Not Their Best Day

Shearing day is not an alpaca's favorite day of the year. They usually are gregarious and curious, but when they come into the shearing pen, they turn grumpy.


Not that I can blame them...

This year we're trying something a bit different. We'll leave the fleeces on most of them, just removing the belly fiber so they stay cool, and shear them a bit earlier next year. The fiber will be several inches longer and hopefully the hand spinners who buy the fiber on Ebay will be appreciative, resulting in good auctions.


So shearing day should really have been called shearing-the-belly-on-most-of-them day, but that's too much of a mouthful, don't you think?



My friend Kelsey was invited to help. She's young, strong, and most important, a really good sport. That last attribute is important for people who help at alpaca shearing because sometimes the animals show their displeasure by leaping around, kicking or worst of all, spitting.


We'd warned Kelsey, but sure enough, it happened at a moment when no one was expecting it, especially her. The alpaca was on the ground, she was holding his head and concentrating on where Goddy's clippers were, a sensible thing to do when your fingers are in proximity to shearing blades. The alpaca let fly with gobs of green goo, and Kelsey was in the line of fire. I didn't get a photo because I went into rescue mode and raced off to get wet cloths. We got most of it off, but discovered that dried alpaca spit makes effective, if fragrant, hair gel. Kelsey didn't have any stray locks in her eyes the rest of the morning. And she managed to keep smiling.


(Can you believe such a sweet-faced creature is capable of a vile habit like spitting?)


But here's the thing that most impressed my husband (who doesn't often get impressed with alpaca handlers, no matter who they are) - Kelsey didn't let go of the alpaca, even with a face full of spit. Way to go, my friend!!


Here are a few pictures of Goddy's method of shearing alpacas. He starts with them standing but if they want to lie down he lets them.



The fiber from the body (called the barrel) is the highest quality.




This guy decided to lie down so Emilio is holding his tail and keeping alert in case the alpaca leaps to his feet.


One thing about shearing day that we could all learn from - as soon as its over, the alpacas are back to their gregarious, silly selves. I guess if you kick and spit when you're mad, there's no need to hold a grudge.

Nursery Times

And still the babies come! We've just tagged calf # 8, or will tomorrow, since he was just born an hour ago!

It's been a busy week in the calving pasture. We awoke yesterday to find one had died when the membrane covering his nose hadn't broken. His momma loved him, but she started off licking his hind legs, which didn't help his nose at all.

So Goddy roamed around the ranch for a while, feeling a bit blue as you do when this happens. He started calling around to see if anyone had a spare calf, and lo and behold, our friend Russ did. How's that for a divine intervention? This little calf is real lively and knows just where the feed taps are. But when Goddy put the skin of the dead calf on him, the mother was so spooked by her suddenly resurrected baby that she ran off bellowing. Thankfully, she ran the same direction that the calf was going, which was toward the cattle chute and yards we have set up. Goddy got them settled into separate pens so they could get accustomed to each other, though I think the calf was prepared to bond instantly, as long as there was food. It took the cow a bit longer, but today they're co-habitating happily. I think we'll be able to remove the now-stinky coat tomorrow.

This afternoon there was a calving that makes up for all the difficult ones. The heifer started at 3, and by 5 there was another little red fellow flopping around like a landed fish, with a bunch of "Aunty" heifers looking on, ready to run the playgroup. We got them out of the way, little Flopsy got himself up and oriented and tonight all's well in the nursery.

We hope...

A New Season

Yay! I get to talk about cows again.

Calving is underway at Willows Ranch. Our tiny herd of 14 first-calving heifers spent last winter growing themselves, and this year growing babies.






After a not-so-auspicious start to our cattle enterprise here - the bull we leased broke his leg (thankfully near the end of the breeding season), then a yearling steer lay down and died - we wondered what would happen next. Heifers can be full of surprises.


Falcon and Valor are surprised at all the fuss.














Sure enough, the first calf presented with hind legs first. Uh-oh. But the clever heifer was doing the deed in daylight, we had all our supplies and a shiny new calving machine. Apart from the way it makes me feel when we have to help a cow have her calf the whole operation went smoothly. You women who have had children could possibly relate; or maybe your husbands can. It's one thing to watch natural processes from a distance and quite another to stand there "helping". You can hardly massage a cow when she's in pain. All you can do is get the calf out as quickly as possible.

Anyway, little #1 slid out and his mother loves him and he's doing just fine.











(We won't be naming these calves. It's too difficult
to put an identity into the freezer. These guys are destined to be natural, grass finished beef.)


#2 came along this morning. He's having to get by with a little help from his friends until his mother settles down a bit. She's a fidgety one with lots of milk so it's a bit painful for her when he's getting a drink. It's Goddy to the rescue with some milk replacer to keep up the little guy's strength until we can get her into a smaller pen for a while. We (that means Goddy) may have to milk her out a bit to ease the pressure. I wonder if I should loan him my helmet - I'll bet she's a kicker.







Can't wait for the sun to shine and the grass to grow! We decdided long ago that if there ever came a day that we don't think calves cavorting in the sunshine is the cutest thing ever, we'd be done with ranching. Yes, even crusty old aggies think like that!

New Tricks

If you live in one of the northern states, you're dealing with snow right now. I feel your pain. Snow hasn't always elicited squeals of delight in this house. It usually means slogging through it to feed the stock, breaking ice, shoveling, plowing and digging it out of horses hooves. Its pristine and sparkling beauty gets lost in the chores.

Until now. Last year we discovered that even ranchers can have fun in the snow. We acquired snowshoes and found a winter activity that we're determined to enjoy. Mind you, Goddy tromps along in his sweat pants and wet-weather gear, looking like someone taking a break from ranch chores. Oh, wait, he is. So maybe his attire isn't completely agricultural geek. Actually, it is but we don't care. There are plenty of places far from the swanky crowds that are just fine for aggies.

Here's an example of what you can do on snowshoes that incorporates agricultural activity...Check the cows who are quietly chewing their cud at the far end of the pasture. Watch them race off in alarm at the weird yetis approaching. Walk the fence in the horse pasture. Pay no attention to the fact that the horses will be nowhere near the fenceline all winter because they'll be hanging around the barn waiting for the next drop of hay. Walk from the house to the barn, ignoring the freshly plowed drive just to your right.

This is what Goddy looks like before he gets into his snowshoe gear...



Today I went out into the forest behind the ranch to enjoy a chore-free tramp in the snow. Those of you who know me know my penchant for setting the self-timer on my camera. I learned a few new things about taking pictures that way today.

You need to be careful to not drop the camera in the snow. Or your mittens. And you need to be less optimistic about how far from the camera you can get in 10 seconds while on snowshoes. This is what might happen...


The sky was clear and brilliant, and it looked like a perfect outdoor day. The temperature, 15 degrees, was daunting from inside the house, but once out in it it didn't seem that cold. Unless you dropped your mittens in the snow.

Nevertheless, it was a day worth embracing.

Go Placidly

I don't know why cows don't get more kudos as therapy animals. We hear all about the rumbling purr of a cat, the treasured nuzzle from a beloved dog, the belly-warming nicker of a sweet horse. But have you ever spied a copy of Chicken Soup for the Cow Lovers Soul?

I can't figure that out because cows embody the serene "acccept the day as it comes" philosophy of so many self-help books. They roam around on their range, find food and water, socialize, investigate curious occurrences on said range, and sit down regularly during the day to ruminate on it all.







This week brought me back to Anacortes, where there are many more seagulls than cows. We celebrated Thanksgiving, family and the American way, and visited with Dad in the care facility where he's working on getting his strength back.

It was a time to celebrate a life just starting out and to savor those already on their way. And when the family headed back to their homes, Mom and I did like the government and stimulated the economy a bit.

But I found myself missing our cows. I like to stand out in the field and just be with them. Sometimes, either on foot or mounted, I'll play with them a bit and move them from place to place. I win if they go where I want them to and they've not gone faster than an amble. They win when they fling their tails into the air and dash off to the other side of the pasture.

Goddy and I often spent weekends and evenings on the farms in New Zealand checking the cows. They didn't always need checking but it was a good excuse to take a purposeful walk and enjoy being amongst our livestock. The early evening shadows are kind to the landscape and its creatures and the cows looked especially sleek and healthy then.

Cows are peaceful and live out the Biblical admonition of being content in whatever circumstances they are in. Except at weaning time. Then they make their discontent known to each other, the neighbors and the world at large. But sometimes we should do that too. A bit of hollering at the universe is good for the soul.

But mostly they hang out together; the most violence I've ever seen a cow do toward another is a mild head-butt near the mineral licks.




My mom has a copy of the old poem, "Desiderata" on the back of one of the bathroom doors. As I studied it at various times over the past days, the first line always reminds me of cows...
"Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence."

Taking Care

I'm back home, but I seem to have toted my worry with me. We've got Dad tucked up in a care facility to get some rehabilitation and we'll see him next weekend, but I still am compelled to talk to my mother every day to get all the details.


We took my old mare, Misty, to new digs yesterday. She is 26, has just a few teeth left and needs special care in the winter. She's been with me on the ranch the past several winters, and Goddy and I both enjoy caring for her.

This year though, with the possibility that we might have to go north quickly, it seemed prudent to find someone else to love her through this season. Our dear friend, Becky is going to do that for us and I know it will be good for both of them. I still felt sad as we drove off, and it occurred to me that I am transferring some of my feelings about Dad's situation to Misty's. Leaving the old ones we dearly love in someone else's care is hard, even if it is the right thing to do.

Today I'm going to go hug my other mares' necks, and I know I'll feel better for it.

Queen of the Compost

Hands up out there if you like compost. It amazes me that a pile of horse and alpaca poop, shavings and grass clippings becomes this precious addition to the land.

Making the compost is one of our favorite tasks on the ranch. Of course, we're not really making it, just helping it along. About every three weeks, we turn the piles, with Allan on the tractor and me manning the hose. We add water to keep the process going, and we also regularly measure the temperatures of the piles. Warm means the pile is working, cool means it's either taking a vacation or is ready to use. If its the latter, we load it into the spreader and head out to the pastures.

The first couple of piles are the most active, usually hot and steaming in the morning chill. When the tractor breaks into the pile, that steam roils up, surrounding us with the scent of a healthy organic reaction at work. I know there are many organic reactions that do not smell pleasant, and some folks might not think my assessment of our compost pile is quite accurate. But we happen to like the smell of earthy things and figure the animal's by-products are better off working in a far corner of the property than cluttering up their pens and pastures.

I'm wondering about something though. If I'm the Queen of the Compost, does that make my sons Princes of Poop?