Ruined shoes.... okay well, they could be washed, but for the purpose of everyday go to the store or visiting friends use.. they are ruined.
I sunk up to my ankles in farm goo while involved in serious farm silliness. It's a form of learning process. While things inside of me are ruminating into new thoughts and values, I'm physically learning what will work on a farm and what doesn't, in a less than clean way.
My first bout with silliness happened last fall and it has been a regular
occurrence ever since. I'm getting the gist of it now. It's really all about food. Plain and simple. Food has the power to control farm silliness like nothing else. Here are some examples:
Last fall I took in three
wethers and a doe so I could experience what having goats would be like before investing in them. We worked to get all the elements in place that were needed. We fenced a small area for their outside play and we laid out wood chips and straw for their comfort. We made our goat barn the goat barns of all goat barns.. if not a five star goat barn it was at least a four star. We were ready with the food, too. We had extra hay on hand, a bit of goat chow and a big tub of water. I'd read all the best books on goat care. I'd talked to friends about goats endlessly. All that was missing was the experience these goats were going to give me. And they did not fail in their task.
They provided ample opportunity to learn many things: goat burps are repugnant; never put the feeder close to the door no matter how handy it may seem; four goat heads crowding into an enclosed feeder means one of them is at serious risk of strangulation'; you can never have enough wood chips and straw on stand-by - goat berries pile up fast; and despite whatever you've heard, goats do not eat everything. They are picky, picky eaters. There is no 6 second rule when something falls on the barn floor - to a goat it is immediately unacceptable. Looking at the barn floor, I couldn't blame them... but oh the waste of sloppy eaters. And goats are sloppy eaters.
Of course, I read about how tricky, smart, and creative goats can be. I thought I was prepared for their antics. When we fenced their pen we layered fencing generously over each other at the seams and wired it like it was stitched together. We believed there was no escape. And there wasn't - via the fencing.
One afternoon my dear husband came running in from the barn with the dire words "I need help NOW.. the goats are loose." The rush of adrenaline I felt was much like a mother's when she hears that certain cry from her child.
I raced out to the barn hearing that cry the minute I left the house. Whatever was going on with the goats in the barn, they were not happy. Opening the door carefully, I braced for a rush of animals, instead their cries were over my head. Literally. I looked up at the panicked faces of three goats looking down. They were in the barn loft.
Somehow they'd escaped their pen. Three of them had climbed the stairs to the loft and couldn't get back down. The fourth goat had stayed below and was consuming as much alfalfa (a favorite) as he could. This goat seemed like a minor problem until Joe turned him towards me and his belly looked as if there was a canoe lodged in there sideways.
We got him back in the pen and began the painful process of getting the goats down from the loft. It was easy to understand why old time barns had ladders instead of stairs. Animals couldn't climb ladders.
The easy up/hard down rule was right when it came to these goats. They weren't about to come down without a fight. Joe and I had to push and shove each one together all the way down and back to their pen.
What had inspired their escape? Food. Alfalfa to be precise, but only one of them had the wherewithal to actually eat the food. Perhaps a grass-is-greener-in-the-loft lure got the others upstairs, saving them from looking like small water craft, but feeling cheated.
Later in the year, we accepted the gift of two alpacas from a friend and again carefully fenced an area where they would eventually live. Until we got our spring cattle, however, it seemed fine to let them roam the smaller cattle pasture and take advantage of all the forage. Everything seemed fine until we the moment we HAD TO move them unexpectedly into their new field. The HAD TO moment came when it was cold, raining and dark. Of course.
We knew NOTHING about moving alpacas. Think about it, city girls aren't often called upon to walk in cloudy darkness through a rainy night herding alpacas in a lumpy pasture. My son was helping but he's as much a city boy as I am a city girl.
At first the alpacas herded peacefully, but the minute they thought their escape options were down to a confined space they panicked and darted between us back to the expanse of the pasture. Over and over we herded them that night. Over and over they darted. We were soaked to the skin. Our shoes were wet, muddy, cold and ruined. We'd pulled the dark hoods of our sweatshirts over our heads and kept at it.
In desperation I decided to try the lure of food. I certainly wanted some, and a hot drink, too.
I grabbed an armful of alfalfa from the barn (a foragers favorite) and went into the new pen. With the gate open I stood there calling the alpacas waving alfalfa. No favorable response. Feeling the full misery of wet cold and dark hopelessness, I carried the now wet alfalfa, to the garage near the pasture and turned on the outside lights. I pushed back my dripping hood and looked for any sign of the alpacas in the field. Instantly the alpacas came running. Right towards the light and me, their expressions and behavior telling the tale.
Strange dark things had been chasing them in the pasture and they were afraid. In the pool of light by the garage they could see me and since I was a familiar figure bearing the inevitable food, they came running. I went through the fence, cooing and luring them with the alfalfa. They followed me right into the new pen where I dumped the food and moved away so they could eat. Food is a big motivator.
Recently we've had six steers in our back pasture. The summer is turning out to be brutally dry and the fields are pathetic. Except of course, on the other side of the fence.
True to form some of the steers, lured by waving green grass, found a way out of our field and into our neighbor's. His field isn't fenced which means that there were miles of open fields and forest on their side of the fence and only three dumbfounded farmers on our side of the fence trying to figure out how to get them back inside.
They were celebrating with kicking heels and mocking moos at the four steers that had not followed them into their field of dreams. We were near panic putting together plans to be sure those other four steers didn't do just that.
A check of the fence line showed no obvious escape route so there was no obvious re-entry route. Joe cut the barbed wire fence open and curled it back to make a gaping hole. Again we tried the 'walk them back' approach where you stay behind the cow within his vision and walk towards him. This usually makes him move forward, sometimes where you want him to go, sometimes not. In this case it not. After several failed attempts that sent the steers kicking their heels further away, we needed a new plan.
The new plan was, of course, in reality an old plan. Food.
This time a wheel barrel full. These, after all, were bigger foragers. It was again alfalfa. The nectar of the gods for steers. At first we took handfuls and tried to get them to come like Hansel and Gretal following the dropped plops of goodness back home. It didn't work. What we did notice however was that they always retreated when fearful back to the corner of the field where the other steers, on our side of the fence, stood watching with avid bovine curiosity. Another plan began to form. Herd pressure. Sort of like peer pressure only for .... well, herds.
Insanely or bravely, we dumped the load of alfalfa on our side of the fence about ten feet in from the gaping hole Joe had cut. Then we called the crew to lunch. When the first, and smartest steer responded with a fast jog towards the alfalfa the rest came. Including our boys on the wrong side of the fence. It was successful and scary at the same time. They sounded like a stampede (this is the insane part) as they ran towards us. But the escaped steers were anxious not to miss their lunch break and darted back into the field through the provided hole. All we had to do was get out of the way and fix the fence behind them when they re-joined the herd.
Food and herd power did the job.
Twice since a renegade steer has managed to get out and wander the neighborhood, but every time the collective herd, still safe in the pasture and huddled around an enticing pile of food, inspired the renegade steer to get back into the pasture. It didn't matter how far he wandered around the neighbor's houses or if he crossed the street for a stroll through the Christmas trees, he came right back because of the crowd of steers eating together as a herd.
When you think about it we aren't a whole lot different. Really.
How many times when you're away from home have you picked a restaurant based on how many cars were parked outside? That's right. The herd was eating and you wanted in.
If only we'd paid attention in the first place to our behavior we would've figured out the goats, alpacas, and steers easier. Instead, we do as is done in the city. We over-think it and end up with ruined sneakers, dripping
hoodies and feet stumbling around in dark pastures.
