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Time, friends, for the fall animal update. First, as to hens, whose production dropped off last month to one egg a day. That meant, in feed bills, about 40 cents an egg. Not good. I followed the late Arrie Hecox’s advice, took the ax to the henhouse and brandished it at them, but they were indifferent. So they went for a ride, the lot of them, to K&K Poultry in Edmeston. They’ve since returned to rest quietly, drumsticks crossed, in the garage freezer. We’ll start with chicks again in the spring. The rowdy lambs also went off to "summer camp." This year Anne and I had wonderful help in loading them. Marty Bernardo, who raises vegetables down on Bissell Road (you’ve bought from him at the Farmers’ Market) and who also produces great Granola, came over to our place to help. In fact, Marty had ordered two of the four lambs for his brother’s family, and so it seemed apt to have him on hand_though he said at once that he had no experience as a lamb wrangler. "Hey," said Marty, "I’m a New Jersey guy! We don’t do cowboy stuff down there." Well, never mind his disclaimer. He did a great job. Among the three of us, we got the four lambs up the ramp, into the pickup, and on their way to Don’s Meat Products in Laurens. The results must have been great since this past Saturday at the Farmer’s Market, Marty ran up and gave me a hug that was very New Jersey, very Italian. His eyes were almost brimming. "The chops!" he said fervently, "The chops!" Then he kissed Anne on the cheek. I can’t imagine how effusive he’ll be after the family shares the first leg of lamb ... With chickens and boisterous lambs gone, farm operations have quieted down here for the nonce. True, we have Dave the Rent-a-Ram with us for a month, courtesy of Sue Smith of Mt. Vision. We’ve brought Dave in to entertain the three ewes. He’s a tall, squarish sheep with a forthright look in his eyes. I think he’ll earn his keep. These days Owen, who, as I’ve told you is about my age in cat years, is taking almost as many daily medicines as I do. The old boy has hyperthyroidism, not unusual in aging felines, and high blood pressure on top of that. Owen hasn’t slacked off from patrolling outbuildings, woods and fields; but we keep him inside most nights. I can’t imagine he could escape a fox, much less a bobcat. Owen and Blue (the Catahoula spotted leopard dog_or whatever) remain good friends, and Blue continues to gain ground with the sheep. Anne takes him into their pasture on a leash, and he and Dave the ram will now touch noses in cross-species amity. Blue did break away earlier this week and take off after the flock, but he was reined in before any damage was done. His best entertainment these days follows on advice from a dog trainer. "Blue’s a working dog," she said. "You’ll make him very happy if you give him a job to do." And we have. Anne went on line and ordered him a kind of doggie backpack. There’s a harness that fits around his chest and ribcage, and on its back are broad Velcro strips. To these one attaches canvas saddlebags, then tucks a couple of plastic bottles of water in the pouches, and, voila!_the working dog has a job to do. And Blue loves it, trotting along next to us with a wonderfully purposeful look in his eyes, glancing up at us randomly for our approval. Of course we give it, lavishly. The backpack was ordered from a website with an inspired name, "OUTWARD HOUND!" It specializes in equipment for dogs that camp with their owners. Please treat yourself; check it out. Besides the backpacks, you’ll view dog foul-weather gear, dog life preservers, and (of course) pup tents. I was disappointed not to find "doggles," eye protection for canines that like to ride with their heads out the car window. Doggles must be on another web site. Scanning "Outward Hound" got me surfing for other animal specialty sites. Almost at once I found "Felinerina"ö just the place to buy kitchy gifts for Kitty. They’ll sell you designer litter boxes with matching floor mats_and matching privacy screens, too. And of course "Felinerina" markets toys without number, most of them in pink or blue, and all of them fluffy. I can only imagine Owen’s reaction to any of that cloying cuteness. He’d probably go eat a barn mouse to clear his palate. I surfed on, and found "The Ferret Store" and "Hamster Land." I skipped past the ferrets but spent some time with the hamster catalog. Didn’t go through their whole thing, but I’ll bet they have a deluxe exercise wheel for pampered, overfed rodents. (Imagine: a little cart on tracks inside the wheel_the toothy Bluto just squats on it and lets the motor-driven wheel turn around him.) Oh, and if it’s gerbils you’re into, click on "Exotic Hobbyist." That website even supplies a list of trendy gerbil names for unimaginative owners. The site that finally made me turn off the laptop, though, was "Yuckles_Silly Dog and Cat Costumes." I take it that the name means, "costumes to make a joke of your pet." The site had endless photos of unhappy dogs and seething cats tricked out as jesters, reindeer, superheroes, fairy princesses. Good Lord, just what sort of projection is going on here? Somebody needs to get a life. But back to Blue’s backpack. Of course, it’s not a costume; it’s work gear, and, as I said, he loves it. And we love striding along beside him and his water bottle-cargo. Though if the bottles aren’t completely full, the effect is a bit odd: Blue glugs and gurgles as he trots. Jim Atwell lives in and views life from Fly Creek. Learn about his book at JimAtwell.com. |
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