dogs thus conveying the possibility of cat neglect. Plus, she will be off to college in two years. College dormitories do not permit animals. My husband and I just don't want to end up taking care of a cat.
The other day, I had to take our Westie, Jake, to the vet. He has managed to destroy his ACL in one of his legs. Yep, our buddy needs some surgery, but that's a whole different story. More on that later.
Anyway, as I waited in line to pay for the office visit, the man in front of me was paying to the spaying of a cat. He asked the receptionist if she wanted to keep the cat. Well, my ears purked up and I listened to the conversation. Seems this man's wife kind of collects cats. Together, they have 12 outside cats and four inside cats. This particular cat was destined to be an outside cat. That seems like a bleak existence to me, especially since I believe all pets should be a member of the family. You wouldn't leave your kid outside. I hate to see dogs chained in the back yard and left alone. That's cruel. Dogs are social animals and need love and attention. Ah, but that is yet another soap box. Back to the cat.
I inquired if the man was serious about giving away his cat. He certainly was. So, I went back to the recovery room and took a look at her. She is a 7 month old spayed female. And...she was very affectionate.
So, the cat came home.
I told my daughter that she had to purchase all the necessary accessories for the cat that evening and bring them home when she got off from work. She asked,"What about Dad?" I told her we would just keep it secret. Hide the cat. Let him discover her on his own and then we would play silly and say that the cat had been living in the house for a while.
All went well. The dogs were very, very curious and Sydney want to play so badly. Unfortunately, the cat had ZERO interest in playing. To magnify her displeasure with the idea, she hissed and took a swing. Sydney got the message loud and clear. Annabelle didn't readily get the hint and need a bit more forceful display of intolerance. Jake just sat and barked.
After a while, Jordan went off to work and the dogs quieted down. At the end of the work day, I drove to my husband's work to give him a ride home. I was in his office about 90 seconds before I innocently advised him that I had done something.
By my demeanor, he knew it was something big. At first, he asked if I wrecked the car. I admitted I brought home a kitty for Jordan. He wasn't pleased, but tolerated what I had done. I also told him that he was not to know about the cat and play surprised when Jordan came home.
Well, that idea didn't last long either. Jordan called me from Wal-Mart and asked about what kind of litterbox to get. She was excited and nervous all at the same time. She was delighted about having the kitty, but terrified at what her dad would say. So, I let her off the hook and told her that I had already let the cat out of the bag.
When she did come home that evening, she brought in a shopping bag filled with kitty things. My sweet sweet man of a husband played stupid and began to carry on like a crazy man. Jordan shrugged it off and said she already knew that he knew.
So, my husband, although irritated, pet the kitty. I've caught him petting the kitty, kitty several times since the cat came home She's still not 100% comfortable with the dogs, but she's getting braver by the day. I hope that they will all be able to get along and maybe even play. Keeping my fingers crossed.
Oh, my daughter named the cat Nona.
We have three terriers who would just love to "play" with the kitty. Kitty box crunchies are just too tempting for the pups. We are a military family and move frequently. My daughter who would be 100% responsible for the cat makes little effort to tend to the dogs thus conveying the possibility of cat neglect. Plus, she will be off to college in two years. College dormitories do not permit animals. My husband and I just don't want to end up taking care of a cat.
The other day, I had to take our Westie, Jake, to the vet. He has managed to destroy his ACL in one of his legs. Yep, our buddy needs some surgery, but that's a whole different story. More on that later.
Anyway, as I waited in line to pay for the office visit, the man in front of me was paying to the spaying of a cat. He asked the receptionist if she wanted to keep the cat. Well, my ears purked up and I listened to the conversation. Seems this man's wife kind of collects cats. Together, they have 12 outside cats and four inside cats. This particular cat was destined to be an outside cat. That seems like a bleak existence to me, especially since I believe all pets should be a member of the family. You wouldn't leave your kid outside. I hate to see dogs chained in the back yard and left alone. That's cruel. Dogs are social animals and need love and attention. Ah, but that is yet another soap box. Back to the cat.
I inquired if the man was serious about giving away his cat. He certainly was. So, I went back to the recovery room and took a look at her. She is a 7 month old spayed female. And...she was very affectionate.
So, the cat came home.
I told my daughter that she had to purchase all the necessary accessories for the cat that evening and bring them home when she got off from work. She asked,"What about Dad?" I told her we would just keep it secret. Hide the cat. Let him discover her on his own and then we would play silly and say that the cat had been living in the house for a while.
All went well. The dogs were very, very curious and Sydney want to play so badly. Unfortunately, the cat had ZERO interest in playing. To magnify her displeasure with the idea, she hissed and took a swing. Sydney got the message loud and clear. Annabelle didn't readily get the hint and need a bit more forceful display of intolerance. Jake just sat and barked.
After a while, Jordan went off to work and the dogs quieted down. At the end of the work day, I drove to my husband's work to give him a ride home. I was in his office about 90 seconds before I innocently advised him that I had done something.
By my demeanor, he knew it was something big. At first, he asked if I wrecked the car. I admitted I brought home a kitty for Jordan. He wasn't pleased, but tolerated what I had done. I also told him that he was not to know about the cat and play surprised when Jordan came home.
Well, that idea didn't last long either. Jordan called me from Wal-Mart and asked about what kind of litterbox to get. She was excited and nervous all at the same time. She was delighted about having the kitty, but terrified at what her dad would say. So, I let her off the hook and told her that I had already let the cat out of the bag.
When she did come home that evening, she brought in a shopping bag filled with kitty things. My sweet sweet man of a husband played stupid and began to carry on like a crazy man. Jordan shrugged it off and said she already knew that he knew.
So, my husband, although irritated, pet the kitty. I've caught him petting the kitty, kitty several times since the cat came home She's still not 100% comfortable with the dogs, but she's getting braver by the day. I hope that they will all be able to get along and maybe even play. Keeping my fingers crossed.
Oh, my daughter named the cat Nona.
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