Farm Shuffle

Sometimes it feels like life hit fast-forward while I was stuck on pause with my foot in the air. I try to write, to record it while it's still fresh in my memory. And sometimes I have to think back a ways to make sure nothing escapes my forgetful brain.

Let’s rewind a bit. Back in February, I had the second surgery on my right foot to fuse the big toe joint. Why? Because about four years ago a 4x8 sheet of 3/4” plywood decided to swan-dive off a stack from about three feet up—right onto my foot. Crunch. You never realize how important that joint is until it’s been flattened like a pancake by a sheet of flying plywood.

So there I was, couch-bound for a couple of weeks, foot elevated like royalty, binging British detective shows and pretending to enjoy it. Then it was three months in a walking boot, clomping around the farm like Frankenstein’s cousin.

Meanwhile. . . everything changed.

The three grandkids all moved out. Poof. Just like that. After months of teenage angst, midnight fridge raids, and the distinct sound of video games and drums bleeding through the walls at 2 a.m., the house is now eerily quiet—and a whole lot cleaner. (And no one’s asking me where the peanut butter went. Because now I know where it is. Right where I left it, wherever that might be.)

"Hey, what's going on in here?"

Then Talon, my beloved Gypsy Cob, after almost a year on the market, was sold to a vacation farm in Pennsylvania. You know, the kind of place where folks from the city pay real money to muck stalls and milk goats because they think it’s quaint. (I’ll let you in on a secret: they haven’t done it in February. Or in mud season.)

They also bought the saddle I had custom-made for him—because obviously, you can't have a horse without the saddle. The round pen? Sold. The horse trailer? Gone last week. And a few weeks ago, someone showed up intending to buy just one goat. . . and somehow drove off with five goats and four pigs. I’m not entirely sure how that happened. It was like a barnyard clearance sale where the animals negotiated their own deals.

Let’s recap what left for greener pastures:

3 grandkids (formerly known as “The Bottomless Pits”)

1 horse and his custom saddle

5 goats

4 pigs

1 round pen

1 horse trailer

And, as of today, our van

At this rate, I feel like I should be stamping “SOLD” on everything that’s not nailed down and setting up a booth at the local flea market.

But don’t worry—it hasn’t been all subtraction around here.

We added a new member to the farm family: Libby, short for Liberty Bell. She’s a Colorado Mountain Dog—part Great Pyrenees, part Anatolian Shepherd, and 100% adorable. At eight weeks old, she’s about the cutest thing this side of a baby panda and about as coordinated. Right now, she’s in that bite-everything-that-moves stage, with a bonus side of random leaping.

She’s not quite ready to be in with the goats just yet. We’re waiting for her to grow out of the ankle-nipping ninja phase and grow into the goat-guarding phase. For now, she’s in her own little section where she can see the goats and they can see her, but no one can head-butt, nibble, or escape.

I feel like I’m supervising a preschool version of Survivor: Barnyard Edition—complete with alliances, betrayals, and someone always crying.

Gabriel, our older LGD, has been the first to accept her—he’s got that kind, fatherly soul that says “sure, kid, you can sleep here, just don’t snore.” He lets her curl up beside him and even shares meals without a grumble. It’s no small thing to be welcomed by the senior dog—LGD apprenticeships are notoriously strict.

Remi, on the other hand, thinks Libby is about as welcome as a giant, fuzzy gnat. Every time Libby bounces her way, Remi gives her that withering side-eye that says “child, no.” It’s going to take some time before Remi gives her stamp of approval—but my bet is that by the end of the month, they’ll be wrestling like sisters and stealing each other’s dinner.

So there you have it: We're lighter on livestock, heavier on puppy antics, and navigating life one unexpected plot twist at a time.

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