Christmas, cows and cold

The day before my annual trek north for the holidays my parents received 12 inches of snow, and it stayed. And it hasn't gotten above 25 since somewhere half-way into my drive home. The windshield wiper fluid in the truck froze up four days ago (so much for working to +20 degrees, it was causing trouble by 26) and running a bunch of the "good -20 stuff" wasn't enough to keep the lines open.

But I made it to my parents place in good time, the dog is getting spoiled rotten, and leaving the house has become an as-needed event. I thought my hour and a half of guarding cow yard gates and helping bed the young cows on Saturday was a good measure of my cold tolerance but after spending five hours out in the cold on Sunday I can confirm my blood has indeed thinned after 12 years of southern living. I guess my limit is about two hours before I need to break out the hand and foot warmers. Either that or playing gate man is enough activity to generate sufficient body heat and blood flow to the extremities.

Snow drifts are anywhere from knee- to waist-deep in the cow yard. Not a problem if you are a full grown momma cow or even a yearling steer but one of the recently weaned guys learned the hard way that if you stray off the established trail between the feeder and water source that one can quickly become temporarily stuck chest-deep in the white stuff. At least the joyful, frolicking energy of youth made a bit of a game out of lunging and bounding back to the cow trail and the nice warm bed of straw at the end of it.

Feeding the herd

I've know for a while that the dog has a preference for the commercial feed I give the horses. Any time I spill on the feed room floor, she's there to vacuum up the pellets. And when the horses drop feed while they eat, a common occurrence with my pair of special needs eaters, she's there to hoover-up the orts, sometimes getting herself covered in wet, slobbery crumbs in the process.

But now I find the black cat has developed a preference for the chicken feed. The last few days I've found her poking around the outdoor feeding pan. At first I thought it was exploratory sniffing. Now I've caught her actually eating the chicken feed.

I'm not depriving the dog and cat by any means. Yes, the dog is on restricted diet to help prevent weight-related issues for which her breed is known, and I really need to curb what she eats in the barn since I've discovered her random indoor flatulence is due to the soaked beet pulp she pilfers off the old horse. The cats are all on ad libitum cat chow supplemented by a healthy diet of chipmunks, squirrels, and rabbits usually caught by the black kitty herself. "Q" is even the first one at the feed bowls when I dole out the twice-daily refill.

Not good that the resident familial carnivores have a preference for what the herbivores (horses) and omnivores (chickens), but they get enough of their own respective feeds to prevent any dietary deficits. But it would be nice if I could get away with feeding them what the others are getting, it would safe a lot on the feed bill.

Which reminds me, the horses are running low. I better add the feed store to today's list of errands.

Small victories

I hate it when work gets in the way of life. But the seasonal craziness is over, as marked by the office Christmas party last night.

Now, back to life on the "farm". Good news, the chickens are proving to be smarter than originally thought.

Yup, they have discovered they can drink out of the livestock water tanks. And are also smart enough to avoid the strip of electrified fence tape over the tank. I'm getting some ideas for chicken proofing the garden . . .