Finding Green

We had a big job to do this past weekend which ended up taking the better part of three days. The sheep were in constant jailbreak mode and something had to be done. From the photo above, I can hardly blame them. The supplemental hay just wasn't doing it for them. It's spring, and they demand green grass. The Farmer hitched up his trailer and started to attempt to move all 200 sheep complete with many little lambs to a neighbor's field that is large and full of plenty of grass for the sheep to eat.

His first attempt, with Nessie's help was quite successful - the sheep didn't realize what was happening and about 25 hopped on the trailer. He was hoping the rest would continue partcipating in the project but they were on to him. The next batch numbered about ten and he became frustrated. I could tell he needed help.

Off Phoebe and I went to see if we could help. Phoebe is our Border Collie who really doesn't want to be a sheep dog. She decided long ago that her calling was as my companion and chicken herder - she has never wanted much to do with sheep. We got her when Julia was almost a year old and the breeder chose her for us because she wanted a pup that would be good with a small child. Things were busy back then and we had Paisley, our first Border Collie who was full of natural talent and lived to herd sheep. With dogs, there is always a pecking order and Phoebe naturally became subservient to Paisley. Our life was quite crazy back then, crazier than now and The Farmer never got to properly training Phoebe - it was always just easier to take Paisley out and get the job done lickety-split.

After Paisley died, we knew we had to find a new dog that would really help with the sheep. We got Ness hoping that she would have talent - but she was just a pup. Miraculously, with Paisley gone, Phoebe started taking interest in the sheep and the sheep started to notice her. They started moving for her and she started to enjoy it a bit. It was clear that she was much happier to work when I was around - she feels more confident, I think.

Nessie is now almost three years old. She's got more power and enthusiasm for working sheep than Phoebe but together they have become a little team. When they go to a field together, the sheep definitely begin to move. Their working style is different - Nessie works in closer with Phoebe staying back. They both will lay down on command and things get done quickly. They seem to be more efficient when they are both working together. They're very far from being much of a talented team (like the dogs of Dave Kennard - read about his fabulous dog Mist here) but they sure are helping us out moving lots of sheep around.

Several trips with a trailer full of sheep were needed to get the flock onto their new pasture. As you can see, there wasn't much to eat on the old pasture. Here the sheep are coming over the rise with the dogs behind them.


Each load was between fifteen to twenty-five sheep. When they got to the new pasture, they hopped on out and start eating, as if nothing happened.

Over the course of three days, we had almost all of them moved. This is always tricky because nursing lambs get separated from their mamas no matter how hard you try. By Sunday, there was about fifty sheep left to go. The ones that were left were the most stubborn and wild including The Jumper. ("The Jumper" can jump any fence, no matter how high and she is constantly where she shouldn't be. She makes good lambs so we keep her around and try to put up with her quirkiness.) We knew it would be a challenge. The Farmer set up the fences to form a funnel so that we could crowd them all closer to the trailer. Lucky for us, David and Debbie, Mark's brother and sister-in-law, were around and they helped the three of us and the two dogs capture the last hold-outs. We must have been a funny site - 4 adults, 2 dogs and a child circling the band of rogue, wet and bedraggled sheep.

They're all much happier now - eating lots of fresh green grass.

Phoebe and Ness were definitely the stars of the weekend. It would be impossible to move this many sheep without a good dog or two around.

We've had a lot of dogs in our lives, between The Farmer and I, including four Border Collies. Every one is completely different with their own personality traits and habits. We have loved them all for their quirkiness and constant devotion. If you are new to my blog and you love dogs, you may enjoy an essay about Paisley here.

Country Wisdom and Resourcefulness

Several years ago, I bought a Persian runner at a little antique market. The woman I purchased it from gave me advice on cleaning the runner. She said to take it outside after a snowstorm and lay it in the snow with the pile side down. Leave it out there for a couple of days and then bring it back in. I secretly doubted her advice but put it into my memory bank. Back then, I couldn’t have thought about dragging rugs outdoors in the midst of winter – I was too busy caring for an infant and it was all I could do to take a shower.

I have picked up several small area rugs at flea markets over the years and every winter, I now have it together enough to heed her rug care advice. I must say I was skeptical at first but now I do believe. For some strange reason, lots of dirt will drop out of the rug without any shaking leaving the pile on the rug puffier and cleanish looking. When I lift the rug, there's always a brown rectangle left in the snow that disappears with the next snowstorm or when the snow melts. Silly thing to write about on a blog but this little chore always makes me so happy to see something clean around here with barely a lift of the finger.


This past weekend, I hauled out some of the rugs and let nature work its magic. I did get a kick out of the dogs though. They just took the opportunity to plop themselves down onto the rugs on top of the snow and enjoyed a little snooze. Boy, are they resourceful. Truth be told, the cats were out there too - that picture didn't turn out as good.

And if you haven't seen this bit of winter wonder yet, pop on over to Siri's blog Knitting Iris. She has some beautiful photos of hoar frost. I can't remember seeing anything so beautiful in a while. The wonders of nature and the blogiverse.

Our cats have been enjoying their own little kitty-igloo this winter. I left a garden cart filled with greens by the back door and it has been covered with snow for a couple months. They have turned it into their own little cat haven. So cute. There's always some little feline face popping out the little igloo door when I open the door to the house. They rest there escaping the snow until they can pop on in to the house and get warm again.


Addendum 3/7/08: My friend Bob sent me this link to Mother Earth News which explains why the snowy rug cleaning thing works. That explains it - thank goodness.

Situation out of hand

I’m at that point in the summer where the animal situation feels slightly out of hand. It could be that I just finished weeding my vegetable/cutting garden and it looks better than it has in a long time. There are some small zucchini and summer squash we should be able to eat this week and there are some cherry tomatoes almost ripe enough to pluck.

But it also could be that this


is happening at least 60 times a day in my cosy kitchen. The dogs cannot rest - their whole reason to live is to herd something, no matter where it is. The Farmer says it reminds him of the scene in the James Herriott t.v. series with Mrs. Bond (“I work for cats.”) and her husband who sits quietly reading his newpaper as the zillions of cats climb over the furniture, knocking things down, dishes flying. But we have guinea fowl flying hither and yon.


I would put them outside with the large birds but I fear they can still escape the wire enclosure and I will never get them back. Some people have parrots.....


Then there was the moment last night as I was quietly reading the stack of NY Times that has been piling up. With a lovely glass of wine, I was reading a book review/food article on a fabulous book I own called “Meat” by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in the July 8th Magazine section. As the sun was setting, I looked up and there were the three pigs tunneling through that perfectly weeded garden.

This morning I captured two of them but the ring leader is still with the sheep.

It’s always something here at our very own Funny Farm.

Spring is arriving slowly

The grass is finally growing. We're at least two weeks behind the normal growth cycle. We have yet to have any really hot days. The farmer has been waiting so he can start moving around the sheep - splitting them up into different grazing groups and utilizing the feed in different pastures. I love this photo of the grass agains the giant trees and the blue sky. Isn't it amazing how a seed can grow and become such different things?



One group of about sixty sheep, mostly ewes, arrived at our house this past weekend from their winter quarters. It's so nice to have large animals around again. Phoebe and Ness, our Border Collies, are especially happy to have official work to do all day long. It's amazing how they can just fly over an electrified fence so quickly. What agility.


The sheep are as fascinated as I am. "Uh oh! Here she comes again to boss us around."

Saturday Night at Our Sheep Farm

Paisley - In Memorium

It has been one year since our first Border Collie Paisley died. Paisley was fourteen and a half; her loss was not a surprise. For the last year of her life, she had been slowing down. Then one evening exactly one year ago, she didn’t seem right. She was lying on her spot on her favorite Persian rug; her breathing was difficult. I took Julia to the store for dinner fixings. When I came back, Mark was sitting on the front stoop and Paisley was next to him. He was patting her. He said she had come to see him. I didn’t know how she could have gotten there. But he was her boss – he and the sheep were her reason to live. She wanted to be near him.

We started with four Romney sheep in 1979 – Betsy, Putney, Frieda and Alfie. Then we got the ram Zeno. Every year we had more. We went to Scotland a few times and watched the farmers on their hills with their dogs by their sides. The black and white dogs gracefully rounded up the sheep and brought them to the farmer. It was all too romantic and beautiful – a farmer, his sheep, and his dog.

Soon we had fifty sheep. We were living in eastern Massachusetts and our sheep were living on Mark’s family farm in western Massachusetts. Mark organized the sheep so he could leave them fenced and fed for a couple days until he could make it back out west to tend to them. As our sheep numbers increased, it became clear that a dog would be helpful. Although Mark and I made a humorous site -- running around, waving our arms, and trying to corral fifty sheep, we truly were ineffective. Mark decided it was time for a dog. I let him decide. Getting a Border Collie is a huge time committent; it had to be his decision (even though I was dying for a new dog). So we found her. She was beautiful – a fluffy, speckled Border Collie with spunk. Her spots reminded me of paisleys, a favorite motif from textiles. So we named her Paisley.

It soon became clear that Paisley had talent. At our old place in eastern Mass, we had chickens. Paisley never left the side of the fence, she just stared at them and chased along the side of the fence. Most dog trainers say this will ruin a dog. Lucky for us, it didn’t ruin Paisley. When we would take her to the sheep, she became possessed – as only a Border Collie can. She would crouch down and slowly walk up. She would dive. She didn’t know why or what she was doing, she just knew she had to.

Mark took a few lessons so he could try to understand the mind of a Border Collie. He read a lot of books and watched a lot of Border Collie videos. Slowly he figured out what she wanted for commands. They became a team. They were inseparable. I loved her too, but he “was it” for her.

For thirteen years, Paisley and Mark moved sheep around. From field to field, the sheep clipped the grass. After the field was finished, he and she would move them again. I loved watching – I clearly was not part of it. Mark would send her out to find the sheep. She liked to run wide – very wide. She would disappear. Then suddenly, I would hear it – hundreds of little hooves barreling towards Mark with the dog in hot pursuit. Every time I watched, it made me smile and I was amazed. In the sheep would go, just where Mark and Paisley wanted them.

After fifteen years in Eastern Massachusetts, we found a place of our own five miles from the farm where the sheep lived. We moved here with our not yet year old daughter, Julia. By then, we had another Border Collie Phoebe. (Unfortunately, sweet as she is, Phoebe isn’t interested in sheep! Chickens are her thing – I’m her boss.)

One hot late summer day, Mark told me he was going to bring the sheep up from the other farm to our new place to begin grazing our overgrown pastures. I figured he would spend the day with the dog, loading sheep into the rickety trailer and hauling them up to our new farm. He had different plans. He, the eighty sheep, and Paisley were going to walk. Paisley was about ten years old and beginning to slow down. The road was busy one, but it was a weekend. People could wait – after all, this is the country. Part of the way was unpaved - it wouldn’t be too hard on the sheep’s feet. Off they went. I waited at home with a one year old listening. It took them four hours. They all made it – Mark, the sheep, none of whom had never walked that far in a day, with Paisley behind them. It was such a great day – such a lovely feeling of success with a dog and a bunch of unruly sheep. Neither of us will ever forget it.

Nor will we ever forget Paisley. She died the next morning in her favorite spot. It was her time. She had a good life. She was never sick a day. She lived and worked hard. When we found her, we didn’t know what to do. We cried. We drank some coffee. We had to decide where to bury her. Mark said she needed to be in a field near her sheep. She loved her fields and her sheep. Later that afternoon, we dug a hole with the bucket of the tractor in my perennial garden overlooking her fields and buried her. I planted a white tree peony above her. The tree peony is blooming today. Paisley had a good life.