A Dog Lover's Link

http://www.idodogtricks.com/index_flash.html

You have to try these interactive dog tricks. Very cute! Try typing fetch, sneeze, sit, stand, play dead, roll over, jump, wave, beg, high five, shake, down, sing, dance, fetch, kiss. If you discover any more commands that this little cutie will do let me know. Enjoy!

And So It Begins..... Again!

Well folks, it's that magical time of year when Old Man Winter shows up dressed as Frosty the Buzzkill. Right on cue, he’s thrown his annual Halloween snowstorm just to keep us humble. Because nothing says "festive fall fun" like shoveling your porch in a witch hat while trying not to slip on pumpkin guts.

Usually, these early flurries don’t stick around long. The sun will put in a few extra appearances, trying to convince us we’ve still got a bit of fall left. It’s a noble effort—futile, but noble. I like to think of it as Autumn’s version of, “Wait, I wasn’t done yet!” But even the maples are starting to look nervous.

Last year, though? Oh, we got played. Snow moved in mid-October like an unwanted houseguest and didn’t pack its bags until late May. That’s seven months of winter. Seven. That’s over half a year of the landscape looking like a powdered sugar doughnut. I started measuring time in shovelfuls and lost all feeling in my upper arms somewhere around March.

So now I’m side-eyeing this snowfall with deep mistrust. Is it a harmless little prank? Or the first icy warning shot of a winter that plans to overstay its welcome again? Up here in the north country, you don’t assume anything—you just mutter under your breath, check your firewood pile, and question all your life choices.

Either way, it's time to make the annual pilgrimage to get those snow tires put on. Preferably before every other procrastinator in town remembers at the same exact moment and the waiting list starts looking like the DMV line on a Monday morning. Waiting until the first real storm hits is a bold strategy, and by bold, I mean foolish bordering on tragic.

So here’s to hoping this snow is just a flurry with commitment issues. But just in case? Better dig out the snow shovels and the livestock water heaters, and start buttering up the plow guy. We might be in for another long one because Mother Nature certainly doesn’t care what the calendar says. If she wants Christmas in October and mud season in June, well, buckle up buttercup.

Sportsmen (and Sportswomen) for McCain/Palin

Dog Dance

Anyone who has ever has a special relationship with a special dog will appreciate the bond between these two. Warning: tearjerker! Get your tissues handy.

Hank Williams Jr. sings McCain-Palin Tradition

Playin' With the Big Dogs!

It never fails to make me smile—watching the dogs wrestle and tumble around like a pack of furry toddlers hopped up on sugar. There's something so pure and uncomplicated about the way they play. No agendas, no grudges, no need to keep score. Just tails wagging, paws flailing, and that unmistakable sparkle in their eyes that says, "This is the best moment of my life!"

What really gets me, though, is the way the big dogs handle their smaller playmates—especially Roxy. Now, Roxy may be small in stature, but she’s got the heart (and bark) of a lion. She dives into the fray like she’s got backup from an entire SWAT team. And the big dogs? They play right along, all gentle mouths and careful paws, even though one misplaced chomp could flatten her like a pancake.

These dogs know they’re strong. They know they could win. But they don’t need to. They let Roxy be the queen of the yard, the tiny terror of the tug toy, the undisputed featherweight champion of the tail-chase circuit. And they do it with nothing but good humor and wagging tails.

We humans could learn a thing or two from that. Not everything has to be a competition. Sometimes, it's okay to let someone else win, just because it brings them joy. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is take a break from the grind, roll around in the grass (figuratively, or literally—I’m not judging), and just enjoy the play.

Because if the big dogs can put their egos aside and romp around with a spunky little underdog like Roxy… well, maybe we can too.

Play nice, don’t crush the little guy, and remember—sometimes letting someone else win just means you’re secure enough to know you already run the yard.  

Before and After

This is the clearing project on the north side of the driveway. Since there’s now a permanent fence along the south side, we needed to clear back the brush and trees on the north side to have somewhere to pile the snow this winter. And let me tell you, after last winter's 12 feet of the white stuff (not all at once, thankfully—we’d still be digging), having a designated snow dump zone is critical.

I started by letting the goats in there for a few days. They’re excellent little underbrush eaters and make great "see-through" assistants. Once I could actually see the ground beneath the brambles, I brought in the chainsaw and chipper and went to work. Let’s just say the before-and-after photos are impressive.

Now all that’s left is to drag a few bigger logs to the landfill area, toss down some grass seed, and let nature (and the sheep) take over. By the end of next summer, you won’t even know it was a tangled mess of brush and tree limbs. The sheep will keep it trimmed like a well-maintained golf course—if golf courses were maintained by ruminants.

After all, that’s how this whole sheep/goat/pig/chicken/turkey operation got started in the first place: edible land management. (And yes, it’s exactly as glamorous as it sounds.)

Before:


After:

Crunch Time!

I haven’t had much time to post lately—because, well… it’s Crunch Time. With winter breathing down our necks like a relative who shows up early and stays too long, we’ve got a farm-sized to-do list that won’t quit. The clock is ticking, the leaves are falling, and it’s that golden window where the days are crisp, the sun is still warm on your back, and you feel just motivated enough to believe that yes, maybe we can get it all done before snow boots become a daily necessity.

Here’s a sample of what we’re staring down in the next few weeks:

• Finish the next 12'x36' section of the barn

• Split and stack six cords of firewood (and probably argue about the “right” way to stack it)

• Clear brush and trees on the left side of the driveway—because the right side is now fenced and, surprise, snow needs somewhere to go

• Clean the chimney and wood stove (the dirtiest clean job there is)

• Button up the house—weatherstripping windows, touching up paint, pretending we’re organized homeowners

• General clean-up and reorganizing of the farmyard chaos

And of course, let’s not forget the animals:

• Crutching the sheep (yes, that’s exactly what it sounds like—shaving the nether regions to avoid manure mats. Miss it one year and you’ll pay for it come shearing time.)

• Trim feet on all the sheep and goats

• Update all vaccinations

• Run electric hot wire along the top of winter pastures (because snow turns fences into launch pads)

• Send the remaining ducks to freezer camp

• Process the turkeys closer to Thanksgiving (they’ve had a good run... literally)

...and the list goes on. And on.

Hopefully, autumn takes its sweet time this year. Last fall, Old Man Winter barged in on October 19th and didn't pack his bags until the third week of May. That’s not a season, that’s a reign. We were caught scrambling then, and we learned the hard way—when it comes to winter prep, there’s no such thing as "too early."

But whether he shows up with a whisper or a wallop, the chores still need doing. It’s just so much nicer to tackle them now, while the sun warms your shoulders and the smell of leaves and earth still lingers in the air.

These are the days when it pays to throw a stew or soup in the crockpot first thing in the morning. Let it bubble away quietly while you haul wood, chase sheep, and curse at whatever tool you left at the other end of the property. And when the sun dips low and your body is ready to do the same, it’s pure comfort to walk inside and smell that rich, savory promise that dinner is just a ladle away.

Bless Mr. Crockpot. He never complains, never forgets, and always has your back at the end of a long, dirty, muscle-burning day. Here’s to sunny days, productive afternoons, and a hot meal waiting when the work boots come off.