It's funny how a farm just kind of happens, if you have a blithe and open soul and a tendency to say yes. We see our farm as an organic farm, not in the modern sense, but in that it grows spontaneously and naturally, free of our interventions. The universe seems to hear my thoughts, and animals just arrive. Sometimes they aren't with us for long, but we're adding to our bank of knowledge with each arrival and departure.
When we first moved here, the previous owners left us their small flock of Indian Runner ducks. We played farmer for awhile, enjoying the novelty of seeing our ducks running across the lawn to the pond.
It stood to reason that we should have a farm dog. I was in the deep hormonal throes of my pregnancy with Margot, and Jude and Violet were three and one respectively. I was also working full times. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, doesn't it? It was. The dog was blameless. I didn't have the time to work with him as I should have and made the very common mistake of taking on a task for which I had little experience AND for which I did no research. I followed my heart, which in most cases only results in pain for me, but in this case, affected the pup as well.
By the time Margot was born with a heart defect, the pup had grown into a dog, a very unruly dog (again, I take full responsibility, with forgiveness for my loving, open-hearted self). We put a detailed ad in the paper, and a nice bachelor who lived on a horse farm was happy to take our very active dog. We bid farewell to Oscar and wished him a better life than we could give him at that time.
Since then, we've inherited or acquired a flock of hens (see my very first blog post!), various ducks and roosters, a couple of ponies, chicks to raise as layers or as meat, and this Spring, our first piglets.
When people ask me how we do it, I reflect on the task of raising four children. If, as a single woman, I was landed with four children all at once, I would not have been able to easily adjust. Because my children arrived one at a time, it was a gradual adjustment to the full busyness we experience every day.
Similarly, our homestead has grown slowly over the years, and we adjust to the various levels of work and expertise involved with animal husbandry gradually. We ask lots of questions, call on those more experienced than us, try home remedies, and trust our guts. We involved our children with shoveling manure, feeding the critters, collecting eggs, and with the eventual demise of our meat birds.
A few weeks ago a wee Canada Goose gosling crossed my path. It was all alone, with no parents in sight, and I know its sibling had been killed by my friend's dog earlier in the day. I nestled it in my favourite yellow sweater, and brought it home. The next day my sister delivered it to the Wild Bird Care Centre, and the most recent report is that it has been adopted by goose parents!
As my child-bearing years drew to a close, I still felt that biennial longing that signaled that it was "time" for another baby. For the past year I've been hounding, hinting, and cajoling my husband into the idea that it might be time for us to get a puppy. Our life is drastically different now than it was six years ago. We have three children who are older now, and a toddler who follows the pack.
I kept my eye on Kijiji but was not attracted to the many strange mixes of dogs that pass as glamour breeds (Rottlabradoodle, anyone?) and cost more than my monthly mortgage. I trusted that the "right" pup would appear when it was, well, right.
Last week a friend on Facebook posted an ad for pups, from just down the road from us. The breed was right, the price was right, and when I called to discover that they were on the farm of some local food-producers I've met at our Farmer's Market, I knew we'd found our pup. I met our pup's parents, and know the people who care for them to be conscientious, respectful, kind people. He's a Great Pyrenees/Retriever/Collie/Lab mix, and I'm about as excited as an expectant mother. I'm giddily reading every dog-training book I can get my hands on, determined to do things right this time.
I am finding the recurrent theme that dogs are happiest when they're allowed to follow the behaviours for which they were bred. Seeing as how our pup comes from guarding/herding stock, I wondered if he would be content with circling the kids and the ponies. I worried about what might happen in September when his herd (the humans) go back to work/school.
A few days later, I got an email from my midwife. It was what she referred to as a "Hail Mary" request. To make a long story short, she wanted to know if we'd take four of her British Milk Sheep to save them from an untimely end. After a quick text to my husband, I was able to answer, "Of course!"
Our latest flock arrived yesterday in the midst of Violet's 8th birthday, and right away my husband went out to buy a new drill to ensure that our fencing is in good order. We feel that we spend as much time worrying about fencing and broken barn doors as we do about the well-being of our many critters. The old maxim about good fences and happy neighbours is a maxim for a reason.
This little farm is almost full to capacity now. The lawnmower is on the fritz, so the moveable pen that came with the sheep will come in handy. Our ewes adapted quickly to their new home, and endured the curiosity of their new equine herd-mates. The man who delivered them has invited us to learn to shear in the next few weeks and has promised the fleeces to ME (insert giddy squeals of delight).
I'm a shepherdess! And in a few weeks we'll have a little sheep dog to keep us company and keep our herd safe and together. I have broken fingernails and I need new shoes. The work never ends and our farm is looking less like the picture postcard it did when we bought it and more like a place where people and animals live and work.
I couldn't be happier. I'm living my dream.