Images from the Farm

Today I remembered that I own a camera and got some pretty good pictures during my lunch break.  Since I get to see these guys everyday and you might not, here are some of my favorites.



Slater, one of our Santa Cruz Sheep modeling the latest in winter wear for the discerning ovine.



Bruce reminding me why he is so special.



Miss Hattie and Cecil make a great couple!



Miss Hattie explores alternate uses for her gate as a headrest.



Justin Goat and his crew



Juanita, Baabette, and Bleu



Cassie Jo with Grandma Polly in the background



Cassie Jo in profile



Beautiful Zuri so grown up



Melvin doing his best, "You Talkin' to Me" pose



Oliver showing off his horns



Marcus is glad he is not in Montana this time of year



Whitaker...what else can I say



I love Bea...even if she is "on the fence" about me

Oh Scribbles, you have food all over your face!



Carey is ready for his close-up

 

Wonderful Whitaker

Speaking of Heidi, she used to have a very unusual trait that I thought was specific to her...but I'll get to that in a minute.

A couple weeks ago, I had the opportunity to spend some quality time with an old friend.  In fact, he was my "O.C." (Original Calf) buddy: Whitaker.  He was hanging out in the Cattle Barn (Appropriate) and I decided to see if he enjoyed being brushed.  It turned out that he enjoyed it a lot more than I would have expected and proceeded to follow me around anytime I stopped brushing him and started to move away.  I found this to be yet another great example of how animals experience pleasure just like we do.  There was no other reason for him to want the brushing to continue.

 

 

I imagine that the brush bristles probably feel a little bit like a cow's tongue and that he enjoyed this like he would being groomed by another cow friend.

 

As this grooming continued, I made a discovery.

 

 

Back to Heidi - Heidi had a spot at the base of her tail that when scratched would cause her tongue to stick out.  I always imagined that she had some rogue tendon connecting those two spots and that this was somewhat unique.  Well, it turned out that Whitaker has a spot just like this, only it is on his back.  It is on his side, just below his spine and approximately even with his last rib.  At first I thought it to be a fluke, but it turns out to be amazingly repeatable.  Sooo, without further ado, here is my cute Whitaker video of the day:

 



Frosty Reception

Today while we were driving in town, I saw something that really amused me - so much so that we went back so that I could get a picture. 

Maybe I have a latent snowman, or should that be "snow-person" fetish, but it really seemed like that was a more seductive pose than I normally see them in.  It certainly isn't explicit, but I have to imagine that if I assumed that pose on my desk at work, it may make some people uncomfortable... and that would be with me wearing pants (Notably absent in the picture)! 

Greater Love...

Greater love for a dog hath no man than this, to allow him to continue to share his house after he did this (Saint Brian, 12:15)

My "Luckdragon" Melvin

Since moving to the country, the tattoo bug has come calling more often than it did when I was in "corporate America".  After getting my "Vegan themed" sugar skull...

 



I decided that it was time to get an animal specific tattoo.  After a lot of thought, I decided that Melvin Goat had the perfect mix of panache and uniqueness that I was looking for.  While I trust my artist's abilities (Chris Chrome at Heart and Soul Tattoo in Yuba City), I have seen way too many portrait tattoos that struggle to capture the elements that define the subject so I wanted to steer clear of that since a non-perfect Melvin would be worse than no Melvin at all. 

For those who have never seen Melvin, he has a very distinctive strut.  His whole body wiggles as he moves and this combined with his face gave me the idea of having a "Melvin Dragon".  This was not without risk because of the fact that Melvin is a very hairy Angora goat.  I was keenly aware that this could turn out looking like a character from "The Neverending Story" - the Luckdragon.  The thought of having to explain that I was not a fan-boy for this movie for the rest of my life was not appealing.

As it turns out, when I introduced the concept and sent in the source pictures, my artist had the same worries. 

As it turns out, I think he did a great job pulling it off and five and a half hours later, I am as lucky to have the tattoo I wanted as I am lucky to have Melvin as my friend.

Lessons from Harold

Harold is our newest member of the family.  He was found at my work and was in need of a home at the same time that fate left us with a vacancy.  He helped us all (Including Henry our other fuzzy buddy) through a rough patch.

If I am honest, I have recently been worried about whether or not Harold is "all there".  He is an adorable and loving dog, but he often has a vacant expression that leaves you wondering what he is thinking, or if he thinks at all.  He struggles with some of the things that I would expect that a dog his age shouldn't have any difficulties with like avoiding "accidents".  Every time he is left at home, regardless of the duration, we are almost sure to find a wet spot in the same general area of the carpet.  It has become somewhat of a running joke as a means of maintaining our sanity about the situation.   He is freaked out by noises no matter how may times he hears them.  He will chew his racquetball for hours on end and get excited when it pops out of his mouth mid chew - even for the hundredth time.

Tonight as I fret over the uncertainties of life I am able to lean a lesson even from Harold, particularly a dubious source.  His doggie IQ could certainly be debated, but what is unquestionable is that he is happy.  This leads me to believe that maybe, just maybe, he thinks just the right amount.

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Just imagine the look on your steer's face when he finds this fine American Made (By cheap imported labor from cheap imported parts, with all proceeds being held in off-shore accounts) product waiting for him in his stall!  Picture the look on your heifer's face when she awakes to see this and her matching Moochie bag (Patent pending - Moochie bags are in no way affiliated with the gaudy "compensation pouches" favored by the soulless).

You will feel a pride that you have never felt before as the chorus of, "Living on a Prayer" blasts from the internal speaker at random intervals. Lighters will spontaneously ignite and be held high in the air and air guitar solos will be compulsory as your rockstar bovine enters the pasture. 

By now, you are surely salivating and licking your monitor, dying for me to let you know the details of how you can get your very own Elliot Steer Signature Cowdana.  What would you be willing to pay for such a fine garment?  Other inferior products sell for hundreds, nay thousands of dollars, but the Cowdana is being offered at a low introductory price of only $9.99.

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Photo by Kerrie Wooten

All kidding aside, this picture is an example of the types of candid goofiness that we can sometimes run across during a day's work at the Farm.  In this case, I was going down to feed Elliot and notices that he looked a little different.  I surmise that he got his "big boy" collar caught on the hay ring feeder and managed to pull it up over his forehead where it remained.  The fact that he looked so casual and cool about it, made it hilarious and Kerrie was nice enough to bring a camera so that we could capture this funny moment to share here.

"Gotten Good at Goodbye"





On June 9th, 2013 our beloved Heidi passed away.  It was a day that I had been dreading for a long time.  Each new birthday seemed like a reminder of how finite life is and an omen.  She was our baby for over fifteen years and it was impossible for me to remember what my life felt like without her familiar face and behaviors. 

 

 

 

 

 

It was early Sunday morning when Lori came into the bedroom and said that something was wrong.  I could tell from her face that this was something serious.  When I saw Heidi in the laundry room, she seemed disoriented and unable to stand up.  I picked her up and brought her back to our bed, honestly believing that she had probably minutes left.  Her breathing was faint and shallow and she didn't seem to recognize what was going on around her.  Lori and I lay on either side of her waiting for what felt like the inevitable.  I tried to reassure us both that this was the best possible way for it to happen. 

I counted breaths and intervals and looked into her eyes looking for a sign.  For the first ten minutes, it seemed like I was right about her condition, but as it approached the thirty minute point it seemed like she was stable enough to make it to the vet.  Neither of us had any misconceptions at that point, but we also didn't want her to be suffering.  Her lack of awareness could have been due to some unperceived pain or discomfort that she was trying to hide from us.

The rest of the morning is somewhat of a blur.  I don't remember who drove to the vet.  I do recall watching the light wane from her eyes after the decision was made to let her go.  I know that I tried to look stronger than I felt since Lori was there and I needed to.  After signing the requisite paperwork, we were on our way home to our new world.  And I waited for the long dreaded dark crush to hit.

As I type these words, I am still waiting for it to hit me.  I certainly miss her; I still expect to see her in the hall when I come home.  I feel sad when I see the spot that she occupied for so long in the corner of the room, where the carpet is permanently worn down from her slumbers.  When we got home from the vet, I had rushed to the side of the bed to see if the zip-lock bag of hair that I had collected during our last brushing session was still there.  And I still see elements of her in the world around me as I wait.

There is a George Strait song called, "Baby's Gotten Good at Goodbye".  Pondering these lyrics, I fear that there is an answer in them.  As much as I love my job, there is a stark reality that I have lost a lot of friends here, more than I could probably count.  For the last year or so, each one felt like a dress rehearsal for the day when it would be Heidi's time.  It made each incident all the more depressing.

As I continue to wait for the pain that I have so long dreaded, I worry that I have effectively inoculated myself against being able to feel something so poignant ever again.  I can only imagine that my mind has begun to process things differently.  I don't think that it is akin to a callous, as much as it is a need to keep moving on, trying to stay ahead of the hurt.

In so many ways, this would be a welcome evolution since there is only so much pain that any of us can feel before a sense of hopelessness comes upon us like a muddy bog that turns every moment into a slog.  The problem is that I want my pain.  I want the hot tears, the inability to feel or think of anything else, at least for a while.  I want the debilitation that I have felt so many times before and which seems like a proper tribute to love lost.  Until I can feel that, I will continue to wait for a closure that may not ever come.  I think I may have "gotten too good at goodbye"...