Sometime before I was born, my father’s parents purchased an old rambling farmhouse set on several acres in Michigan’s thumb area.  I can see the rooms of that house clearly in memory, but what I see the clearest is Grandpa’s big ol’ red tractor. We called it the Chug-A-Lug, and Grandpa had built a small platform behind the tractor’s seat so his grandchildren could ride with him.  I loved riding on that tractor. The exhaust fumes could be overwhelming, but bouncing behind Grandpa, riding on a seat that was so high off the ground, was the best part about visiting the farm. 

I never asked my Dad what he thought about the Chug-A-Lug. I know he remembered it because when we bought our farm, he and I reminisced about it over multiple conversations.  I don’t know what he thought about Grandpa’s farm, either, but I do know that in our conversations over the past few months, if Dad didn’t know exactly who I was, he always knew that I was the one with the animals and the farm. Dad died several days ago, and I wasn’t able to give him one last update on the sheep, dogs, and cats that he was always able to ask me about. So, Dad, here’s the latest from the farm. 

I keep thinking that I need to bring more enrichment activities to our sheep, but they really seem to be doing well. They amuse themselves by accessorizing their wool with hay, straw, and pine shavings, and the cats keep them on their hooves and dancing around the play area. I have discovered that Mary loves pumpkin seeds ~ not pumpkin, just the seeds ~ and Duchess loves apples. No one loves bananas, graham crackers, molasses, or Fig Newtons, all of which are supposed to be treats for sheep. Apparently, no one told our sheep that. They all love oats, though, so I scatter a handful of oats through their hay every once in a while so they can play the sheep version of hide-and-seek. They are allowed outside on days when the wind isn’t wild, the rain/sleet/snow isn’t falling, and the temperature is above 32. We definitely need more days like that!

Riley and Vega totally agree. Our front yard has turned into a rutted ice skating rink, so running is absolutely at a minimum ~ for them and for me! I’ve got to say, though, that they’re handling being cooped up really well. Occasionally, they’ll run through the house, eight paws pounding on the old farmhouse wooden floors, shaking everything and sounding like an entire herd of horses. Mostly, though, they just tussle with each other, steal each other’s toys, and look at us with big soulful eyes that beg for the calendar to turn to Spring.  For her part, Sara just watches them and stays out of their way. Smart girl.

Our cats are getting snarky. If Echo is sitting on a stall rail and I happen to walk by, out will snake his paw, and he’ll rake up a few strands of hair that apparently I didn’t want anymore.  Steve is a major torment for Tiger. Should our littlest of cats happen to walk by our panther cat, his eyes will go to slits, his body will move into a crouch, and just as her tail passes him, he’ll pounce. Once. She’s off like a shot, and he will immediately sit down, curl his tail around him and start cleaning his paws as if nothing happened. Miracle is all over, dashing here and there, swiping at this and that, attacking strings, tails, and anything that’s hanging down further than an inch. The only calm one in the group is Mittens, who spends most of the day either sleeping or waiting by the house door for breakfast and dinner.  She will, however, bite any hand that reaches out to touch her, so I guess she’s a bit snarky, too. 

Friday is Mid-Winter, and as mild and calm as this winter has been, we’re all ready for Spring. I think everyone would be greatly helped if the sun actually came out for a few days. We are all really over the gray, the damp, and the fog/haze/ice mist.  I love that my Dad is somewhere in the sun, playing golf again, and hopefully, checking in on his farm every once in a while. Rest in Peace, Dad.