Mr. Chip checks in.

We have now spent some months with Mr. Chip as a Cushing syndrome patient. After a slightly wobbly start we now seem to have mastered pills and doses. Starting from sleepy dog, going to hyper sensitive dog and now almost normal dog, all in one autumn season, is quite good work I think. We're still not out of the woods, so to speak but at least we are not stumbling around in complete darkness.

Being 13 years old does not help when you start new medication. Being a terrier never helps any process, as terriers tend to do things their own way. Having the world’s kindest dog makes everything easier and as the vet commented, "It would help their work a lot if more terriers were like Mr. Chip." He has been a very brave dog through all the blood tests and pills, and on top of that he hurt his leg.

It was on a morning walk that Mr. Chip stepped on a twig, yelled and made a leap like a snow fox. The leap was too much before all muscles had woken up so he pulled something and had to be carried home. It was those stupid sticks that are left after a clearing saw on a forest road that did it and now we have been convalescing for weeks and weeks. The vet suggested acupuncture but we chose to go home and read a good book instead. Lots of rest and no more needles for Mr. Chip, was the plan. I think we are getting there, although for a while our dear dog adapted a crab-like walk. He would start to walk sideways and pick up speed so at some point I could almost see his crab claws forming. It turned out that it was a way to recuperate as he's back to walking straight again.

Credit: Dasha Dimitrova

My normal reaction to Crab Chip would have been to rush to the vet and yell "All the treatments available, please! " but he has been through enough this autumn so we are trying home remedies first. He will be checked out this week when we go in for more blood tests.

Cushing syndrome is treatable and I'm starting to hope it's true in our case, too. Some evenings we have had dinner without Mr. Chip almost fainting next to us from being so appalled that some food in the house actually ends up on our plates. He does not drink all the water in the village at once anymore and his sleeping pattern has gone back to normal. When he was really stressed out, he fell into such deep sleep, that you thought he was in a coma. Very unnerving! He does shake more than he used to, though, so Parkinson's springs to mind. Maybe there is a connection? I will have to read up on that, too. In the meantime we will enjoy the company of our dear friend and hope for the best. The hens will have to watch out because Mr. Chip the hen hunter is back. Lina almost walked in to his mouth, yesterday, before catching on that the beast is back. I saved that situation but could not help being a little happy about it all. Mr. Chip has found his mode again, long may it last and we can try and keep him away from the hens. Also, having seen Lina's work with her beak, I think Mr. Chip would have let go very quickly. And let's face it, he's back but he still likes his hens plucked, thank you!

P.s. We had a day at the vet and Mr. Chip really is responding to his medicine. We were all very pleased with that news and glad that it was not just me thinking that way....

Text by Nina

Next blog post on the 29th November.


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Sheep shearing

The friendly sheep farmers that we have the good fortune to know, arrived last week. So now our four M’s are sporting very short, very fine coats. What's left of their woolyness sits in four bulging hessian bags waiting to be made into yarn. My dear husband will take it to an ecological spinner company and after almost a year we will get it back. And I can knit us a pair of socks, or so...

Shearing Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My is interesting, to say the least. They like the feel of a shorter coat, when it's done but they do not help out much, to get there. First of all, they are quite large animals. They like their food and find plenty of it, so lifting them up on the shearing table is a challenge. The friendly farmers have the right touch and I help out by pushing at the back. Style does not come in to this process!

I say "help out" but my input during the whole session is basically to be there to keep our ladies calm, be in the way and to be slightly silly in general. I do it well and that's why our farmer friends have to be friendly. 

How the shearing would have been done in the past.
Credit: Dasha Dimitrova

Secondly, sheep tend to panic easily, so shearing our M's means a firm grip or you go flying off the table with one of them. My is really fast at throwing herself backwards and that can end badly. This year she also realised that by pulling up her legs she could be extra special and end up looking like a black, fluffy egg on a pedestal. No browny points for her this autumn...

Sheep farmers have the calmest of nature. You need it and I'm learning more, all the time. Having sheep like Molly and Mindy around helps a lot, though. Mindy told Mandy to calm down and she was really brave this time. Her input was just vocal. Fog-horn springs to mind.... Molly stands still, asks about some snacks and worries that everyone isn't having a good time. And after they are all sheared, Molly starts an almighty fight, because now they all look different, smell of oil from the machine and because she needs to let of steam. They go out and fight the living daylight out of each other for an hour of so and then have to come in for a rest. Strange animals, sheep....

Our funny hens spent the whole morning in the forest because the shearing machine was loud and you just never know... As a treat, my dear husband brought home straw for the sheep, as it gets a bit nippy being slightly naked in November. I made nice bedding for them with golden straw on a thick base of sawdust. They then spent the night eating straw and kept warm that way. From being round in the evening they changed to an almost barrel sized look by the next morning. You can't win, with sheep...

The hens got some straw as a treat, just because they always like that - treats that is. It turned out they love straw and it has now turned in to a bit of an obsession with them. They spent three whole days playing with it and had no time to go out. They moved straw around the whole hen house, around the sheep pen, around the stable in general and then started pecking through the straw still in bales. It was amazing to watch - small birds going hundred and ten around the house, building and fixing, straw everywhere. The poor sheep never knew where their snack would turn up next.

I had to put my foot down before they all collapsed from being overworked and forced them out into the sun. Not a popular move but they still had time to build, in the evenings. Who would have thought hens could get even more special. Lina almost had a fit because she had to carry on turning our compost and also build straw creations. She spent two days running back and forth and I thought her little heart would give up, but she is calmer now. Monty went over to help with the digging and that was kind of him. He loves her so much and she pecks him hard in the chest and tells him all about how beautiful Waldemar was. So he lives in hope and digs up the compost in the meantime. There's some wisdom in that but as my brain has turned into straw and wool, I can't grasp it, yet.

Text by Nina

Next blog post on the 22nd November.


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The week that was.

It's not been the happiest of weeks.

We lost a dear friend and even the weather turned dark and gloomy, to match our feelings. A fox found out where our hens had built their playhouse and visited them, one morning. They are very fast workers, foxes, so even though Dear Husband ran, he could not save one of the hens. Dearest Dimi, our beautiful youngster got taken and once again we were all extremely sad.

Darya, Dimi's best friend spent the rest of the day waiting for her to return and that did nothing to lift our spirit. As I've written before, these are the moments when we start questioning our way of keeping hens. In a cage they would be safe and in one place, no foxes around. Then I read about a hen keeper who had a bird of prey visiting the henhouse, killing a lot of his birds in their home, and I think you can't win.

                 Credit: Dasha Dimitrova

So the hens stayed indoors for a few days and that's as much fun as it gets. Grumpy, stomping around birds that inform you loudly about animal cruelty does not make you less sad. Outside the four M’s were roaming around, looking for the them and calling for me to help looking. All in all, not a happy place at the moment. It's also alarming to see how quickly hens get bored indoors. They start picking on everything the others do, they steal each other’s food and they get snippy with poor Monty. This, even though I brought them fresh grass and lots of extra food. I even made a sand heap in the middle of the stable for them. That, they did not touch - but I fell over it twice. So I caved in and the hens are out again. I run around clapping and speaking loudly into the forest about what I will do to any fox brave enough to try again and just hoping that no one (apart from Family Fox ) hears me.

Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My look at me like I have completely lost the plot and the hens are busy checking out the place, where they met the animal of the forest. My stress level reaches new heights and I'm thinking of moving in to town and cultivate silk flowers on a small windowsill..... Then the hens turn up and inform me that as I would not really like the idea and could I feed them instead? So I do and they are right. Mindy also tells me that sheep do not like silk flowers, so I should get a grip. And I do that as well but at the end of the day, loosing a friend hurts and one should have the right to feel sad. And then get on with it, as our four woolly therapists tells me.

On a happier note, Little E is now looking very much like a not so little Lisbeth hen, as you saw last week. Still beeping away but taller than her mother. And she has inherited her fathers logical thinking, so we will all soon be sporting grey hair and worry wrinkles. Can't wait!

Text by Nina

Next blog post on the 15th November.


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Sunday mornings

It's Sunday morning and Mr Chip is hiding under a quilt, informing me about the “Day of Rest.” Apparently he believes strongly, that it applies more to dogs, than humans. He will have great support from our dear sheep that love a slow morning in the making. When all timetables have gone to pot their morning is complete. Not that we have a very stressful life, but sheep like to sleep in. And it is Sunday... The hens, however, will be angry and stressed and the stable will look a sight, when I get there. Hens are early risers and when kept in for a few minutes extra, they rearrange the stable, decorate it freely and end their protest by turning out all the seeds from their bowls - to have a look at the bottom of the dish. "And they don't care what day it is!" thank you very much.

                                                                    Credit: Dasha Dimitrova

Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My (pronounced as the German word uber, by the way...) are still walking around looking like woolly toys and at the moment I have to brush them every day. Molly especially can turn up with all sorts, stuck to her coat. It's like an autumn collage with legs, when she arrives. The day she also sported half a Juniper branch stuck to her side, I really wished I'd had a good camera at hand. It was a mixture of woodland gobbling and Phoenix. And it took some time to separate the two.... Mindy has a coat that's so soft that she should work at a kindergarten. If anyone got sad, hugging her would help a lot. My has a funny coat of really curly wool that lets all manner of stuff in. Brushing her is like a tale of their day. I can find evidence of forest walks, nettles from the hen playground, red paint that really should have been left on the wall where it was applied and of course sawdust. One day a very lost, very angry elf will turn up from inside her coat and that will take some explaining....  Mandy does not believe in grooming. I can do some quick brushing of her head, under her chin and maybe remove some nettle leafs from her coat, but that's it. So she walks around looking like someone that the Salvation Army should take on, whereas the rest of our fluffy group could be sold at Toys'r Us.

The sun is up, the day is clear and we will now start the day. Mr. Chip has woken up so it is time for breakfast. I have drunk my own body weight in coffee, already, and it's been nice sitting in bed, writing. There might be some truth in that theory about Sunday's, but maybe not every week, as our hens would have to move house. And that would be sad... The clocks went back so happy winter time everyone from all of us and Happy Halloween from Lisbet and friends.

Text by Nina

Next blog post on the 8th November.



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Autumn

Autumn has arrived in our village. It's getting a lot colder and the temperature is already on minus, in the nights. I guess this is normal weather for us, but we have been spoilt for some years with English weather, where the cold comes a bit later in the year. So frozen fields in the mornings are a bit of a chock for the system.

Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My seem to be quite relaxed about it, as they are still sporting their nice woolly coats. They will be sheared in two weeks time, so if the cold continues it will mean some days inside to adjust. Funnily that will not be a problem, as our four M’s love their home. It must be the light fading or the crisp air, but our sheep seem to be even more cozy and happy indoors, at the moment. They snuggle up for a hug and four of them trying to put their heads on my shoulders at once mean we end up looking like a rugby scrum. They also count their hens, checking that everyone is indoors, in the afternoon. Little chick E is still easy to spot. We hear where that little friend is holding fort, thanks to the constant beeping.

It's a cozy sort of time of the year. Animals are settling down for the winter, the feeding of the birds in the forest begins and life gets a bit less hectic. The hens are still outdoors all day as they refuse to be indoors. A bit of frozen grass never hurt anybody, apparently. But they find their way back home earlier now in the afternoons and by six o'clock all is still in the stable.

Last winter was a warm and icy version. Not ideal for animals with four spindly legs and a passion for bolting for no apparent reason. So with Christmas just around the corner, Molly hurt her leg.  Farm animals have a tendency to get ill or get hurt around holiday times. As soon as there are less vets at work, shops are closed and families gather to celebrate something, they need help. So Molly got Christmas as her time to sprain a muscle on the slippery ice. It was not a broken leg but it was very sore. It took a few days for the vet to come out, as rest some times does the trick, but not with our dear Ms. Fixer. Molly does not do rest very well as she has to check what's happening and what everyone is eating.

The kind vet that arrived had never met us before. We are, as a group, a bit of a surprise for anyone and the lady took it well. All the hens started telling her their life story as soon as she entered the stable and though I asked her not to, she could not resist letting them out of the pen. So then we had helper hens all around the stable. Most of them investigated the vet’s bag. Catching Molly was no problem, not stepping on feathery assistants was more so. Molly got painkillers and I had to show the bewildered vet that I could handle feeding her with a syringe. That went well.

Then the hens were checked out and the accommodation approved of and even the little rabbit that stayed the winter had a visit from the vet. All through this there was a constant call of "Danger!" from Waldemar. The whole thing was a bit more Monty Python than James Herriot, I must admit. But we passed the inspection, Molly got help and I got a headache.

                                       Credit: Dasha Dimitrova

Three days of medicating Molly went well. After that I had to ask Dear Husband to help with holding her. Molly felt better and her leg healed completely. However, we had one mystery on our hand - A little Christmas conundrum.

All the small, used syringes that I had used to medicate Molly went missing. I left them on a shelf, on a plate to be disposed of later. There were no needles, just small, shiny plastic syringes. But they were gone. I looked for them and worried that someone was eating plastic. I should have known that the explanation was much simpler, knowing our lot. The clever hens carried them home to the hen house as decorations for the holiday season. Shiny, sticky and quite fetching, they were, with a coat of loose feathers on them.

I don't know why I thought of this, must be the icy grass and the cold weather. Or the fact that Molly keeps running around my legs telling me, that autumn is a lovely season to really let go and stretch the old legs before going in to snuggle down for the night. I keep hoping for more snow this year, as it keeps sheep on their feet even in sharp corners.

Text by Nina

Next blog post on the 1st November.



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