Of Dogs, Llamas, and Electric Fences

Llamas make great guard animals, protecting our sheep against coyotes. They 'adopt' the flock as their own, and because they despise canines, will scare off any coyotes or stray dogs tempted to stop by for a visit. So when our vigilante llama Zipper (Exhibit A)

EXHIBIT A:



first laid eyes on our new puppy last week (Exhibit B)

EXHIBIT B:


he let out a hair-raising cry of alarm. It's very hard to describe this sound. It's both a constant hooting of a deep-throated owl, and the sound your car makes when the battery's almost dead and the engine barely turns over. It's an animal sound with a harsh metallic edge to it. Very weird.

I was terrified the puppy would be attracted by this call and run to investigate. Luckily, she didn't, but if she had, she would have encountered the electric fence. Every other wire is hot, and the electricity pulses on and off, so my hope is that the first time she touches the fence, she touches the hot wire while the electricity is on.

I know that sounds sadistic, but it's best if a farm dog learns right away not to touch the fence (just as young boys growing up on farms learn not to pee on the fence.) It won't kill or harm the puppy, but she will turn tail and run screaming for the house. I've seen it before when our border collie Robin (Exhibit C)

EXHIBIT C:


was a puppy.

Over the years Robin developed a healthy respect for the fence, and when jumping over the lower ones, always made sure he cleared them by at least a foot. It was an impressive sight.

One winter day Robin accompanied me on chores (This was before Zipper decided to start playing Stomp the Border Collie.) I asked Robin to jump the 3-foot electric fence he'd jumped dozens of times before. Unfortunately the ice or snow affected his launch, and as he headed over the fence, it became clear he wasn't going to make it all the way over. I knew it. He knew it.

That's why he started screaming in mid-air, knowing his tender belly (or his even more tender private boy parts) were about to land on a pulsing 4,000 volt fence. His front feet landed on the ground, and sure enough, his hips hung up on the top wire of the electric fence. The poor guy was really screaming now.

I just stood there, waiting.

I knew something he didn't know. The electricity wasn't actually on.

In a few seconds he figured it out and stopped screaming. He gave a few kicks to get off the wire, then walked over to a pile of snow and peed in a manly way.

We haven't spoken of the incident since.

He's a real trooper. Here he is wishing the little thing playing with his tail would just go away.


Robin is about to turn twelve. He no longer likes to jump high. He doesn't hear very well. But he still loves to run, and he sits on the stairs waiting for his hug every day. I think he's enjoying his retirement. He's certainly earned it.

A Farmer's Hobbies

I'm not sure farmers have hobbies. My Uncle Kenny up in North Dakota pretty much works all the time. When he needs a break from feeding cattle, he drives a tractor for 8 hours. When he needs a break from driving tractor, he heads for the machine shed and fixes something. If my uncle has a hobby, something he enjoys doing when not working, it's sleeping.

We have some farming friends whose 'hobby' is to spend a week on the beach in Mexico every January. They don't do exotic things like para-sailing or snorkeling, but just lay on the beach, eyes closed, grateful they are not moving.

Melissa and I used to go camping, and had all the latest gear. But once we started farming and spent so much time outside, camping lost its appeal. Almost all outdoor activities did. Even now, when there's fresh snow and our snowshoes are calling our names from the shed, we look at each other and shrug. "Go outside again? We were just out there doing chores."

Melissa does have a hobby of sorts. She and her brother Mark go grouse hunting every fall. Basically this amounts to walking for miles and miles through beautiful woods, perhaps seeing four grouse, and missing all four. When one of them does manage to get off a shot and hit something, the other must act as the hunting dog, crashing through the brush looking for the downed bird. It's hard work, and both Melissa and Mark have this standard refrain: "We need a hunting dog!"

Melissa's birthday is coming up (it's a big one, and it's not 40!) and I was desperately trying to come up with a really great present since she gave me something small and sparkly for my 50th last year.

Then it came to me: a hunting dog.

I casually mentioned this, and within hours she had the breed picked out, and had contacted six breeders. Lordy, what had I done?

Long story short, meet Molly. She's a wirehaired pointing griffon, and we picked her up when she was seven weeks old. She's now eight weeks old.





Yes, she's just as adorable as she looks. She's also feisty, sweet, easily entertained, and has tiny sharp teeth.

The last thing we need out here on this farm is another animal, but it's weird. Once you get used to taking care of so many animals, one more doesn't seem that big of a deal. Of course this one still pees in the house, but she's getting the hang of it.

The puppy has totally interrupted my writing time, but unlike when we started the farm and it took me years to figure out the farm had affected my ability to write, this time I know! New schedule out here on Rising Moon Farm: I help with the puppy in the morning (feed, take outside, play, etc), then in the afternoon I head for the nearest coffeehouse, buy myself a warm drink, and write. It's amazing how much I can get done without a puppy chewing on my ankle.