Musings on Celebration for the Turkeys 2012

Today we had our Celebration for the Turkeys in Orland.  While the weather was iffy, the rain held off for most of the day.  I think it took all of our good karma to preempt a storm.  I was assigned to the Sheep and Goat Barn which meant that I would be hanging out with and talking about some of my best friends.  This was happy news for me. 

I had decided that Madeline and Molly would be included as part of the guest experience.  Madeline and Molly were normally relegated to the "penalty box" during tours since they could be a little rowdy, but I had faith in them.  Add to that the fact that they are so darn cute and it feels like keeping them away from the people would be short-changing them. 

I mean come on, they are fricking adorable!

The guests started coming in around 1:15 and everything went really well.  Madeline was adorable and Molly was preternaturally photogenic.  I suspect that they are both Facebook celebrities by now (I will never know since I will never use Facebook again). 

The first couple hours went by really quick.  While there was a steady flow of people in and out, I had ample opportunity to answer questions and share personal anecdotes.  It was around that time that I heard a high pitched scream.  A brief investigation yielded a report that Madeline had "butted" a small child.  Now, it needs to be noted that Madeline is my baby, and like any good parent, I will go to my grave convinced that it was the kid's fault and that my little angel was in the right. 

However, since I was on the job, I had to be diplomatic.  I sprang into action and ensured that the child wasn't hurt and his father confirmed that he was fine.  The boy, who was probably about four, was not acting like it though and eventually his dad asked if he wanted to leave.  Through tears and in a wavering voice, he replied "No", and alluded to the fact that the "mean goat was by the door."  In order to resolve the situation, I tried to direct Madeline into a side stall, but she wasn't interested.  She was quite adamant that she was the victim and didn't like the fact that I was taking the boy's side without hearing her side of the story.  She wasn't budging and the only way I was going to get her out of the door was to pick her up.

Before I go on, I need to share a little back story.  As I was preparing my clothes for today I had set aside three shirts, three pairs of shorts, three pairs of socks, and three pairs of underwear in preparation for a wet and muddy work day.  I had also meant to bring my belt, but when I got to work, I proved the adage that "the road to hell is paved with good intentions".  This wouldn't be a problem if I has still as heavy as I used to be, but since I had lost some inches around the waist it put me at a risk of losing my shorts without a belt.  As a triage I had rolled the waistband over which has the effect of tightening them enough to keep them above my hips with an occasional pull up from time to time.

Back to Madeline.  She continued to protest her innocence and as I focused on her horns which posed the greater damage, her little kicking legs unrolled the top of my shorts and gravity teamed up with my knife and radio to make them start dropping.  Standing there with two hands full of goat I couldn't hike my shorts back up so I had no choice but to drop to my knees, which was coincidentally where the waistband of my shorts were!  I sat down and tried to pull my shirt down while restraining Madeline long enough for the boy and his father to leave...but they didn't.  They just stood there.  Meanwhile, the sight of me with Madeline in my lap was drawing a number of "Oohs" and "Aahs" and flashes from cameras.  As if that wasn't bad enough, Joey, an adorable lamb who had been shadowing me most of the day, decided to come over and visit with me and Madeline.  More pictures were taken in what seemed like an eternity as I waited to be able to let Madeline go. 

Finally the man and his son walked out and I let Madeline go.  This wasn't the end of my ordeal, however.  Now I was sitting with my shorts around my knees with the daunting challenge of getting them pulled back up without it being too obvious; and it's not like I could just sit there and formulate a plan because without Madeline on my lap my predicament was even more obvious than before.

I would like to believe that I pulled it off discretely without anyone being any the wiser but I have to wonder if the people with the cameras will see the image in a whole new light when they see their pictures blown up across their computer screens.  Maybe 2012 be known as the year where indecent exposure was on the menu at the Celebration for the Turkeys!

Just Another Day at the Office

Since I had a two hour lunch today, I had some extra time to hand out with some of my friends at work.  First, I would like to introduce Gwendolyn Duck (Or Gwennie, for short).  She has been with us for a little over a month now. 

She is quite a character, and by far the loudest duck on the Farm.  It has been fun watching her be introduced to the world around her.  When she first arrived, she was in a small isolation stall with a water bowl that was barely bigger than she was.  This wouldn't stop her from jumping in and quite literally being the big duck in a small pond.  After a few weeks, she became a small duck in a big pond.  This new world wasn't always easy for her.  Initially she was stalked by Della Duck around the yard before making friends with Gordy Duck (Sadly she is a girl with a boy's name).  It was adorable to see Gordy intercept Della as she was tailing Gwennie.  The video below features a good shot of Gwen at her water bowl, a chance encounter with Gordy, and a swim in the pond.  Gordy's quacks are reminiscent of a child calling to their mother: "Mom, watch me.  Mom, see how fast I am...Mom...Mom...You're not watching!"

After visiting with Gwen and her friends, I paid a visit to the Pig Barn.  I had an apple left in my pocket from my trip to feed Edward Cow some treats earlier and I knew just who to share it with...Cesak.  I shot some more video of him eating it and captured a funny response as Reggie Pig heard the chomping and tried to confirm that Cesak had an apple by smelling his breath and, at one point, seemed intent to extract it from his mouth!

Cesak then repaid my treat by laying on my lap and going to sleep.  The sound of pig snoring kept me from drifting off to sleep, but it was probably better to be in the moment.

Lastly, I visited with my old Goat Buddies and promised I would post their pictures.

First is "my baby" Madeline.  Isn't she lovely!



She really likes being scratched between her horns...

...and on her chin.  Every goat seems to have a slightly different sweet spot, but between the horns is pretty common.  A closer inspection of her left horn seems to invalidate her claim that she hasn't been picking on the sheep since there is a suspicious tuft of wool in it.

Madeline then introduced her friend Molly.  She and Molly get "play dates" every Saturday during tour season since they can get a little rowdy with visitors and they have bonded over these.

Madeline bet Molly that she couldn't touch her nose with her tongue...

...and then used the opportunity to photo bomb her (Molly looks less than impressed)!

While Madeline was off laughing it up, Molly let me get this beautiful shot of her smile.

And those were some of my exploits for the day and the reasons why I do what I do.  It is particularly nice to enjoy your job when you look at the alternative...I Wouldn't Want to be This Guy!

Everything I Know I Learned from Chickens

In the spirit of "recycling", I figured I would make a blog entry out of a recent project that I was working on for a friend of mine who was moving on to her next life adventure.  I hope that it will fill the overall theme of this blog and be entertaining.

When you see your reflection, always check to make sure that you are smiling.


 

Make a joyful noise wherever you go.
 

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it defines the chicken.
 

Some chickens are just jerks and there's not much we can do about it.

The best way to approach a challenge is one bite at a time.

It's cool to be a trend-setter, even if no one else follows you.

In times of abundance, it's important to share.

Sometimes the "biggest worm you've ever seen" turns out to be a garden hose in disguise.

If you've got it, flaunt it!



(Dust) baths make every day a little bit more bearable.

You can be the"pot of gold" at the end of some one's rainbow.

Sometimes the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.

When your wings are clipped, welcome it as an invitation to reacquaint yourself with things close to home.

Keeping your head down when things get too crazy is a sound strategy.

You can't always choose your situation, but you can choose to make the best of it.

The chicken crossed the road to get where she was going.

The best place in the world will always be among friends.

Chickens don't have a word for goodbye because you are never far from their hearts.

My Lunch Mates

Today was somewhat of an annoying day, so I think that it is a good time to turn that around by sharing a recent memory that will certainly be filed along with my most cherished.

Lately I have taken to hanging out with the pigs at lunch time, after I have finished eating (You would not want to try eating in there, trust me!).    This generally takes the form of me hanging out with Cesak, my BPFF (Best Pig Friend Forever).  On this particular day, I was resting my head on Cesak's side while reading a book.  He was sleeping, but would periodically sniff and snort to see if there was anything interesting going on.  I had been reading for some time when Reggie Pig came walking by.  Reggie is hilarious because he is the youngest and smallest of the pigs, but he is fearless in challenging the rest of the mob (That is an approved term for a group of pigs...I looked it up).

Since Reggie was making a loud ruckus, I expected that my peaceful moment with Cesak was nearing its end.  The two of them went back and forth with some oinks before Reggie proceeded to lay himself on my lap.

After the initial shock of having "little" Reggie join me, I had to pause to marvel in just how cool this was.  There are many magical moments that I have experienced, but it is always particularly special when our animal friends seek us out for these unions. 

Before he joined us here at the Sanctuary, Reggie was destined to be slaughtered as part of a writer's exploitative story.  I only wish that she had been there to experience who Reggie has become, and to see him in a whole new light.

This bonding experience made my day and reliving this memory has snapped me out of the slight funk I carried home with me.  Thanks Reggie!

My Two Right Feet

Each summer at the Farm brings two unwelcome guests: Star thistles and foxtails.  The star thistles make wearing shorts problematic and the foxtails get stuck in your shoes and socks and make walking a real misery.  This summer, I stumbled upon a remedy when I was at the local Army Navy Surplus Store.  They are marketed as Israeli Army boots and they are the only cheap animal product free boot that I have ever come across.  They wrap tightly around the ankle and keep stuff from getting in my shoes and prevent ankle cuts.  Not knowing how long they may be available, I stocked up on a couple boxes in my size (For once they actually had only my size). 

Unfortunately, I never thought to check the boxes and the second one (The ones I didn't try on) contained two right boots and no left.  I am bad at keeping my receipts so I just resigned myself to having wasted $20.  The box stayed in the back of my truck since there seemed to be little point in bringing it inside the house.

About a week later, I was feeding the pigs at work.  This has become a little more of a tricky proposition lately and it is the equivalent of a porcine mosh-pit where I am the scrawny guy getting battered about by six hundred pounders who I know are not going to try to help me up if I go down.  In the process of filling the troughs, Lucas stepped on the back of my right shoe and the stitching between the canvas and the sole ripped wide open.

Suddenly my recent purchase had a new value as I was able to use one of my right shoes from the back of my truck to remedy the situation.  The "old Brian" may have lamented the fact that his shoes didn't exactly match due to differences in wear, but not this enlightened fellow.

The next week I was doing feeds again and I soaked my right shoe when I was washing the water bowls.  Over the course of the day this proceeded to make my foot extremely uncomfortable.  The next day, I was surprised to find that the shoe had not dried out, despite the scorching temperature and it was becoming very painful to walk.  About half way through the day, I recalled my last mis-matched shoe and promptly swapped it out.

The morale to this story is that while you may not intend to buy two right shoes, sometimes the universe knows that this is actually what you need and makes provision.

Advocacy Makes a First Impression

I have been struggling to figure out a way to write this entry without coming across as self-congratulatory.  In parallel with that, I have also been keenly aware of the number of days since my last entry and, as such, I have decided to just roll with it.  Besides, I have been going through a rough patch lately and could use a pat on the back, even if it is a self administered one.

It's been a couple years now since I enjoyed two brief moments of "Farm Sanctuary celebrity".  The first was when I unexpectedly won the "Friend of Farm Animals Award (West)" for 2010 and the second was when I was the top fundraiser for the Berkeley Walk for Farm Animals.  In each case my opinion was suddenly in demand in terms of how to be a good advocate for Farm Animals and how to parlay that to the most powerful effect.  My responses in both cases were the same.  I believe that we have excellent opportunities to advance our respective causes just by being good and kind people.  The first impression that we make extends to beyond some one's impression of us but also encompasses their future impressions of any messages we may choose to share.  The bottom line: If people like you, they will be more open to your message because the door will be open. 

Now in writing that, I am immediately aware of the fact that this could be interpreted as "salesmanship", and in its purest sense, I guess you could say it is.  It is a shame that this admirable trait has been sullied by the industries that conspire to use it against us in unseemly ways.  What I am recommending is probably better classified as "conscious kindness and sincerity". 

Several years ago, I remember reading a book called, "Now Discover Your Strengths".  I would be lying if I said I remembered everything about the book, but the core tenant stuck with me.  The book was basically about recognizing the things that you are good at and giving yourself credit for those and developing them.  It wasn't until I had the chance to meet some seemingly angry, militant advocates that I realized that I had the strength of conscious kindness and sincerity.  While I don't want to discredit the militants' message (Mostly because it is in sync with my own), I for one was alienated by them and disinterested in what they had to say in spite of their obvious passion for it. 

As an example of what I mean by this concept, I will refer to a recent paragraph from the Sacramento Valley Mirror written by Darlene Friesen in her "About Town" column:

If you want to reach your potential as an advocate, always remember that you are a key part of your message, if not the most important part..

Just Outta Reach

My goal of twelve months of perfect attendance at my new job was crushed yesterday.  Neither rain, wind, snuffly nose, nor aching joints could prevent me from timely arrival at work, but my supposedly reliable Toyota did.  I was driving to work at the normal time and my eyes were drawn to the instrument panel by something that didn't look quite right.  Normally my temperature gauge is right in the middle of range, but today it was near the top.  While the temperature outside was barely above freezing, the temperature in my engine was nearing the opposite end of the scale. 

This event shouldn't have been a complete surprise.  Even I, blessed as I am with eternal optimism, had been unable to ignore the fact that my car was noisier than usual.  Adding to that, Lori had been nice enough to point out that their were small puddles under my car.  I just prayed that it would make it through the week so I could fix it on my own time.  That wasn't to be.

So, what was I to do?  When I was in Navy Nuclear training, the instructors used to always compare various components to their equivalents in cars.  This seemed to work well for the gear-heads, but I was not one of them.  I found myself doing the exact opposite as I tried to interpret what I was seeing as a function of a reactor.  My coolant temperature was clearly going up.  Since my engine is not capable of super criticality, I could rule that out.  I pulled over and didn't see anything obvious that could be blocking air flow across my radiator and in the time that it took for me to inspect it, the temperature came down off the peg a bit.  I only had a couple miles to go until I reached a gas station and I decided to try for it.  I had come dressed for work which normally involves thin layers that I could shed as I heated up from raking.  This would probably not work too well during a two mile walk in this temperature. 

As I got back on the highway with my hazards on and daring only a meager forty miles an hour, I saw a sign that I once again recognized from my training.  My temperature gauge dropped immediately from pegged high (It had quickly worked its way back up) to pegged low.  This was an indication of a catastrophic coolant rupture.  In my past life this would have initiated a reactor SCRAM, a shutting of the main steam stops, isolation of the affected coolant loop, and other tasks that I probably shouldn't elaborate on here.  None of these really applied, except for "SCRAM-ing" or turning off my car to minimize the addition of heat (The term "SCRAM" allegedly is an acronym for "Super Critical Reactor Axe Man" from the days when reactor control rods were lifted by ropes and the cutting of the ropes would drive it sub-critical). 

Navy legend had it that the Captain had a book that contained the real operating limits for tactical situations - limits that exceeded the normal operating ones for the boat.  With one mile to go, I ad-libbed the operating limits for my car and kept on going with nothing but the air blowing across my engine to cool it.  Without coolant, my heater was no longer working so I was feeling pretty darn cool myself.

I made it to the gas station without my car dying, but the coolant rupture was quickly confirmed when I tried to add some via the overflow reservoir.  It all promptly came out the bottom.  For the record, the woman working the graveyard shift at the Chevron at the corner of Notre Dame Avenue and Skyway in Chico was very kind and as supportive as she could have been.  The same could be said for Ed at Chuck Patterson Toyota (who worked with the warranty folks to get my repairs covered and actually kept me updated on how things were progressing.  In my "cough-cough" thirty nine years on this earth this was the first time that I left a car dealership not feeling violated and I would strongly recommend them.

My lessons learned from this early morning adventure were:

1. Some goals may be admirable yet ultimately unattainable.
2. There still are decent people in the world, although they don't get the press coverage that they deserve.
3. A little kindness and understanding brings out the best in people.
4. If I want to keep any of my residual dignity, I should probably at least pretend to care about these types of obvious signs, especially if my wife has noticed them.  As it is, the "told-ya-sos" are kinda scathing ;)

Andy Keung Cheung and the Death of Shame

When I was a child, there was an anonymous poem that graced the wall above my bed.  I don't specifically recall reading it often, but I must have because I still know every word (I will attribute this to "Anonymous"):

You got it from your father
It was all he had to give
So it's yours to use and cherish
For as long as you may live

If you lost the watch he gave you
It can always be replaced;
But a black mark on your name
Can never be erased

It was clean the day you took it
And a worthy name to bear
When he got it from his father
There was no dishonor there

So make sure you guard it wisely
After all is said and done
You'll be glad the name is spotless
When you give it to your son

Looking back on this poem, I believe that this was where I first became aware of the parallel concepts of integrity and shame.  For one of the first times of my life, I think that I can honestly say that times were different when I was a boy than they are now.  Today we care less for honor and more for convenience.  It has been bred into us and it is a hallmark of the new "American way".  "Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country", is no longer the vision as many peoples' world views shrink to encapsulate only themselves. 

It is in this way that I can unfortunately see how a person such as Andy Keung Cheung could be capable of this type of horrible cruelty.  I have read many of the stories associated with this immense injustice and I have been somewhat surprised by the number of posts that have associated his cold indifference to his race (Based on the assumption that he is of Asian descent, most likely Korean).  Having travelled in Asia and worked with many Asian co-workers, I have always experienced a much higher awareness of honor, or "face" in those countries.  Doing things that bring shame upon oneself or one's family is frowned upon.  The acts of "Seppuku" or "Harikari" may have had different origins, but in common parlance they have become associated with the voluntary ending of one's life as a result of shame. 

Is it fair to expect Andy Keung Cheung to feel shame?  I believe it is.  I also believe that anyone who continues to eat eggs or chicken after seeing the way that these were treated should feel shame, but that is another matter.  Do I believe that he should commit Harikari?  No, I do not.  At it's core, that is an act of honor and he has not shown himself to have any to preserve. 

So, what would be a suitable punishment for a creature such as this?  I think I have one, although by mentioning it here, I am in no way encouraging it to be applied.  This is purely shared theoretically as a suitable way of achieving the justice that we all know will never be administered.  When I lived in England, my family took a trip to Scotland.  As part of that trip, we visited a number of castles.  There was one castle in particular which was in an advanced state of ruin.  I remember it quite vividly, which is unusual because if you ask me about things that happened when I was a child, I generally have hazy recollections of them or only remember having seen pictures.  I would never forget the dungeon in this castle, or what would more appropriately be called an "oubliette", from the French word meaning "to forget".  As you can probably tell by the name, these were never nice places, and this one was perhaps one of the worst.  It looked like a long shaft, about the diameter of a man-hole cover.  It was too deep to see the bottom of and it was explained that prisoners would be stacked one on top of the other, separated by grates.  The diameter of the shaft made it impossible to sit or lie down.  When feeding was done, and it was by no means guaranteed, the food was dumped at the top and the further down you went in the shaft, the less likely you were to receive food.  Proving Newton's laws of gravity, there were other things that were likely to come falling down upon you if you were unlucky enough to have prisoners higher up in the shaft. 

This is the best example of a battery cage that I could imagine which has ever been applied to humans.  I think that spending the equivalent number of seconds in this environment that the chickens in his charge had to spend without food is the only way to impress upon a shameless person the gravity of his crimes.  Trust me when I say that time in such a state would be measured in seconds and not hours, days, or weeks.  Every one of them ticking by would be in terror, hopelessness, and would be a countdown to an unpleasant end.  Even if he were still incapable of shame, he would at least hopefully receive the gift of empathy somewhere along the line.

For everyone who is not names Andy Keung Cheung, I hope that you can understand that he is not an aberration.  He is a product of an environment that lacks both shame and compassion.  I believe that most non-sociopathic people have the compassion part and now that you know the faces behind your food, it is up to you to decide how to handle the shame.



A Lovely Day for a Swim

As has been the case a lot lately (See last post), I have been seeing things at the Farm that are a bit on the unexpected side.  Today, I decided to document this in a somewhat creative manner.  I hope you enjoy.

P.S. The unusual thing was that I never see the pigs using the plank...normally it is only for us people who also fear what lies amongst the depths of the Pig Pond..

See What?

Today I find myself secluded in the house like a freak having been the "victim" of a botched hair dye job which has left me with "old lady" pink hair and a scalp that is covered with random purple leopard spots.  Shockingly, it turns out that I am not licensed nor bonded by the State of California as a hair stylist and our homeowner's policy doesn't cover it either.  In the spirit of looking on the bright side, it means that I have time on my hands to write about the past week and some of the interesting sights that made me do some double takes (Like people will with my hair until I figure out what to do with it next).

The first story involves a simple tree on the Farm in what is called the Oak Tree Pasture.  As you can probably guess from the name, it is an oak tree.  For anyone whose imagination has been hopelessly compromised by the effects of today's media and the Internet (Except for my blog, of course which can only make you a better person), I was hoping to provide a good picture of it.  Imagine my surprise as I went through literally hundreds of pictures only to find that I have never taken a picture of it, even by accident.  When I look at how many pictures I have of rocks, my leg, my finger (I think that's what it was), it is astounding that I never got the tree, even if it was barely in frame. 

Well, the tree really isn't that notable anyway, although don't tell the tree since I suspect it is old and it may hurt its feelings.  What was notable was what happened to be in the tree on Friday.  While doing feeds, I was called over by one of the other caregivers and we both looked in amazement at the two goats who had decided to climb the tree.  Noel and Justin had apparently managed to jump up to the first "V" before the branches split and were quite contentedly nesting there.  Every once in a while, Justin would try to get higher, but then he would come back, seemingly disheartened. Just when you thought you had seen it all, you see not one, but two goats in a tree!

The next notable observation came on Saturday when I was cleaning the Sheep and Goat Barn.  Now, for those who are do not have a BSE (Bovine Sanitation Engineer) degree like I do (See below), I may need to set the scene.

When we facilitate soiled straw extraction and disposal, our primary implement for collection and secondary ground abrasion effect is the rake.  Now, amateurs may think that they know all about the simple rake, but trust me pal, you don't!  While you may use rakes to pull sedentary debris, I can use mine to kill a man in seventeen increasingly gruesome ways and I have single handedly fought off several rogue vampires by staking them through the heart with the handle (I can't go into more detail on this right now since there is a legal case pending since I couldn't prove they were vampires, but hey, the upside is that the duck hunting across the street has decreased significantly!).  As a 27th level BSE, I also know that a rake can be used to push things if you flip it over and push at just the right angle and hold on to the handle hard enough to prevent impaling yourself (Vlad the impaler style where you run  yourself through and slowly slide down the rake until the word goes out for a "Clean-up in Stall 4").  This allows us to move large quantities of straw around quickly and is somewhat of a trade-secret (Oops!).  Kids, do not try this at home, we are trained professionals!

Anyway, I was in the middle of this dirty business when Madeline Goat came by the gate and seemed to have something important to tell me.  She did, but it was only that she wanted me to come over and open the darn gate so she could come in.  I did since technically i work for her and the review cycle is coming up and what she did next surprised me.  As I was rake-pushing, she stepped in front of me, positioned her head against the rake handle so that it was between her horns, and she began pushing with all her might.  It was actually helping!  I didn't have the heart to tell her this since I am sure that was not her intent, but it was another amazing image that happened because I left my camera at home.

The last story that I will share before I run off to try to wash the spots off my head again is somewhat sad, but sweet.  Anyone who has read my entire blog and is not currently committed to a mental institution or wondering how they came to waste such a valuable portion of their life, will know about Whitaker; The cow that wants to be a human.  For those who are new to this (Who am I kidding), Whitaker came to Farm Sanctuary as a calf and bonded strongly to people.  The saddest thing used to be hearing him moo for his "people herd" to come get him away from the cows.  He has come a long way now and has some good cow friends, but he still sees himself as one of the caregivers who just happens to be deep undercover with the herd. 

So it came to be that yesterday the main cattle herd came down to pay a visit to the barn.  It was nice seeing all of my old friend in one place, but after a while they began to filter back to the pasture and I needed to get back to my cleaning.  When I finished and started to drive the tractor out, I heard and caught a glimpse of something almost simultaneously.  After a brief investigation which involved rotating my head eighty-four point six degrees (Hey, I am an "engineer" after all), I saw a very confused Whitaker.  Specifically, I saw an adorable former calf who was wondering why this bulging, stuffily dressed (Accidental pun), grotesque person with hair that was so fried it looked like straw wouldn't accept his "friend request".  This broke my heart a little so I knew I had to get off my high-tractor and go give him the human hug he needed.  He gave plenty of cow kisses and then reluctantly went to back to his undercover assignment.

The upside to this last story is that, if worse comes to worse, I suspect I may be able to get Whitaker to use his tongue to de-purple my scalp when I go back to work on Tuesday.  As for the "old lady pink", I guess I need to take up bingo at the local casinos!

Thirty Nine Feels a Lot Like Thirty Eight - Only Smellier

It was a long time ago that I stopped seeing birthdays as exciting milestones and started to see them rather as milestones along the way to whatever lies beyond this mortal coil. Once you pass the "good years" like eighteen (When you are officially and adult), twenty-one (Where you can begin to indulge "adult" habits), and twenty-five (Where you can rent cars, at least in Hawaii), the rest don't come with new "powers". Where once there was excitement, now there is the promise of new aches and pains, diminished mental capacity, and most of all, a need to invest more and more in hair dye.

I have, on more than one occasion, wondered whether the difference between mortality and immortality is our apparent need to keep track of time. Maybe God just stopped counting!

It was in this somber mood that I turned thirty-nine this week. My current employer actually gives you your birthday off as a paid vacation day. I think that this is a really cool thing. Apparently, however, this is not an automatic vacation day, so I found myself on the schedule and working. I am in no way bitter about this. Anyone who has read more than three of my posts will know that there is nowhere that I would rather be and few intelligent creatures that I would rather spend it with (By this I mean the animals and not the humans at the Farm - Just kidding!).

Since Lori seems to like keeping track of the withering count of years ahead of me, I had hoped to be able to get off work on-time - in this case 6PM - so that I could get home to whatever special birthday treats awaited me. Having recently celebrated our dog Heidi's fourteenth birthday, I wished to make out at least as well. This was not to be.

Recently we made some changes at the Farm regarding assignments and roles and responsibilities. I was on the "PM Feeds" shift, and this shift now involved closing in the animals in the small barns. I think that this is a good change since it splits the workload between two people and makes it more likely that they can both get off somewhere in the vicinity of the desired hour, or at least on the same day. Since there are two people working on this, it seemed to me like it should be a team effort where the day ends for both upon closure of the last barn door. I had been somewhat vocal regarding my position on this at our last Staff meeting and it was in that spirit that I found myself asking whether Mike C needed any help after I finished up my tasks at five forty-five. He replied that I could start wrangling the ducks and geese if I wanted and so I set about this.

While this is not one of my formal responsibilities, I had been given the chance to help with this on a few previous occasions and knew that it could be tricky. While all the other animals can eventually be rounded up on land, the ducks and geese have two nasty habits. First, the geese like to bite and I am not talking about nipping. I am talking about skin abrasions encased in a softball sized, multi-colored full-on bruise. Second, they are quick to take to the pond if they are not ready for bed. Imagine a three year old human with the ability to encase himself in a ring of fire whenever he doesn't want to brush his teeth, take a nap, or whatever else three year olds do; At thirty-nine that memory has apparently been deemed "irrelevant".

I know what you are thinking: "What's so bad about a little water?" That is a good question and it can be answered very simply. The pond in question is shared by the pigs. If you have ever heard the saying, "Do bears $@&# in the woods?" you can be assured that the same is true for pigs and their pond.  While the pigs are delightful animals, they are not dainty and neither is their ordure. Although this does not bother the pigs, the ducks, or the geese, they all seem to know that this water quality is not popular with the humans.

After tucking in all but two of the ducks and geese, I walked down to the pond to look for the stragglers.  As I approached Della and Shelly who were on the bank of the pond and facing in the opposite direction of where I needed them to go, I wasted my birthday wish in hoping that they would see me coming and relent.  Instead they went for a swim, right to the middle, and stayed there.  With the sun setting over Black Butte Lake, the look on the ducks faces said, "Happy Birthday...Not!"

Vainly pacing around the perimeter of the pond, I wished that I had paid more attention t that whole "walking on water" thing in Sunday School.  I concluded that I would probably have "insufficient funds" in my "Faith Bank" for such a feat.  Besides, that pond was probably only ten percent water, at best.  I begged and pleaded with them at first.  As Mike C arrived after closing the other barns, we resorted to splashing and concocting sounds that we hoped may be inspirational to the ducks.  And still, they swam in small circles in the middle of the pond. 

When the sun completely disappeared, we tried to laugh at our impotence standing on opposing banks being defied by these little critters.  I take great pride in the fact that I have never been angry at an animal, but that is not to say that there aren't situations that can be profoundly frustrating. 

By the time that Kerrie arrived to help out, our flashlights were barely able to even keep track of the ducks anymore.  The writing was on the wall; At least one of us was going to have to get wet.  I took my first steps off the bank and into the water.  In a fair world, this feat would have been enough to convince the ducks that we meant business, but anyone who has paid any attention to the news knows that this is not a fair world.  The ducks remained defiant so I proceeded, as did Mike C and Kerrie. 

As the water began to ooze over the tops of my boots, I realized that I was "all-in".  I was already contaminated so I might as well push aside any pretense of staying dry.  I asked Mike C how deep the pond was and he said that another caregiver had told him that it was about knee deep.  I really wish that this nine foot four inch caregiver had been on shift this night instead of me because the water was about up to mid thigh by now and was approaching parts of my body that I really didn't want contaminated. 

I was mentally retching with each disgusting schlurp of the mud (Please God, let it be mud) on my boots as I moved forward.  Watching us closing in on them, Della and Shelly seemed to ponder what other acts of madness we may be capable of and though better of their protest.  They made their way onto the bank and then waddled up the path to the hutches.  I had been in this situation before and knew quite well that Della was capable of turning around and flying right back to the pond, but I think that the looks in our collective eyes advised her that this may not be prudent.

With the sound of the latch closing, my attention turned to the soaking pants that were pressing against my skin with a foul odor that did not bode well.  I couldn't bear to wear them a second more so I stripped them off in the office.  It wasn't just the fact that they would stain my car seats with more souvenirs, but the thought of what they were dripping with was making my mind run wild.  For the first time in my life, I was at work in my underwear (Actually, I have often dreamed of inexplicably being at work in my underwear or naked, so maybe it was prophetic!).  In order to avoid offending anyone, I wrapped a shirt partially around my waist, bid farewell to Mike C and Kerrie, and hit the road.

My mind quickly returned to lunch time.  I had gone into town at lunch and had noticed that I needed gas.  I had made the decision to wait and get gas on my way home.  Now the fill light was no longer blinking but was on solid.  I didn't know if I would make it to the gas station or if I would end up having to walk.  The only thing I knew for sure was that those pants were not going back on.  Good fortune paid a visit for the first time that night and I made it to the gas station.  Although the station was busy and had an ample supply of folks hanging out in the parking lot, my attire or lack thereof, didn't draw any attention.  Based on that and the lack of police sirens, I went for a complete fill up.

And so was formed my most memorable experience of my thirty-ninth birthday.  I can't wait for the big four-oh!

The Horned Avenger: Chapter 4

As Melvin listened to Bazzle, he couldn't help but get excited, but at the same time he was a little anxious.  As the "Goatfather" he had been the guy who knew how to get things for his fellow goats and it had made him quite wealthy.  Apparently word had gotten out to the other farm animals and now there was an opportunity for farm wide distribution...if he could make it happen!

The product in question was "Special Mix".  Imagine a pie stuffed with cakes and candy, sprinkled with cookies, and topped with ice cream and you begin to understand how the animals feel about the stuff.  Many an animal had fasted themselves for weeks just to get a small taste or to satisfy their need for a fix.  The problem was two fold.  First, the special mix was kept in metal cans which required thumbs to open.  The second problem was more daunting; Even if he could get his hands on it, how would he be able to get it to the other barns while he was stuck here.  His initial enthusiasm began to collapse under the weight of these obstacles.  When Bazzle turned around to say, "Oh, and they need to have their first delivery in a week", all hope seemed to evaporate.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the tractor pulling up to the barn.  It was one of the humans and Melvin immediately signalled to Bazzle to duck back into the wall of the barn.  He never could be sure just what these people understood.  Besides, while he valued Bazzle's work, he knew that he would not be any use in this situation.

Melvin rested his head against the gate and his gaze was fixed as his mind drifted into space, lulled by the on-going rhythm of the raking.  So much straw!  He felt sorry for these caregivers doing the same thing day in and day out. 

Now, most people don't know this, but goats are the luckiest of all animals, and this was about to be proven once again.  A second human entered the barn and a conversation began.  The first human, who we will call "Brian", for the purpose of our story was discussing cleaning with the second human, who we will call "Mike".

"Hey Mike", Brian said, "We are running really low on straw in all of the barns except this one.  Are we expecting another shipment soon?"  Mike replied, "Yeah, I noticed that earlier when I was doing feeds.  We are supposed to get more in a month or so and we should be okay as long as the usage stays the same."  "I hope you're right", said Brian, as Mike began to walk out.  Before he left, Mike added, "Well, if worse comes to worse, we will just have to move straw from this barn to the others".

It was an outside shot, but Melvin thought he may be able to use this information toward a solution for his problem.  And maybe, just maybe, Bazzle would be able to help after all.  He suddenly felt a little giddy, but tried to keep it from showing.  He had appearances to maintain, after all.

It turns out that squirrels have long had an underground presence on the farm.  Their tunnels connected all of the barns and even reached into the offices.  It would seem that an easy answer to Melvin's problem would have been to utilize this as an underground distribution network, but everyone knows that you can't trust a squirrel with food once it has gone underground.  Above ground, they can stay focused, if properly motivated, but once they are in the dark they go primal.  No, what Melvin needed was help increasing the rate of straw consumption.  As the wheels in his brain whirred and clicked, he began to envision an army of squirrels ferreting away straw from the barns and pooping all over the place in order to make the humans do more cleaning.  If he could only make this work, he may be able to figure out the other challenge...with a little luck!

To be continued...

Illegal (Or at the Very Least Unethical) Use of Lifeboats

It seems like there are so many disasters nowadays that it is easy to overlook some of them.  When a cruise ship recently ran aground resulting in a number of deaths and people who are still unaccounted for, I have to admit it seemed like a blip on my radar.  The only aspect that really drew my attention was the fact that the captain had been arrested, reportedly for abandoning the ship with passengers still aboard.  As a former Navy sailor, I am very aware of the notion that the captain is supposed to go down with the ship, but it had never occurred to me that there could be legal ramifications if they lacked the fortitude and accountability to do so.  This got me thinking that, indeed there are particular jobs that do warrant this level of repercussion when those who take on these responsibilities fail to have the courage to fulfill their callings or there oaths. 

How sad it is that our government officials are not likewise held to account for their failings to act appropriately while our country is arguably sinking under the weight of decades of mismanagement.  To add insult to injury, many are actively stoking the fires of class envy as a distraction or slaving to satiate their corporate overlords.  Meanwhile, they are insulated within their financial lifeboats and government indemnity as we face a very uncertain future.  Oh, how different the political world may be if our leaders were held to the standards of a cruise boat captain.  If they faced the prospect of being locked up for failing in their sacred assignments and always passing the buck to someone else, we may find that the disdain that people feel toward their government may evaporate and we may find some unexpected buoyancy as a nation under true leadership...I know, wishful thinking!

Images from the Farm

I am quite overdue in sharing pictures, so I figured I would post of batch of recent favorites.

First off is Ricky.  As you can tell, he is quite a noble gentleman with the carefully groomed beard of a prince.

There is only one Molly!  Here are a couple of pictures that show off her beautiful face.

If Ricky is a prince in training, Buddy here is content to be a semi-retired duke lording over his pastoral paradise.

Cecil is Ricky's wingman and has the cutest "la mancha" ears (These are naturally like this).

Melvin (a.k.a. The Horned Avenger, a.k.a. the Goatfather) letting his bouffant do the talking.

Oh my Baby Madeline, how quickly she has grown up.  Here are a bunch of pictures of her along with her new goat family.  She is just too darn cute for words!  Many of her pictures are mid-bleat (When I say "Baby", she will call back).

Here we have my first picture of Norman steer.  He and his mini-herd have recently started making more public appearances in the Cattle Hill pasture and I was lucky to catch him in a candid moment.

The Horned Avenger: Chapter 3

His first memory after the kidnapping was that of gliding amongst the clouds.  It was exhilarating - at least up to the point where he realized that he had never flown before and couldn't make sense of how he was doing it now.  In addition, the sky was a lot dustier than he had imagined and the clouds, while fluffy, weren't as soft as he had expected.  Like a chalk mural on the sidewalk being washed away by the rain, the dreamy qualities began to evaporate and he was left with just the stark reality. 

He determined that he was alive, but he was definitely not soaring anywhere.  His hooves were firmly planted on terra firma and his legs felt like he hadn't been of them in days, if not weeks.  When exposed to the light of scrutiny, the "clouds" weren't as white as they had first seemed and they seemed to have faces.  In some cases he had to look longer than others in order to determine which end was the front and which was the back since these unfortunate creatures seemed to lack the tail that would have made it elementary to determine which end was coming and which was going.  Their faces looked surprisingly similar to his, but these were like no goats he had ever met.  Out of desperation, he tried to communicate with them, but they ignored him and he couldn't make sense of any of the sounds that they were making.  He hated them for stealing him and snorted with a mixture of anger and fear.

Beyond the clouds, there were windowless walls with small cracks through which sunlight entered.  These rays of light served to highlight the dust in the air; as if he needed a reminder - he was sneezing constantly.  The dry dust - he hoped it was just dust, stuck to the back of his throat.  He looked for a way out, but could see no door in the available light.

After days of this uneasy torment, things seemed to be taking a turn for the better.  There was a flood of light and he saw several of the two legged creatures that he had noticed when he lived with his mom.  He couldn't tell if these were the same ones or not, but he hoped that they were here to bring him back home.  Perhaps this had all just been a big mistake.  He was a kind goat and would be happy to forgive and forget.

Feeling their rough hands grabbing his horns, his dreams of reunion seemed to be slipping away.  A noose was slipped over his head as was cinched tight.  It must be the walking clouds' faults!  They must have said something mean about him and it made him hate them ever so much more.  Days passed, that much he knew, but the events have been masked by his brain's coping mechanisms.  The memories would sometimes come unbeckoned in nightmares, but he could never summon them on demand.  It was probably for the best.

Suddenly a loud chattering from behind him returned him to the moment.  At first he was startled and tried to look tough in case it was a surprise attack, but just as he was starting to puff out his chest he recognized the face of Bazzle.  Bazzle was his personal assistant and he had been working to provide continuity for the Goatfather's various enterprises while he as in lockdown.  At the moment he seemed very frazzled and Melvin had to remind him that he needed to talk slower since squirrelese was not his native language.  As Bazzle started over from the beginning, Melvin felt a rush come over him.  He had never received an order this large before and if he could deliver, it would mean taking his business and profile to a whole other level.

To be continued...