Dog Days

   According to my mom, my first word was doggie. This was rather disconcerting to young city parents, born and bred. Neither particularly liked dogs (although they, my dad especially, loathed cats so it  was not as bad as all that I suppose.) I often wonder if they regretted promising me a dog if we ever lived in the 'country'. With 3 babies born in their first 5 years of marriage, I imagine it seemed a safe thing to promise at the time.
   One of my absolute clear memories of early childhood was the giant "Little Books" series book, The Poky Little Puppy, that my dad brought home for me when I was 3. Another sharp memory was that remarkable moment when the squiggles and baffling code on the page became clear to me in first grade as  we read about the plucky black cocker spaniel Tag. "Tag. See Tag. Tag can run. Tag can play. We like Tag."
Great literature it was not. But that moment of going from nonreader to true reader is a thrill not soon forgotten. As a matter of fact, I get to relive it in school as a teacher, when I help my little friends learn to unlock the code of the squiggles, and it is still a spine-tingling moment.
   These two tales of dogs, opened for me many worlds, including the joys of a specific reading genre, that of dog stories. Oh, and I have read them all, from the insipid My Dog Marly, to the classic Call of the Wild, to the zany Marmaduke and Snoopy.
   Some books, like the Big Red series by Jim Kjelgaard, were worth rereading over and over. Other dog stories came from favorite authors who in addition to being writers were also dog lovers. Many authors take to writing at least one short story about their beloved canine. Even movie stars are known to pen stories of their rescued canines and pampered pooches, and I  gobble up every one.
   My latest dog story book is from a children's author Gary Paulsen; his My life in Dog years is riveting, heartwarming, and harrowing as only the best novels can be. Each chapter, highlighting dogs in his life, is magnificent. These stories are written for fifth graders and I wish more popular adult novelists would compose their prose with the same spare, clear, to the point, style.
  One of his stories, about Rex the farm dog, really caught my imagination as we await the arrival of our new bearded collie puppy. By the way, our puppy has not been born yet. She won't arrive here until this summer, or he, as of course we do not yet know the dog's sex.
  I have never gotten a dog for a specific purpose before, I mean beyond companionship. All our dogs of course have become much more than companions. But this will be our first true working dog and expectations and anticipation run high.
   As our little livestock herd increases, I need a companion to help me with them and my children are fast outgrowing me. Soon, even Joe will be off at college, and so the need for a dog who can move the stock and provide modest protection is a necessity, not simply a wish.
   It is fascinating to me how different species interact. We all of course have had the experience of dogs who are devoted to their owners. Ferocious pitbulls who roll on their backs, while their special toddler friends tug at their ears. Or untrained family dogs who remain by the side of a lost in the woods small child. Or dogs who alert their owners to a cancer or an upcoming seizure. That dogs and people, especially children, are so intertwined is not surprising.
   But I find the relationship between dogs and other pets or dogs and livestock to be equally fascinating. Our Beardie Lily for instance adored baby bunnies. She spent hours outside in the bunny barns watching over them and playing with them. She never met another creature she did not instantly like and spent all her days herding and guarding the small creatures under her watch.
   She was always surprised and a little hurt when the cats would get exasperated with her need to herd them. When they would whirl around in annoyance and swat her nose, she always had the same comical expression of disbelief and wounded dignity.  Then there is my farmer friend who has a magnificent Maremma, who would rather sleep with the stock than go in the house, and who can snuggle up to the newborn sheep in one minute and then leap up and tear apart a skulking coyote. That is amazing to me.
    Of course a good working dog needs to be trained. But it baffles me how much is simply born and bred in them. My beardie had absolutely no herding training for instance. But she naturally gravitated to the animals e and longed to be with them and guide them.
   I wonder what our new beardie will be like? Will I be able to train her to be an effective working dog? As I sit here and type this I can smell old man Bambam, who in spite of multiple baths and doggie colognes, still always retains his au d' wet rug smell. I have never been able to train him not to bark incessantly when people enter the house. Nor have I been able to keep him off the furniture. His hair is always a bit scruffy and if he can sneak food off the kitchen table, by golly it is worth any scolding to him.
   Yet at 13 or 14 (we have lost track) he remains an eager companion, a lover of all creatures littler than him, and a great secret keeper. He can barely see now, and his hearing is starting to go. His only goal in life (besides whatever might be on the kitchen table) is to simply lay near me, wherever I am. He snores in his sleep and his scent lingers on whatever he lay on. But who can resist a friend, even a smelly one, who simply wants to BE with you, that is all, just bask in your presence?
    I am not sure that Gary Paulson, Jim Gjelgaard, or the great Jack London, could ever pen a riveting heroic story about Bambam. But in my heart, he will always be a good story.

Bad back is back

   Julie, Joe, and I adventured back to a Rhode Island horse farm where the second of three rabbit shows is being held this spring. Julie adored the horses, Joe adored reading Stephen King's the Stand, and I , well to be honest I cannot say I adored my time there. First, it was cooooooold. Second, very early before the show even started Julie and I were setting up the raffle, when I took a simple half step backwards and for whatever reason my lower back went into a charlie horse kind of tremendous muscle spasm. It was so bad that it wrapped around my hips and eventually affected the upper muscles in my legs. Youch!!!
   Now I have not really had any back trouble worth mentioning in a year. But boy did my back make up for lost time. Of course I had no muscle relaxer, nor did anyone else. Eventually a friend gave me a pain reliever, but I am going to have to use a past due flexeril tonight, very shortly as a matter of fact because those muscles are still seizing.
   The third thing that happened during the show is what really brought the day to a sobering stop. One of our New York rabbit friends, died unexpectedly the other day, and when the news hit those of us at the show the place silenced in shock. This woman was only 47 and had been showing for longer than I have. She was a quiet unassuming, honest person with wonderful rabbits and a kind sportsmanlike manner.
   All of those competing in Netherlands today at the show have her rabbitry animals in our pedigrees, every one of us. It was a shock, to hear of a death so suddenly and out of the blue.
   3 weeks ago a dear friend and mentor suffered an aneurysm and she is still in ICU. Another friend was diagnosed over the weekend with Guillian Barre and is undergoing intense treatment. Now our rabbit friend Wendy.
    The whole drive home I listened to my young kindergarten friend sing Disney's Let It Go song and rattle on about important 6 year old things and it was rather comforting. Then when Joe and I got home (Julie stuck around in RI to visit a friend) we tackled the unloading of the rabbits together. Of course with my back still in spasm I lifted nothing heavier than a 2 pound bunny. While we returned them to their cages we bred various breeding pairs, fed and watered rabbits, chickens, baby chicks, sheep, and goats. In addition Joe cleaned out the travel cages and I gathered eggs. We tried to let the young goats out and about with us while we worked but as I have mentioned before, goats think they are a greats help with chores. They ARE NOT.
Listening to Joe's joy at the antics of the goats and his ducks, pausing to marvel at 7 year old Ginger (an ancient hen) who decided to fly about the yard like a young chick, plotting with Joe about our fortunes to be made this year with bunny sales, debating the best breeding pairs, planning hen-house and barnyard improvements, chuckling at Mama's ever increasing girth (twins twins).... the first hour home was so full of important conversation, contemplation, and companionship. I treasured every moment, poignantly aware of my three women friends and the worry and grief that their families are going through.
   My back is a major inconvenience, and right now extraordinarily painful. But I am lucky to still be able to muddle through my day and do the things I love with people I love. If you all could keep my 3 friends and their families in your thoughts and prayers that would be nice.
   I am off to take a muscle relaxer and a nice warm shower. I am as always grateful for my treasures, which today included an honest to goodness egg hunt because the lady hens have taken advantage of these 2 sunny days to run about the yard and lay eggs in all sorts of hidey places.

SOAP MAKING 101

Julie and I have been eager to make our own goat milk soap. We have been reading books and watching videos about it. I have been following my FB friend Ann who is a fellow bee keeper. She invested a lot of time and effort this winter teaching herself how to make all kinds of soap. She used Mama's goat milk in some of her first attempts. Then a couple of FB friends who are also rabbit and goat breeders began making it and gave me lots of tips.
   But I went into it with trepidation because, well because I am a spiller and rather messy when I cook or bake. That is fine of course, wiping up warm goat cheese, or chocolate melting on the floor is no big deal in cooking. But LYE is one scary thing to work with. You can not read a single thing about soap making without dire warnings about the dangers of lye.
   Just finding the lye proved a Herculean task.  Shaws use to carry it but since you can use lye to make crystal meth they apparently no longer sell it.  The same with Walmart and Aubuchon Hardware. Tractor Supply not only did not carry it but I think we freaked the girl out when we told her the varied uses of lye. "You can use it to unclog a drain, destroy a dead body, make drugs, or, you know, make goat milk soap." When we said that to her, with a big grin, she nervously commented, "But you are making soap, right?" Some people have no sense of adventure or humor I guess.
     Anyway we eventually found it at Lowes. But the gods of DIY were against us because when we returned home we discovered that not only was there no olive oil (a staple in this house) but that Yon had thrown away the Pringles cans I was saving to use as a mold.
   Mind you I have been planning all week to make this soap. I put the date aside on the calendar, purchased the items, double checked that every thing was all set to go. Julie and I even re watched videos about it last night so we would be all set! Yet we still got off to a late start and I was fuming about the delays. Then, at the last possible moment I realized that I could not find the book that contained the simple recipe we were going to try first. I hope I returned it to my friend Barbara!
   Soap measurements seem quite exact and there are dozens of recipes and ways to do things. Everyone stresses warnings of the dangers of lye, and exact measurements by WEIGHT of ingredients, not cups. However, some  measurements are in ounces and some in grams, oh and some in cups lol, just to confuse. By the time Julie and I began we felt like chemists.
   But once we had our work stations all set, things went very smoothly. She is a fun person to work with because she is very easy going, yet precise. The whole thing from set up to clean up took about 2 hours. We carefully put our soap making products away in one designated box, to make things easier the next time.
We have already decided to get a new container to stir the lye into the goat milk because the one we had, contained internal ridges that the lye granules stubbornly clung to.
    Now we wait overnight for the soap to set in the Pringles can. Tomorrow we will cut the soap into pretty round pieces and then let them cure for a month, when they will be ready to use. We are going to make this type of soap a few more times until we are sure we have everything correct, then we will move on to honey soap, from our own bees, and maybe some oatmeal soap, or lavender soap, or or or.....
   It is pretty amazing to think of all the adventures I have gotten into all the people I have met, all the things I have learned, and all because I wanted to have a little milk goat.
   
9 ounces olive oil
9 ounces coconut oil  ($6 for 14 ounces.)
8 ounces goat milk
4 ounces lye  ($14 for 2 pound bottle)
$20 for stick blender
$15 for pan, spatulas, bowls forever to be used only for soap making
$15 safety goggles (Because we are afraid of lye).
PS: Saponification is a fun word to say and thorough out the soap making process I said it under my breath like Brick on the tv show The Middle, saponification, saponification.