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Muddy Valley Farm

~ Life on a tiny west coast hobby farm

Muddy Valley Farm

Category Archives: Chance

A Dog’s Life

13 Saturday Feb 2021

Posted by Jodi in Chance, Farm Life

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Our little dog Chance is a creature of habit. He is also blessed with a robust internal clock, so that all his days, as far as he can manage them, unfold right on schedule. From the moment he wakes up, to climb sleepily into my lap where he will snooze for another hour and a half while I drink coffee and read the news, (the only time of day he even considers snuggling in the recliner with me) until he successfully wrangles me onto the couch in the evening so he can press first his head, and eventually his entire length, up against my leg and, you guessed it, sleep, each day’s events unfold in the most predictable, most delightful (from his point of view), manner.

At the same time, he can be very adaptable if he so chooses. Nimble in fact. If one day I randomly hand him a dog biscuit as we are coming in from the barnyard, he adds this exciting event to his list, and the next time we come in from the barnyard, he beelines to the closet door behind which the dog biscuits live, where he stands eyeing me with a confident air, genially wagging his tail. If I keep walking, turn the corner and head up the stairs, he quickly deflates, his body language screaming his disappointment, and trails glumly after me up the stairs. He will keep asking for days, if not weeks, every time we come in from the barnyard in the afternoon, before he’ll sadly strike “receive dog biscuit after barnyard” from his schedule. Lord help me if I give him that après barnyard treat more than once in a month! He almost needs counselling to finally let go.

The daily schedule around which Chance’s life orbits consists mostly of events involving food, although specific types of snuggle time on specific pieces of furniture with specific people are right up there too. As is going outside at specific times (ostensibly to relieve himself, but really to yell at anyone, man or beast, daring to use the road in front of our house), play time with Arrow, feeding the horses in the evening, and to cap each day, his chew chew (rubber bone stuffed with tiny treats).

I admit I do indulge him, and yes he is a manipulator. I am quite aware and I do allow this; I take reciprocal pleasure in making my dog happy. Chance’s schedule harmlessly choreographs our days, and has for years. I know that his schedule makes my little rescue dog feel secure, but sometimes his fervent adherence to it still surprises me. 

Each day after early morning barnyard (for me, he stays behind snuggling in bed with DH) he and I go into my office where I nudge my computer awake and grab him his daily half a dentabone. I throw it, he grabs it excitedly, and I “change my mind”, chasing him down the hallway and into the living room, growling that I want it back. He dearly loves being chased, he cavorts and practically giggles as he goes. Then I laugh and give up, he plops down and begins to devour his treat. I retreat to my office, shut the door, and start to check my email. After a few minutes, his single soft ‘scritch’ at the door signals that he’s ready for breakfast, which I serve in the kitchen, then back to my desk. Another ‘skritch’ a few minutes later tells me he is ready to go outside. Generally his barking gets him brought inside again, usually by DH, and eventually another soft ‘skritch’ tells me he is ready to take up his position on his six inch foam bed under my work table, where he snores away the remainder of the morning while I conduct my business of the day.

The other morning, I had a deadline and was already working when he got up from DH snuggle time and skritched at my door for his dentabone. Knowing that he would just sit there, softly skritching every few minutes, until I gave him what he was “owed”, I grabbed half a dentabone, opened the door, and dropped it at his feet, then closed the door, sat back down, and got back into my task. Until. Skritch. A minute or two. Then, skritch. “Oh jeez.” I thought, “He’s got to be kidding, it’s not enough to get the treat, he wants me to chase him too?” Realizing that the quickest route to peace was to indulge him, I got up again and opened the door, whereupon he grinned up at me, picked up his half dentabone in his mouth and tossed it high in the air over his shoulder into the hallway, pivoted, pounced on it, took possession, and ran down the hallway giggling, with me in hot pursuit. 

“Excellent” I could practically hear him thinking as he plopped down to chew, “that’s done properly now, and rightly so.”

Butter Press Lore

10 Friday Jan 2020

Posted by Jodi in Chance, Farm Life, Farm Produce, Liza and Arrow

≈ 1 Comment

Our local curio shop posted some lovely old butter presses online just before Christmas. A transparent attempt to snare unwary butter-making customers, and it worked. Oh my, I thought, I need one of these! I make butter! I could have pretty butter!

So I sent my husband the link and voila, Christmas morning brought me the most adorable little vintage butter press. And a gift receipt, plus a gift card from the shop, in case I wanted another, or wanted to trade this one for a pricier. He had all the bases covered. ❤️

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With visions of pretty butter pats sliding around on the hot pancakes I generally make with my leftover buttermilk dancing in my head, I pulled it out this evening, gave it a good scrub, and packed it with freshly made butter. The internet said to put it in the fridge and pop it out when chilled, which I did.

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The results were not exactly as expected. So then I tried packing it and then un-moulding immediately. Nope, that doesn’t work either.

I will have to figure this out. There has to be a trick to it. Back to the internet I go, to search out some butter press lore.

Lore. Accumulated knowledge or beliefs held by a group about a subject, especially when passed from generation to generation by oral tradition.

What an age we live in, where someone like me no longer possesses the lore that my homesteading great grandma a hundred years ago did, with regard to pressing butter. Yet I can still lay my hands on this lore, using a World Wide Web of freely available information, literally at my fingertips.

We are truly living through an information revolution. Just this evening, I have explored elderberries, their medicinal uses, propagation, growing and harvest; I have read how to make paneer, and ghee; I have learned about pulverizing the bones and scraps left over from making bone broth and dehydrating the resulting “pate” for dog treats; I have given a woman 4000 miles away my tips for making raisins; and I have shared a link to the comprehensive animal feed analysis online encyclopedia “Feedipedia” with a group of farmers wondering how best to feed their livestock spent brewer’s grain.

How many laborious hours at the library, in conversation and via correspondence would all this knowledge-sharing have taken me in the past? Hours and hours, if not days and days. It’s unprecedented in history, our access to knowledge. Such a gift. What will we do with it? Will it set us free? Will it enrich our global society? Maybe. Enlightenment is a good thing, right?

Time will tell, and in the meantime, I’m just going to figure out this butter thing…

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Barnyard Under Siege!

08 Saturday Jun 2019

Posted by Jodi in Chance, Chickens, Farm Life, Wildlife

≈ 1 Comment

K and Liza the LGD left on Thursday for a well earned week off and it didn’t take long for the neighbourhood raptors to figure out that the livestock guardian dog was gone.

We have chicks of all sizes running around the barnyard – it’s that time of year – and lots of predators skulking around the edges too, because who doesn’t love a tasty chicken dinner when they can get it?

 

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With Liza and Chance on the job, we’ve enjoyed zero losses for the past couple years. But of course Liza is away, and poor Chance the emo-dog has a bad case of barnyard PTSD due, we think, to a recent wasp encounter. He hasn’t figured out quite HOW the barnyard bit him, but he isn’t looking for a repeat, so he’s avoiding the area as much as possible. When I coax him out there, as I do once a day at least (exposure therapy works for dogs too), he sits and trembles until we let him go back to the house. The poor little guy has absolutely no appetite for guarding chickens. As far as he is concerned, they can fend for themselves.

 

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So as far as I’m concerned, they can just stay locked up, unless I can be out there with them. But I do feel bad. Chickens love to free range. The daily happy drama as they burst from their coop, beating their wings and shouting with joy at their freedom, makes it obvious. And at dusk, long after the staid old hens have taken to their roosts, settling down to digest their crops full of green grass and bugs, the teenagers hang around outside, chasing bugs and each other through the gloaming, bumping chests in mock battle, relishing every minute and ignoring their momma’s summons until forced in by the inexorable darkness.

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The raptor populations in our area are thriving too. Lots of bunnies, rodents and chickens to eat around here. At least five of the ten families on our road keep chickens, and we see bunnies everywhere. A group of four turkey vultures has been hanging around our valley for weeks, and one recent morning K was awakened very early when a large young female eagle perched right on top of the coops. The eagle didn’t wake her, but the chickens screaming bloody murder at the monster on their roof did.

 

Eagle thru my binoculars
Eagle thru my binoculars
Eagle, Vulture, Vulture, Vulture
Eagle, Vulture, Vulture, Vulture

Today a pair of gorgeous bald eagles 🦅dropped by to check things out at the same time as the vultures were visiting and I was cleaning coops. I guess they’d heard about Liza’s holiday. One stayed on patrol, circling so high up it was the size of a swallow, while the other perched regally in one of the tall Douglas firs overlooking the barnyard, ignoring the vultures and reviewing his options.

 

Vulture reconnaissance
Vulture reconnaissance
Vulture on a stump
Vulture on a stump

The four vultures, who divide their time at our place between a stump behind the manure pile, the poplars south of the barn and the Doug firs, weren’t too happy with their white-headed compatriots, so after about half an hour of uneasy co-existence they ran the eagles off the place. I was surprised the eagles went.

Liza will be home in a few more days, and Chance will slowly get over his barnyard aversion, and the chickens will again run free. But I’m afraid it is going to be a long few days for everyone except Liza.

 

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K is talking about getting a pup soon, so Liza, who is nine now, has a few active years left to whip him into shape and teach him her wisdom. Maybe I will get one too, and we can send them both to Liza school. If she can teach Chance to guard chickens, she can teach anyone.

And Chance would be beside himself with joy if I got him a puppy. He loves them almost as much as he loves babies.

 

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Holding Out for a Better Deal

03 Wednesday Apr 2019

Posted by Jodi in Chance

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A master manipulator with a clock in his head, Chance the dog proved today that he is also self-disciplined and aware enough to practice delayed gratification.

Maybe you’ve heard about the 1972 Marshmallow Experiment? Researchers gave 4 and 5 year old children a marshmallow, then offered them a deal. If the child didn’t eat the marshmallow when the researcher stepped out of the room, they would be rewarded with a second one. Then the researcher left the room for 15 minutes. As you might expect, some kids couldn’t wait while others held out and won that second marshmallow. Then the researchers followed the kids for the next 40 years. The study found that the children who could delay their gratification had more success in all facets of their lives.

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When I return to the house after feeding the barnyard crew lunch each day, if Chance has accompanied me (some days he chooses sleep), we stop at the closet at the bottom of the stairs so I can give him a dog bone cookie. Invariably, he grabs it excitedly, races up the stairs, finds a good hidey hole, and munches it down. Yesterday as usual I reached into the box, grabbed one, handed it to him, then walked around the corner to check on the laundry. When I came back a few minutes later, he was still sitting at the bottom of the stairs and so was his cookie, on the floor in front of him! That’s when I noticed I had given the poor little fellow 🙄 a broken one.

He stared pleadingly at me, and I more or less automatically reached back into the closet, grabbed another, whole cookie, and handed it to him. He accepted this one excitedly, and was off, racing up the stairs as usual to eat in private.

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The little bugger had held out for the bigger snack and got me to deliver.  I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised. After all, Chance has managed to overcome:

  • Being stray in LA
  • Passing unscathed (!) through a high kill SoCal shelter despite resembling a stubby pit bull
  • Going on a long road trip, destined for an island off the coast of another country
  • Sojourning for several weeks with a bad cough at a USA border control health care facility
  • Immigrating, then accepting a temporary home at a dog rescue
  • Participating in saving a confused elderly dog on a busy country road
  • Lucking into an impulse adoption by a recently bereaved dog owner collecting daughter’s said elderly dog at the Gowland Todd trailhead
  • Having all his American medical bills paid by his new master
  • Ending up in his current comfy berth as much loved lap dog, master of his domain and noble chicken guardian.

And he’s only just turned five!

Dear Chance has had a pretty successful life so far. I guess he’s also been smart enough to make at least some of his own luck, as all truly capable folk do.

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Merry Muddy Christmas!

23 Sunday Dec 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chance, Chickens, Farm Life, Seasons, Weather

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It took me two afternoons’ work, the last of my leaf hoard and a bale of shavings to get the upper hand over the barnyard mud, but it’s done. Victory is mine for now. My chickens will be cozy for Christmas. 

Is it silly to fuss about the barnyard creatures at this time of year, with everything else needing doing? Maybe, but a humble barnyard plays a pretty high profile role in the Christmas story, so it seems apt to me. 

So far, it’s been a warm fall / winter with zero snow, rain storm after rain storm and a huge windstorm the other day, “the worst in twenty years!” No trees down and no power outages here in our muddy valley, lucky us, although we lost internet for a couple days. And we’re experiencing peak mud; a treacherous thin coat of the slippery stuff engulfing every pathway, soggy corners in every coop and spongy, squishy fields. The creek is roaring with delight, but the disconsolate equines don’t even ask to go out on grass. They know that without a hard freeze, they are stuck in their hog fuel paddocks until things dry up.

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In our wet coast climate, keeping the critters somewhat mud-free will continue to pose challenges until springtime. Even after all this weekend’s work, I know that a few days after Christmas, I will be heaving sopping shovel-loads out of the most popular barnyard hang-outs and as a last resort, laying pallets across the worst bits to keep the birds up out of the mud. Once the pallets are down, they are there till spring, when I will pull them up, hose them off and stack them away for next year.

But we’re not there yet. In the dirt-floored Hen Hotel, my American gothic pitchfork does a wonderful job of lifting the top muddy, poopy inch to reveal dry soil below. The birds are thrilled at the dusty fresh dirt, and commence bathing instantly. Purpose-built peat moss and wood ash dust baths are within easy reach, but they much prefer the summer-dry soil, as long as it lasts anyway. I think they know it has an expiry date. The mud is coming.

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Old man winter likely has a few more surprises up his sleeve, but I have a few tricks up mine too. Keeping the barnyard functional is lots of physical labour, and just what I need to keep my body moving, so I don’t mind a bit. Getting exercise while accomplishing something ticks all my boxes and always has. And keeping the barnyard creatures comfortable is pretty darned satisfying too.

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As we all soldier on through this darkest time of year, stringing our thin lines of coloured lights against the darkness, shovelling away the mud that threatens to engulf us and seeking out warmth and good company, I wish a Merry Christmas to you and yours, and a happy 2019 to come. May you find what you seek, and take joy in the seeking.

Thanks for listening.

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Baby!

15 Saturday Dec 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chance, Farm Life

≈ 1 Comment

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Chance cruises through most days on the edge of sleep, until something piques his interest. Nothing grabs his attention better than a baby. Any baby. We’re talking zero to a hundred in a nano-second.

It came as a surprise, Chance’s baby obsession. Because for the first couple years of life with Chance, there were no babies around. 

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Wow, he is sure a dog’s dog, we decided. Chance focuses intensely on other dogs, especially puppies. We had in the past always kept dogs two at a time, starting fresh after each pair crossed the rainbow bridge. But after Chance arrived we put off getting a second dog. If Chance got his own puppy, he might never speak to us again. Not intentionally, he simply wouldn’t see us.

And then a couple years ago, with our younger generation into their twenties, we started seeing the occasional baby over for a visit. It has been delightful to play with babies again, and no one has loved their visits more than Chance.

 

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Our dear K recently flew in for a visit with her…you guessed it…six month-old BABY! Oh boy Chance! A real BABY!

She didn’t just stay for an hour either, this baby stayed for days. Chance was in heaven. He constantly attended his baby F, observing diaper changes, supervising feeding sessions and willingly accepting (and licking industriously) grabby little hands.  He had to be checked again and again as his enthusiasm exceeded the situation and threatened to overwhelm our little bright eyed little girlie with his doggie love.

 

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Luckily baby has three doggos of her own at home. She handled the canine onslaught beautifully. So did her momma, correcting Chance calmly, appropriately and patiently.

When baby cried, as all babies do from time to time, Chance would become frantic. His relief was likewise greater than any of the rest of ours, each time baby settled down. When baby went into her bedroom and the door shut, Chance stayed on guard until she came out again. Every morning as soon as he got up, he ran down the hall to station himself outside her door.

 

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When her visit ended and baby F left for home, Chance slept for two days straight.

Babies are tiring eh Chance! You just wait a couple years till she is running around the house after you to dress you up for an afternoon tea party.

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Chance’s New Bone

03 Friday Aug 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chance

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I brought a beef shank bone home from the feed store last week for Chance. He hadn’t had a new one for a while and it was time. I had to wait to give it to him till the weekend though, when the bigger dogs would be away camping. He’d lose it in five minutes flat with them around. So I snuck it into the house and tucked it away behind a pile of mending on my sewing table.

That evening I was relaxing in my chair with my tablet when a sharp bark demanded my attention. Chance was sitting at my feet, staring intently at me. “What do you want?” I asked him. His head snapped right, nose pointing at my office, then back to me. That’s how he points, with his nose.

Geez, I thought, he has already sniffed out that bone! It’s still wrapped in plastic too! I told him no, not till the weekend, and went back to reading.

Over the next couple of days, he kept trying to get that bone. He had never laid eyes on it, but he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was there. He tried to climb up and get it, but he was too short.

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He tried to tunnel up to it from below, but the table was too thick.

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Finally, finally, it was the weekend and he was the only dog around. “Do you want your new bone?” I asked him excitedly. His look left no room for doubt. Of course he wanted that bone, he had been waiting for DAYS!

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The Unpredictable Barnyard

07 Saturday Apr 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chance, Farm Life

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We were jolted away from our various pursuits yesterday afternoon by an ungodly screaming coming from the barnyard. It sounded as though one of the dogs had been kicked by an angry donkey, or hit by a car, or attacked by a cougar or bear!

I was working in my office, so ran to a west-facing window to see what was going on. B was puttering around the house, he headed for the back deck. K was closest, re-fortifying a veggie patch fence against chicken depredations. Reaching the scene first, she found a terrified little dog, shaking like a leaf behind the barn.

Putting two and two together, and in the complete absence of killer cars, equines, cougars or bears, she surmised that poor Chance must have become tangled in the electric fence gate, which hung loosely at the corner of the barn. Ouch, that would have been a shock.

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Relieved that no lasting damage appeared to have been done, we returned to our various tasks. Chance stayed out with K, refusing to venture more than three feet from her side the rest of the afternoon. After supper, he glued himself to me all evening, even choosing to follow me to bed (his kennel is just outside our room) rather than than stay up late, like he usually does, with B.

This morning, and in the general excitement, he forgot his fear long enough to make it out the back door with Liza and me, but out in the barnyard, when I looked for him a little while later, he was nowhere in sight. He had retreated to the carport, where he cowered, waiting for another bolt out of the blue.

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Later in the morning, I once more headed outside. This time, he came as far as the stairs, and, with a great deal more encouragement, as far as the back door, but that was it. No further would he go.

Poor little guy, he sure has been spooked. One of his favourite places on earth has morphed into a dystopian nightmare where excruciating pain strikes at random. Oh the unpredictability and inexplicability of it all! I wonder how long before he forgets, and takes up his crown to be king of his small kingdom again. Not too long I hope.

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Pratfall

12 Monday Mar 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chance, Chickens, Equines, Seasons

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Sitting peacefully in the barnyard, chickens scratching and pecking, equines dozing, dogs on casual guard duty, soaking up the early spring sun.

A curious Welsummer hen walking along the tops of a row of metal garbage cans steps on a loose lid, up it tips and down she goes into the depths of the oyster shell bin, the lid clattering down like a trick trap door.

I jump up, lift the lid and out she flies, protesting loudly. Her panic triggers a general alarm. Everyone dives for cover, all the roosters screaming “Warning!Danger!”.

Dogs stand at alert, scanning the area. Silkie rooster, his hens and chicks safely in their coop, stations his brave little self just outside the coop door, ready for battle with the unseen enemy.

The barnyard is empty now, even the baby grow out pen birds, at 3 weeks old fully understanding the seriousness of the situation, hiding inside their coop.

As the minutes tick by and the enemy fails to show, the warnings slow, then stop, and silence ensues, for a minute.

Then the roosters start crowing. Claiming the barnyard for themselves again, warning the enemy off. First to sound off is David Cassidy the Swede, then Mr Wyandotte, then Mr Marans, and so on down the seniority line, finishing up with Mr. Barred Rock, the youngest adult male.

And ten or so minutes after Welsummer’s pratfall, the barnyard is back to normal. Everyone is relieved, except disappointed dogs who found no one to chase.

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And She Speaks Fluent Chicken!

03 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by Jodi in Chance, Chickens, Farm Life

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I first saw Liza perched on top of a rock, mistress of all she surveyed, in a fetching photo in a “Dog for Free” ad on the Used Victoria website. My eldest had recently lost her old border collie Ginny, who came home with K after her summer job at a Chilcotin dude ranch the year she turned 19. So I sent K the link immediately.

As a child K was always bringing home animals, and her Dad and I had, over the years, learned to roll with the punches. After surprise new pets ranging from a feisty cockatiel to a 16 hand Standardbred gelding appearing on our doorstep, a border collie seemed quite reasonable. Besides, to hear K tell it, with much shrugging of shoulders and “what else could I do?” Ginny had adopted K, not the other way around.

K always met her pet ownership responsibilities cheerfully and thoroughly, and we learned to just sit back and enjoy the ride. She even turned a profit on one or two of her acquisitions, although the Paint mare she bought one year did put her in the hospital with a broken pelvis for a time.

K emailed Liza’s owner right away, as did about a hundred other people. But K was one of the first, and the prospect of life on a hobby farm with a young, fit, work-at-home hiking enthusiast led Liza’s family to choose K as Liza’s new owner.

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Liza’s first family loved her lots, and had vetted and trained her thoroughly. But family challenges, including divorce, another high-need dog, busy children and full time work outside the home led them to realize something had to give, and so they gave Liza the chance of a happier life.

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Liza has been on the farm now for a couple of years, and is totally devoted to K and her barnyard crew. We all, especially Chance, love her dearly. She is a bit of a bitch, but we work around it, and anyway that facet of her personality just makes Chance love her all the more. She is learning to get along with Mocha, daughter #2’s rescue pittie, even though Mocha IS a FEMALE (ugh!) and DOESN’T let Liza boss her around (double ugh!).

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These days, Liza stays busy around the barnyard, keeping a matronly eye on everything and everybody. If another dog comes to visit, and Chance gets playing too hard with the interloper, Liza steps in and settles things down, sometimes quite forcefully, to the point where she has earned the nickname “the fun police”.

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If we call Chance to come, and he doesn’t obey right away, she disciplines him. Other dogs might take offence, but not Chance, he loves to be chased, and loves Liza’s attention, even if it is accompanied by a growl and a snap. They make a good couple.

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If the horse or donkeys are running around like idiots, as they do from time to time, Liza will creep close, crouching low to the ground, begging K with her eyes to let her herd. But K never does, equines have sharp hooves and donkeys in general are known for occasional violence towards dogs. So Liza restrains herself, and simply keeps a close eye till things settle down again.

She has also self-trained into an awesome LGD – livestock guardian dog. Absolutely fascinated with chickens, especially the tiny cheeping ones, she has helped me with them, in a supervisory capacity, since day 1. All that exposure, coupled with her excellent mind, means she now knows exactly what the chickens are saying when they use their various calls. She speaks fluent Chicken.

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Chickens have a language all their own, as any flock owner will tell you. Our flocks free range, which exposes them to many predators. Luckily Liza is on the job. When she hears a rooster give warning, she reacts as quickly as the flock, and often much quicker than me, sighting the danger and giving chase. It’s quite something to see, this dog racing across a field, head craned up, barking and growling at the sky like a crazy thing, tracking an eagle or hawk as they reconnoiter the barnyard hoping for a tasty meal of fresh chicken.

I always worry she is going to slam right into a fence, or the creek, or run out into the road, since she isn’t looking where she is going, but keeping her eyes trained on the danger. But she never does, and she always stops at the property line, then trots back to resume her supervisory role, with the satisfied air of a good job well done.

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