My Life...Through the Eyes of my Animals

Animals have always been a part of my life.  From the usual pets we had as children - dogs, cats, hamsters, a rabbit, and fish - to surprisingly becoming a farmer in my 40's, then living with a menagerie of inside and outside pets, as well a handful of free-range laying hens and close to 5,000 cows just outside my backdoor (not mine, just my neighbors). I am now living a bit more of an ordinary life with a beloved Aussie and 2 cats, but you never know what is to come!

Our family dogs were K-9 police dogs, as my Dad was a San Francisco Police officer.  I was the hit in elementary school for show-and-tell, as Dad came to several classes with his working German Shepherd Dogs, Kelly and Darius. Both were extremely loyal dogs, not just to my Dad, but the whole family.  Mom tells stories of how good Kelly was with me when I was a baby, letting me crawl all over him, pull on his ears and tail, and ride him like a horse. She said he didn't like it much, but he put up with it because I was a baby.  But he never let my older brothers do the same - he knew I was the baby and he treated me accordingly.  Darius, our 2nd dog, shared my twin bed and left little room for me to fit beside him.  It was difficult for us when the police dogs were retired and moved to new homes.  I never understood why our dogs were being taken away and given to someone else, but Dad wasn't able to keep a retired dog in the same house with a working dog.

My brother Marty on the left and Casey on the right.  Kelly doesn't look too sure about who is riding him.

Dad with our 2nd police dog Darius

There was always a cat or two sharing our home, starting with Hansel when I was a baby, then Cleo, Peyton Farquhar, and Poppy, and a stray or two along the way.  My brothers had hamsters that came from Sears & Roebuck and on one occasion my Gramps swapped a new one for one that died unexpectedly without my brothers even knowing it. I am not certain where my rabbit came from, but my Gramps built me a lovely hutch and I showed Sir Rowdy Sir Bun Buns at a 4-H show and won a ribbon.  Come to think of it, everyone won a ribbon. We had goldfish and for some years my Mom kept a large tank of tropical fish.  That was until the Oscar fish ate all the other fish and outgrew the tank.  He eventually flopped out onto the carpet and was re-homed to Mom's friend Mrs. W. who could handle a fish that belonged in a river.

Hansel lived with us when I was a baby

Cleo was with us for a long time during my childhood

Punky and Buddy were from my college years and eventually moved in with my parents
where they lived quite pampered lives.

Sir Rowdy Sir Bun Buns

Much later in life, dogs came into my life and what a wonderful addition they have been.  

First came Gabby, a rescue from the Boston area.  For many years, we were told she was a German Shepherd mix, but DNA test results showed she was a cross of Border Collie, Akita, Chow and Beagle.  What a mix she was!  Gabby lived with me in Massachusetts, Colorado (2 different times), Oregon (3 different times), Montana, and Georgia.  She was a wee bit protective (an understatement, some would say) and nicknamed "Cujo" by many of my friends.  In many ways it was sad, as she was such a loving dog, but she threatened to bite anyone who would come near me, so only a few select people could love on her.  She was well loved at the vet and in the many kennels where she stayed while I traveled for work, but only because I wasn't there to protect.  Gabby lived an amazing 16 years with me and died very peacefully at the age of 17+ in 2012.

Adoption day in 1997

Gabby, just a few days before her passing in 2012

My 2nd dog was an Australian Shepherd named Buddy. He too was a rescue dog, this time from Colorado.  He was about a year old when he came into my life and it was thought that the previous owners may have given him up due to a problem with his left front leg.  Shortly after joining the family, he started limping and eventually required surgery.  It was thought that he had an injury at the growth plate in his left leg, before it had completely fused, causing one of the two bones (the ulna) to grow longer than the other bone (the radius).  After the surgery, he went through over a year of vet appointments and rehabilitation, but was happy throughout.  In the end, the leg still turned out to the left (as can be seen in the photo below), but he never seemed to mind and it never affected his ability to walk or run.  It only affected our bank account!  He was a loving dog and died at the early age of 8 of lymphoma cancer.

Handsome Buddy in Colorado

Buddy with one of his many casts.

Buddy, just prior to his passing, exploring our new farm pasture.

Riley was my 2nd Aussie and came to me about a month after Buddy died.  He was a rescue from Oregon and was 3 years old when he joined me and Gabby on our first farm.  He was living in a home with 4 small children, often unsupervised, who made his life very stressful.  Herding dogs are often not good family dogs.  They need a job to do.  If they do have an "official" job, such as herding or agility, they will often herd the children in the family, nipping or even biting them to keep them in line. Aussies, Border Collies and often the like are found in shelters for this very reason.  After nipping twice, Riley was relinquished to a rescue organization for placement in a home where there were no children.  Lucky me!  Riley was an international traveler, having joined me on my adventures in Ireland and Scotland.  Sadly, in March of 2015, Riley was diagnosed with an enlarged liver that was thought to likely be caused by liver cancer.  Of all the pets I have had, Riley - or Riles, as he was known by his many fans on Instagram - holds a special place in my heart.  He was with me through some of the most difficult years in my life - always smiling - and the reason I was able to get out of bed each and every day.  I still miss him terribly.

Riley on his day of rescue.

Riley and I exploring Scotland in 2013

Riley enjoying the toys sent to him by his Instagram friends just weeks before he died

I thought about waiting to adopt another dog after Riley died, then late one night I was looking on Petfinder...

I had already planned on my next dog being a senior or special needs dog - one who would likely be passed over for adoption.  On Petfinder, I found Sophie, a 6 year old Aussie, in foster care in Wyoming.  Sophie, who had been raised just up the road in Laurel, MT, had been relinquished to a rescue, supposedly because the family was moving.  She is special needs in that her first family allowed her to gain 20+ pounds and while rough-housing with another dog in the family, she tore her CCLs (the Cranial Cruciate Ligament, known as the ACL in people) in both back legs.  Unfortunately, her family did not have the tears repaired nor did they seek veterinarian attention (some tears can be healed with appropriate rest).  The joints in both legs have now fused and she has moderate to severe arthritis that causes difficulty with jumping and lameness when overused.  She did find a 2nd home after being turned into the rescue and went to live with a family in Oregon for 7 months, but their young child startled Sophie when she was sleeping and Sophie nipped her, so the family sent her back to the rescue.  After talking with Sophie's foster "Mom" several times, I drove the 5 hours to a small town outside of Casper, WY, to pick her up.  This will definitely be Sophie's last forever home!

A collage showing Sophie with her foster Mom and foster siblings, in the car on the way home, first night in her new home, and meeting the chickens for the first time

Sophie likes to carry her leash when going for walks.  In this case, it was attached to the Frenchman.

Sophie loves to hike and backpack
in the Beartooth Mountains and has already been to Yellowstone National Park.  

After many years of being cat-less, 2 beautiful kitties joined my household in 2006.  Livvy (Olivia) is a tortoiseshell I discovered in a pet store near Portland.  She was a rescue kitty and was being loaned out to the pet store so more people would see her.  I remember she was walking along all the store shelves with a fuzzy ball in her mouth.  She has grown into quite a large cat with quite a bit of "tortitude."  After adopting Livvy, I added another kitty to keep her company.  Bell (Isabella) joined us from the Humane Society in Portland.  She was quite tiny, and grew to just 8 lbs, quite a contrast to Livvy's 18 lbs.  and has never grown into her extremely long tail.  Both cats have been world travelers, having been to Ireland and Scotland with Riley and I.  Sadly, we had to say goodbye to Bell in October 2017 due to feline lymphoma.  She will be missed.

Then: Shy Bell as a kitten

Now: At 8 years old, still quite the mischievous kitty

Then: It is hard to believe Livvy was ever this small.

Now: She is "full figure" girl now, weighing in at 18 pounds.

Living on the farm was my first opportunity to have barn kitties.  Front Door Kitty was the first stray to join the farm family.  She showed up one day and decided to live on the front door step, hence her imaginative name of Front Door Kitty. 

Naughty Cat was originally a barn kitty, but after her partner-in-crime died, I brought her inside to live.  She loved high places and when we later lived in a converted barn, she spent much of her time walking on the beams in the ceiling.

When I made the decision in 2012 to move overseas, I knew I couldn't bring more than 2 cats with me.  I re-homed Front Door Kitty and Naughty Cat and chose the Cat Adoption Team (CAT) in Sherwood, Oregon, to help.  When I returned from overseas, I checked with CAT to see if either cat was still there, but both had been adopted.

The turning point in my long journey towards becoming a part-time farmer came in 2005 when I took my parents to Ireland to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary.  We stayed in a beautiful 100 year old farmhouse near the town of Kenmare in the southwest county of Kerry.

Mom and Dad in Ireland to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary.

Kilkeana Farm House near Kenmare, County Kerry, Ireland

The beginning of my dream of being a sheep farmer.

After a day of sightseeing around southern Ireland, I would fill my evenings reading a book I picked up in the airport called "The Dogs of Bedlam Farm: An Adventure with Sixteen Sheep, Three Dogs, Two Donkeys, and Me." by Jon Katz.  I was amazed to read about this man in his 50's, a former TV executive and author, who bought a farm in upstate New York and with no experience at all, started raising sheep with the help of his beloved Border Collies.  It was as if I had been struck by lightning!  I finally knew what I wanted to do with my life.  With inspiration from Mr. Katz's book and the beautiful Irish countryside filled with sheep, I returned home from Ireland and within a few months purchased my first farmhouse, a fixer upper, about 30 miles west of Portland, Oregon.

Oh, those were the days.  Days of having no idea how to live in the country.  Mind you, I grew up in the suburbs with city water and sewer, central heat and air conditioning.  The most outdoor work I had to do was rake leaves and mow a postage stamp sized lawn.  I had always rented apartments and houses where the first call was to the landlord when something went wrong.  I didn't think much about all of that, only that I was going to live in the country and raise sheep.

My first DIY project was before I even moved in.  The farmhouse was built in the 1930's and the hard wood floors hadn't been redone since then.  After reading a few books, I thought "I can do that!"  I rented a giant circular sander from Home Depot that was so heavy I could barely get it out of the car and broke 2 of the wooden steps attempting to get it into the house.  The electric heat registers put out little heat and there was no wood for the stove, so it was absolutely freezing while I spent 2 full days sanding the floors.  Funny thing, they didn't look much different than when I started.  I returned to Home Depot several times with questions, but was assured the sanders were working properly.  After another day with not an ounce of sawdust in the sander bag, I returned the sander in frustration.  As I was leaving with a replacement sander, I heard the worker in the back say quietly to someone "No wonder, it's completely broken!"  I spent 2 more days sanding, this time with better results, then another week attempting to dry polyurethane coated floors in the middle of a Pacific Northwest winter without any source of heat.

My first piece of mail after moving in was from my home owners insurance company saying I needed to either build a 6 foot fence around the swimming pool (that I hadn't even really noticed when I bought the property - who has a swimming pool in Oregon?!?) or empty it, as it was a safety hazard for children.  I had 2 weeks to get it done or my insurance would be cancelled.  My real estate agent who walked away with a hefty commission never mentioned a thing about the swimming pool other than it looked quite pretty.  Not wanting to be bothered with the maintenance of a pool, nor the expense of building a fence around it, I decided to empty it.  In winter.

I begrudgingly returned to Home Depot and rented a pump to remove the water and spent hours in the pouring rain, in December, draining the pool.  Imagine my horror when I came out the next morning to find the pool completely filled up again!  Little did I know that because the pool was below the water table and the lining was damaged, as soon as I emptied the pool, it would fill right back up again. After another full day spent in the rain, running the water pump to empty the pool, it was time to fill it with dirt. I had 3 dump trucks deliver fill dirt, but the ground was too wet for them to dump the dirt near the pool.  I had to hire men to help me fill wheelbarrows full of dirt and deliver it through the mud to the poolside.  Nothing is easy in the country, especially if you have no idea what you are doing.

The beginning of my first garden where the pool used to be.

Another few lessons learned that first year included my realizing after-the-fact that the large front yard I spent 2 days carefully mowing with my new riding mower was actually a field I was supposed to let the grow and sell the hay in the summer.  Also, the entire load of firewood I bought from the man with the big smile on his face was so wet it was almost impossible to burn.  Turns out, firewood needs to be dried for a year or more before it will burn.  I completely froze for the first 5 months of living in the farmhouse because the firewood was so green it wouldn't burn.  Oh, and one can't forget the first wind storm that knocked the electricity out and I learned that without power, the water pump for the well doesn't work.  I have a well?  And a septic tank?  Really, how interesting. 

While writing this post, I looked high and low for pictures of my wonderful blue farmhouse.  Unfortunately, it seems I lost them when I moved all of my pictures from my computer to memory sticks for the move overseas.  I do have some "bits and bobs", as they say over here, but some of my favourite photos of the blue farmhouse are gone.  Here is a more recent picture, a bit fuzzy, taken just before I moved away.  The new owners planted a line of trees in front of the farmhouse for privacy, but you can still see the main structure behind them.

My first home purchase.

After a lot of hard work, the inside of my fixer-upper looked pretty good!

In 2007 and 2008, I spent my vacations from work, not lying in the sun on a beach as my smart colleagues did, but on a sheep farm.  Mr. B., the father of one of my colleagues, was in his 80's at the time and had been a sheep rancher all his life.  He had huge flocks of sheep in Mendocino County, California, at one time as many as 4,000 ewes and lambs.  I spent a few weeks each January at his "retirement farm" in southern Oregon.  It was lambing season and it was during those "vacations" that I learned how to care for sheep.  Mr. B.'s son K. was patient, kind, and explained all I needed to know about lambing.  When I first arrived, I couldn't even figure out how to lock a gate behind me, but by the time I left the second year, I was able to help deliver lambs and resuscitate ones that likely wouldn't have made it otherwise.

K at work making sure this ewe's lamb gets all the colostrum (first milk with extra antibodies) it needs.

First Suffolk ewe I assisted had healthy twins.

Posing with Mugsy, the farm's McNab sheep dog.  The last time I saw her, she was about 15 years old and though quite hard of hearing, she was still working.

This wee lamb has "milk mouth" after a bottle feeding.

To check the ewes at night, Mr. B would take me down in his old farm pickup and shine the headlights on the barn so I could walk through and see if there were any new lambs. 

Ewes and their new lambs enjoying the sunshine on the hillside.

This is a bummer lamb (also called a pet lamb, orphan lamb or my favourite, a poddy lamb, depending on what country you are in) wearing another lamb's pelt.  This lamb was either abandoned by it's mum or was the 3rd in a set of triplets.  In order to try to foster it onto another ewe, K took another ewe's dead lamb (that likely died before it was born or after, from hypothermia) and skinned it.  Then he took the dead lamb's pelt and made it into a coat to put over the bummer lamb.  Ewes have an amazing sense of smell and more often than not, will reject a lamb she thinks is not hers.  By outfitting the orphan lamb with her dead lamb's pelt, the hope is she would be fooled into thinking the lamb belongs to her.

A warming box was built prior to my 2nd year of lambing.  It worked wonders!  I put what seemed like a very dead lamb into the box, lowered the lid, and completely forgot about it.  After doing some other chores, I was reading a book when I heard all kinds of noise in the shop. Thinking it was mice (or even rats), I ignored it for a few moments.  Then I realized the noise was coming from the box.  This little one had warmed back to life and was practically dancing inside the box.  Quite a few lambs were saved that year with the help of the warming box.

In 2008, I moved to a nearby property with 6 acres.  There was a large home, a substantial garden, about 3 acres in pasture, an orchard, stream and forest area.  The house only needed a lick of paint on the inside - it was the outside that needed help.  The pastures and forest areas were completely covered with weeds and blackberry brambles and there was no fencing and just 2 small tool sheds.

The lovely house.

A favourite photo of my beloved Gabby on the lawn in front of the house.

The beginning of what would be a very productive garden.

My other pup, Riley, found some shade in the garden.  Those are flowers growing over 6 feet tall behind him.

The farm was named "Black Walnut Woolens" in honor of the mighty Black Walnut tree located at the far corner of the property.

I contacted a local sheep farmer who raised long wool English breeds, the Romney and Lincoln Longwool.  I had read that the Romney was an easy sheep to keep (described as "a sheep with a lobotomy") and they were well adapted to wet weather of the Pacific Northwest, having originally been the sheep of the county of Kent in England.  That adaptation was supposed to help with resistance to foot rot, a nasty bug found in the soil that plays havoc on a sheep's hooves.  When I visited her farm, she took me out to the pasture where her 80-90 breeding ewes were resting.  It was amazing in that she knew every sheep by name.  I could barely tell the difference between the Romney and Lincolns.

For my starter flock, I purchased 6 ewes (females), 1 ram (male) and 1 wether (a castrated male).  All were natural coloured (silver, grey, black and taupe) with the exception of one white ewe and a white ram.  Though I didn't name any of the market lambs for fear of becoming too attached, I named the main flock, each after a different type of tree.  The starter flock included Fig, Gum, Buckeye, and Filbert, as well as the already named older ewes Nut, Pearl, Helen, and Zig.

From left to right, Gum & Helen (both Romney) and Zig (a cross between a Romney and a Lincoln).

Helen, a Romney ewe, taking it easy on her first day on the farm.

Nut, who was 12 years old by the time the farm was sold, looked relatively young in this picture.

Pearl, the only registered Lincoln, in the starter flock.

Zig wearing a bit of her dinner in her fleece.

A group shot on the sheep's first day on the new farm.  They spent much of  the day hiding behind the chicken coop.  

Pearl's first lamb up to find the teat, while Pearl cleans off her  other twin.

In April 2009, thanks to the enthusiastic ram Buckeye, the first lambs arrived on the farm - 5 lambs from 4 ewes. When you consider that many sheep farmers have between 80-100 ewes and most ewes have twins, that's 150-175 lambs.  My 5 lambs were minuscule, but  I was still incredibly nervous and excited.  I didn't go anywhere on the farm without my sheep rearing bible "Raising Sheep the Modern Way" by Paula Simmons and I am certain I didn't sleep more than a few hours over the course of the 2 weeks it took those 4 ewes to lamb.  Thankfully, the ewes expertly gave birth without any need for help from me!  A year later, in March 2010, the ewes gave birth to 10 healthy lambs - 2 singles and 4 sets of twins.  And in the 3rd year, in February 2011, 16 lambs were born on the farm - 1 single, 6 sets of twins, and a set of triplets!  Every year, there were a few more lambs.

Helen with her single lamb the first year.

A week or so after their birth, Pearl's twins were out and about.

The lambs liked to spend their days under the feeder.

All the lambs were listed on the board with their eartag numbers and weights by date.

Zig with her triplets!

Olive, one of the Cotswold ewes, had a single lamb and too much milk.
We used the EZ Milker to help empty her udder.

Megan has just finished tube feeding one of the triplets.  The lamb would have likely taken a bottle, but Megan wanted a bit of practice since she was in training as a (people) nurse.

A newborn triplet being weighed, just after birth.

My niece Megan is weighing a larger lamb in the lean-to.

The Shepherd with one of the lambs.  Fig is looking on, a bit worried, in the background.

Zig's 2nd year lambs were 1 of each - black and white.

Pearl with her 2nd year of lambs, this time they were both black.

Fig's pair in the 2nd year of lambing.

Pearl's lambs in the 3rd year using her as a play toy.

As lambs get older, they gang up and play wildly, especially in the early evening hours.
This is the 3rd year's lambs and Zig's triplets are the 3 at top that have silver mixed in with their black fleeces.

Along the way, the number in the flock grew.  In the summer of the 2nd year, Helen, a beautiful, but very nervous Romney sheep, died of pneumonia.  Thankfully, her twin lambs were just about weaned and were cared for by the rest of the flock.

Helen with her last pair of lambs.

Helen was the only white coloured ewe, so I kept back twin white lambs from Nut, the matriarch of the flock, as replacements. The replacement ewes were named Ollie and Lollie, after the trees/shrubs Oleander and Ollalliberry.

Ollie and Lollie who joined the flock in the 2nd year.

Nut was 10 years old at the time and an amazing mother.  I watched Nut carefully each year, as sheep can have complications in lambing as they get older.  The only complication Nut had, after years of lambing, was her teats hung so low to the ground, the lambs had to lie down to nurse.  Nut eventually lambed until her retirement at the age of 12.

Nut's lambs needed to lie on the ground to reach her low hanging teats.

In 2010, I added a rare breed to the flock, called the Cotswold.  I purchased 3 yearlings (one year old sheep) from a breeder in Creswell, Oregon.  Cotswold sheep originated in the Cotswold area of England and in the 13th and 14th centuries, according to The Cotswold Sheep Society, the "Cotswold sheep made a notable contribution to early national prosperity and eventually the booming wool  trade that accounted for half of England's total income."  Eventually, in the early 20th century, the numbers declined significantly and the Cotswold became a rare breed.   The Cotswold ewes looked very similar and though they were also named after trees, it was often easier to call them by their ear tag numbers - 07, 10 and 22.  Officially, they were Dovie (short for Dove Tree and my paternal grandmother's name), Olive, and Curly Willow.

The Cotswolds on their first day on the farm.

The Cotswolds with their fleeces growing out.

A silver Cotswold ram from a breeder in Washington state was added the following year.  Since the Cotswold is a rare breed, I wanted to be sure to have purebreed lambs the following Spring.  He came with the name Urban and though he didn't always see eye to eye with Buckeye, the other ram on the farm, they lived a relative peaceful existence with the calming influence of the wether, Filbert.

Urban and Buckeye, originally penned separately to get to know each other.  That is, until they rammed the fence and bent it to look like a pretzel.  Then they lived peacefully together with Filbert.

This is Filbert - before and after shearing.  Wethers, castrated males, grow amazing wool since they aren't putting all of their nutrition into lambs, their bodies concentrate on wool growing.

The sheep were raised on pasture, not in confinement as is found on large factory farms.  Actually, I couldn't confine them to a barn because I didn't even have a barn.  The sheep's shelters were movable 3-sided structures to protect the animals during the most inclement weather.

Though unnecessary since the sheep are covered in wool, the ewes liked to spend rainy
and sunny days in their lean-tos.

I used a system called rotational grazing (or management intensive grazing) where each pasture was divided into smaller sections, or paddocks, using lightweight, movable fencing called electronet.  Note the term "electro" in that sentence - no matter how many times I crossed fences, I always found a way to shock myself.  In rotational grazing, the sheep move from paddock to paddock every few days, leaving their natural fertilizer behind. By moving them often, it allows the grass to keep growing and helps keep the number of parasites (worms) in their guts at a manageable level.

The flock headed back to the barnyard.  The electronet fencing is shown on both sides.
One of the heritage turkeys is on the right.

Nut, with 2 of her lambs, behind a string of electronet.

The ewes and their lambs in one of the smaller paddocks.

The sheep were primarily grass-fed, but oats were fed to pregnant and lactating ewes to provide extra energy during the winter months.  This was in contrast to factory farming, where sheep, as well as cows, pigs and poultry, are fed large quantities of corn so they grow quickly and can be processed sooner.  No maintenance antibiotics or hormones were used at any time on my farm.  Once the pastures dried up in late summer, grass hay, then alfalfa with a higher protein content, was fed prior to and after lambing.

The evening chow down.

Pearl and Helen at the feeder with their new lambs.  The white barrel at the end is a home-made mineral feeder.

The sheep ate quite well, including all of the leftovers from the garden.
It was a nightly ritual, with all of the sheep lining up at the garden fence to receive their handouts.

Beets were a favourite.

As Nut was getting older and had just had twins, I supplemented her diet with some extra oats.

The market lambs were born and raised on the farm and I used a mobile processing unit that came to the farm to prevent additional stress on the lambs.  Not only was this more humane then transporting them to the abattoir (slaughterhouse), but less stress means better tasting meat.  Freezer lamb, also called locker lamb, was sold from the farm beginning in early November of each year.

The sheep were sheared either by a shearer that came to the farm or each individually on a shearing stand.  I sold the raw fiber (wool fleeces) to hand spinners, fiber artists and crafters.  I enjoyed entering fleeces in the fiber competitions at the Black Sheep Gathering in Eugene, Oregon, and the Oregon Flock & Fiber Festival in Canby, Oregon, and won ribbons in several categories.  In Fall 2010, I  attended the New York State Sheep and Wool Festival in Rhinebeck, NY, where 4 fleeces were rated "premium."  Quite a success at a very competitive show.  All of the Romney sheep were coated with Rocky Sheep Coats, so their fleeces were free of hay and straw, not discolored from the sun, and sold at premium prices. As their wool grew, the coats had to be changed out for larger sizes, so the wool wouldn't mat underneath.  The Lincoln and Cotswold sheep were not coated, as their fleeces are prone to matting.  

This is Buckeye, one of the 2 breeding lambs.  He was coated to preserve his fleece
and this shows the difference in the coated and uncoated sections.

Some of the coated ewes at the feeder.

A ewe on the stand for crutching, which is shearing just the back end and the udder, in preparation for lambing.

Bert always fainted during shearing, making it easier on the shearer.

The shearer at work on one of the lambs.

The lambs after shearing.

In addition to sheep, I raised hens that provided beautiful brown and blue eggs.  Eggs from pasture-raised hens have more beta carotene, vitamin A & E, and Omega 3 fatty acids, and less cholesterol and saturated fats.  I started with fourteen hens and one rooster named LeRoy, named for my beloved maternal grandfather "Gramps."  Over the years, the flock increased to over 40 layers.  The birds spent their days in the pasture eating bugs and grass, and scratching through sheep manure for the best finds, and their nights in a custom build "Taj Mahal" of chicken coops.  All the eggs, at times as many as 30-35 a day, were sold to one loyal customer in the nearby town.

The Taj Mahal

King George, the white rooster, and some of his harem.

Designer birds.

Beautiful and healthy eggs.

Some of the chickens came from hatcheries and others were laid by the resident hens and either put in the incubator or under a broody hen.  Once hatched, they were moved into a brooder tub or raised by the hen that hatched them.

Incubating chicks is a messy business, but great fun to see them hatch.

Growing up.

The make-do brooder until the chicks were ready for the coop.

Both Henri and Etta, 2 Golden Wyandotte hens, were broodies that either sat on eggs and
hatched them or adopted chicks placed under them right after they hatched in the incubator.

I also tried my hand at raising broilers or meat birds.  The first year, I tried the basic white commercial bird, but didn't enjoy the experience at all.  Even though they had access to the outside, they rarely moved from beside the feeder.  Many of the normal bird characteristics, like dusting in the dirt or pecking for grass and bugs, has been completely been bred out of commercial birds.

Never ventured outside and by the time they were processed, they were so heavy, they could barely stand.

The 2nd year, I sourced broilers that were specifically bred to be raised on grass.  These birds, known as Freedom Rangers, came from a hatchery run by an Amish family in Pennsylvania.  Though they took twice as long to reach processing age, they lived good lives out in the grass and sunshine.

Freedom Ranger chicks on grass.

After reading an article in a hobby farming magazine about heritage turkeys, I decided to try my hand at being a turkey farmer as well.  Heritage turkeys, breeds common in the 18th and 19th centuries, take 3-4 times as long to raise before processing, but because they are pasture raised, are healthier and if cooked correctly, much tastier.  I bought the first 3-day old Narragansett and Bourbon Red poults (young birds) from a breeder in Mt. Angel, Oregon, and raised them through the spring and summer.  The birds were raised on pasture and fed supplemental pellets specifically made for game birds.  They resided in a mobile coop and had daily access to pasture surrounded by electronet fencing to keep predators at bay.  

The first year, I had 16 birds processed and sold out for the Thanksgiving holiday.  I also tried hatching turkey eggs by collecting eggs from a hen named Irene who had mated with a tom named Roy.  Heritage turkey eggs are notoriously difficult to hatch, but I incubated a total of 7 of her eggs and out of 3 poults, 1 survived.  Again the following year, I purchased more poults from the local breeder and raised and sold 40 turkeys.  To my great surprise, Black Walnut Woolens was featured in an article in Sunset Magazine about raising heritage turkey breeds.

The arrival of the heritage turkeys.

Just a few weeks later.

Bourbon Red (on the right) with Narragansett heritage turkeys.

Though strange looking at first, I loved raising them.

A bird only a Mother could love.

Roy with Frances and Irene.  These 3 were kept as breeding birds and an egg or two were laid daily.  Also, even though turkey eggs are difficult to hatch, I was able to hatch 3 birds in the incubator.

None of this could have been possible without the help of my dedicated livestock guardian, Yama the Llama.  When I first decided to raise sheep, I wanted a guardian to protect the sheep from predators such as stray dogs and coyotes.  Choices for guardians are special breeds of dogs such as the Anatolian Shepherd Dog, Maremma Sheepdog, and the Great Pyrenees, donkeys, or llamas.  Livestock guardian dogs (LGDs) can be a challenge when you have nearby neighbours, as they bark often to scare aware predators.  Donkeys require foot care by a farrier and I wasn't familiar with carrying for the equine species (horses and the like), so I decided on a llama. 

Llamas chase and kick predators and also produce an incredibly loud siren call to alert the shepherd about danger on the farm.  In addition to guarding the flock, Yama was an excellent sheep herder.  He brought the flock up close to the house if he felt there was a threat in the vicinity and always rounded them up when it was time for the evening meal.  He was such a good guard that he had to be penned in an adjacent pasture if I was providing sheep care, as he wouldn't let me near his flock. Like many llama livestock guardians, Yama didn't appreciate being handled.  I could halter him if necessary, but performing foot care was not only a challenge, but dangerous.  Thankfully, he never spit, as some llamas do when angry or feeling territorial.

Yama at his feeder.

Yama, leading the way, back to the pasture. He not only protected the sheep,
but herded them down to the pasture and up to the barn in the evening.

Yama had a 2nd sense about when the water troughs and his swimming pool had just been cleaned and filled
and would come running for a good foot soak.

On the lookout for danger.

Even after shearing, Yama was not a fan of the heat.  Thankfully, hot temperatures were rare in Oregon.

Yama, after being sheared, also watched after the poultry.

My favourite picture of Yama with my niece Megan.

I had herding dogs on the farm, as mentioned earlier in this post, but neither Gabby nor Riley were interested in herding.  Herding my flock was quite easy, it just required walking behind them slowly and putting a bit of pressure on them by walking up closer either from the left or the right, depending on which direction you wanted them to go.  There were times where they didn't cooperate, and it could be frustrating, but since the property was small and each pasture was divided into smaller paddocks, there really wasn't many places for them to go wrong.  All it really took was a bit of patience.  

Those years on my little farm were the best years of my life. I took great pride in not only learning how to care for sheep, but caring for them well.  I was proud to provide them with a good life, even if some were destined to leave the farm for processing.  There were incredibly good times, such as lambing and the day to day care of the flock, as well as not-so-good times, such as when Helen had to be put down as she was suffering from pneumonia and Urban, the pure bred Cotswold ram died unexpectedly.  But every bad time was worth it, as I had an incredible experience as the shepherd to my flock.

Some good things must come to an end. While I was working two careers, one as an executive in the medical industry, and the other as a part-time sheep farmer, my health began to deteriorate as early as 2007.  I had to have several neck surgeries and eventually had to give up farming for my own safety.  

Out in the pasture, after my 2nd neck surgery, enjoying the sun with one of the Cotswold ewes.

The 3rd neck surgery was much more difficult.
Naughty Cat made spending all my time in a reclining chair just a little bit better

I cannot believe how quickly those days came and went.  It took over 40 years for me to find something I truly loved - sheep - and it was heartbreaking to give them up.  I was lucky enough to replace my farming life living among the sheep in Ireland and Scotland.  While there, I joined the Rare Breeds Survival Trust (RBST) for livestock, a charity whose patron is HRH Prince Charles, and spent time in Scotland with the local organisation educating the public on the importance on saving rare breeds of livestock.  Though I may live in the city for a time, in won't be forever.  I will still grow a garden and eat healthy foods.  I haven't given up hope that one day, I will again have hens in the garden and even if they aren't my sheep, there will be sheep nearby, grazing in the pasture.