Tanya Kelley is a freelance writer from Ashmore, Illinois.  She and her husband own the Coles County poor farm property, Ashmore Estates (www.ashmoreestates.net).  Tanya and her family live on the property and raise the majority of their own produce, meat and dairy to support their own family.  Tanya has has a wide variety of livestock animals all of her life, starting with her first pony at age six.  Right now her farm has 3 spoiled horses, a Jersey steer, a hog, chickens, Shetland sheep, Nubian goats, an Australian shepherd and lots of barn cats.  She also enjoys homeschooling her 11. year old son William, canning, spinning wool, quilting and many other homestead activities.  When not working on the farm or writing, Tanya and her husband operate an October entertainment haunted house and year round paranormal events in the old poor farm building.  It's an unusual occupation, but beats working at a 9 to 5 job and lets her be home with her family and all the animals!

Cutting the Feed Bill – with a Scythe!

I don't have a lot of neighbors nearby, but you can see our place very well from the highway. I've heard a number of comments from locals that we do the most “interesting” things at our place. The latest and greatest is trying to find less expensive, more healthy ways to feed our animals. After all, what's the point of trying to raise healthy food – if you are feeding the animals GMO or pesticide/herbicide laden feeds?

So, when I watched the PBS series “Frontier House”, I considered the homesteaders' efforts to make hay as a personal challenge. It was the perfect way to take advantage of the horses' quirky habit of avoiding certain parts of the pasture for both logical and illogical reasons. The avoided parts are tall in grass and clover, perfect for hay.

We live in the middle of big farm country – everything is done by machines, the bigger, the better. And then, there's our place, right in the middle of the cornfields. Our biggest tractor is a John Deere riding lawn mower. And that doesn't get used a lot – grass is food, in my book. If an animal can eat it, it isn't going to get mowed.

I bought a scythe at... yes, I confess. At the auction. It was old and rusty (I didn't know they still sell new ones!) so my husband sharpened it with the grinder.

Now, I've tried cutting grass and weeds with a scythe, over the years. You probably have too, right? You find an old scythe in a barn somewhere, take a few swings at a nearby patch of weeds and... knock them over. Notice I said knock, not cut. I know when I've tried, I quickly came to the conclusion that cutting enough hay to make one bale would take years. It gave me a lot of respect for the early homesteaders.

Then, I tried cutting the grass with the newly sharpened scythe. The blade swung through the grass like a hot knife in butter. Grass and clover fell neatly to the ground, following the scythe's path. After several swings I got my balance and my skill improved. Cutting with a SHARP blade, I easily cut out a wide swath of grass and clover.

Our various hayburners use about 400 bales of hay a year. I wasn't under any delusion that I could cut even a significant portion of that hay. But I could cut enough clover/grass hay to keep the bunnies well fed. Maybe even enough for the goats. Every little bit helps, right? Besides, it's not likely that I could BUY hay as nice as what I could cut. When you cut it yourself, you can pick and choose the best patches – not something you can do when you are on a tractor. You also have the advantage of cutting in places no tractor could get to. Cutting the grass along the fence line and roadside bank gives me a a goodly amount. Fortunately, our road has minimal traffic so the forage is relatively clean and uncontaminated.

For my first hay cutting, I suspect passersby wondered if I had regressed to the 19^th century. Whack, whack, whack. By the end of 20 minutes, I had worked up a good sweat, but no worse than when I stack hay. I looked at the scattered piles of grass on the ground. It sure didn't look like much.

It was a dry, hot day, but we had a forecast for overnight storms. I checked the hay at 2 in the afternoon. It looked dry on top, so I raked it up (a pitchfork works best) into fluffy windrows. That took about ten minutes and made it look like there was more there. I felt a little better.

I left the windrows there until evening. By evening, it was mostly dry but there were some moist areas. I didn't want to store it yet – the last thing I wanted was to misjudge the dryness and end up with moldy hay. Or worse, start a fire (uncured, damp hay can spontaneously combust when compacted).

I forked the hay into my wheelbarrow and spread it out in piles on the barn floor. I would have preferred leaving it outside to dry another day but I didn't want to take the chance that it would get rained on. If it got rained on, I would have to dry it out again and that depletes nutrients. Again, that isn't a choice you get when you are working with large quantities.

Just like it's done most of this spring, it rained that night and part of the next day. Not good news for farmers with hay in the fields but I only had to adjust for high humidity. The second day, I thought the hay still felt damp. I fluffed it again, turning it over. By the afternoon of the third day (hot and sunny), the hay felt dry. I forked it into the mow. After several forkfuls, I had my son walk on it to compact it.

All told, I spent a little over an hour. When I weighed the hay, I was surprised to discover that I had the equivalent of 6 bales worth. Similar amounts (baled) cost me 4.50 a bale – so I figure an hour's worth of work saved me 27.00. I didn't buy gas for the lawn mower either. Not to mention that the hay is the best quality hay I think I've ever had.

When I ran the first taste test, using my harshest critics, the hay was a hit. First, I fed some to the horses. When they have grass in the pasture, they will always turn their noses up at hay. Not with this hay though – now my gelding comes to the gate several times a day. He whinnies and bangs on the gate, trying to get more of the hay. My mare, a hay snob, gobbles the hay down as if she was starving. The goats and sheep holler if they run out – which doesn't take long when they eat it like candy. The bunnies leave their grain to eat the hay.

My first 6 “bales” were so successful that I was anxious for the next sunny day, to try again. I was up early, scythe in hand. This time, the cutting wasn't going so well. It seemed like a lot more work and the cuts weren't clean. I needed to sharpen the blade.

I headed for the hardware store. There, one of the employees recommended sharpening the blade with a bastard file. Four dollars later, I headed home. I spend a few minutes filing the blade to a good, sharp edge. Then I started cutting. Once again, it was easy and the grass fell into neat little piles. Lesson learned – take time to sharpen the blade. If it seems like the cutting is hard, chances are the blade is dull. I have to sharpen my blade every 10 or 20 minutes, depending on how dense the forage is – and how many times I accidentally whack a stump or rock.

With practice, I've improved my technique. Now, I can swing my blade in a comfortable arc, skimming close to the ground. The closer to the ground, the better cut you get. In areas with thick grass or clover (the stems tangle around the blade), I cut smaller swathes at a time. Sometimes, the blade will knock down the grass instead of cutting it. When that happens, I let my blade drag on the ground as it returns for the next swing. Usually, that pushes the grass back up and the next swing will cut it.

Now that I've gotten handy using the scythe, I've added a little more daily cutting. Bunnies and goats LOVE most of the broadleaf weeds! However, those plants tend to be thick and hard to dry or dry so fast that they are brittle and fall apart. So, just for the summer, I cut a good sized wheelbarrow load of broadleaf growth in the morning for the weed lovers in the barn. They are happy, I don't use up my hay and I'm cutting the weeds before they flower and reseed. It's definitely a winning proposition.

If you decide to cut hay, check with your local extension office or local farmers to find out what is the best type for your area. Timing is also important. The nutritional value of the forage you are cutting changes through out the season – grass that is standing but brown has a lot less feed value than bright green, still growing stalks. Alfalfa that has been cut twice has fewer weeds and grass.

I did take a step back into the past by cutting my own hay. It's a bit of work, but well worth it. One advantage our ancestors didn't have? Gatorade. Yes, be sure and bring your Gatorade when you are cutting! You'll be glad you did.

When I mention my hay cutting project, I've gotten more than a few chuckles from “tractor” farmers. Let 'em laugh. I've spent an hour here and there on sunny days and I have a 10 x 12 foot horse stall filled to the roof with the best hay I've ever had. I've also saved money and there is a wonderful aroma of sweet, fresh hay in the barn.

So who's laughing now?

Read more: How to Mow using a Scythe | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_5346586_mow-using-scythe.html#ixzz0sXJxlQ6D

Bring Home the Bacon!

If you've been reading my articles each month, you might think I spend most of my time at our auction. Not so. The auction only runs on Monday afternoons. Well, except the small animal auction – that runs on the second and fourth Monday night of each month. And the horse auction, on the third Saturday of each month. Then there's the... never mind. The thing is, I really don't go to the auction that often – it's just not conducive to a low feed bill. That, and I want to stay married. So, I only go when it's necessary.

Yesterday, it became necessary. It was time for one of my rams to find a new home. As luck would have it, the ram was the very last to auction, right before the pigs. Before I could get out of the sale barn, the ring was swarming with baby pigs. Not just any pigs either – Hampshires, my favorites.

Also, as luck would have it, I just happened to have my bidding number right there, handy-dandy in my wallet. So, ten minutes later, I loaded my new, 30 pound gilt into the crate in the back of my Honda passport. Now, it's one thing to carry a sheep in a Honda Passport. They are relatively clean. It's a whole 'nother thing to haul a pig, even a small pig. They are not clean. A good heavy tarp under the crate protected the car. Nothing could protect the air quality inside.

We survived the trip, without incident. Once home, I put the pig, now dubbed Petunia, into our pig pen. She was pleased to see that the pen's amenities included a swimming pool, feed trough and a pig shed. All was well.

Growing up on a farm, my mother always insisted we would never have hogs. They smelled, she said. That is absolutely the truth. However, when our kids first joined 4H, the leader just happened to be a hog farmer. It was no coincidence that most of the kids in the group ended up raising hogs, including our own.

That's when we discovered the joys of raising pork. I mean, hogs. Sure, they do smell. And they are remarkable escape artists. They can, at a dead run, leave a 6 inch deep trench in your neighbor's garden. However, the upsides more than outweighs the down.

Pigs are fast weigh gainers. They can be fed nearly anything you or any of the other animals don't want – anything from soured milk to excess tomatoes from the garden. A pig won't turn down much, but, to avoid disease, don't feed them any meat.

From a financial standpoint, a pig gives you a lot of bang for your buck. I think they are cheaper per pound to raise than a chicken. Cheaper to slaughter, per pound, if you pay to have your animals slaughtered. They only require a small pen (unless you are pasture raising them). They are a great summer project too – get your pig in the spring, butcher him in the fall. No trudging through the snow with a bucket of feed!

And then, there's the pork. Hormone free, antibiotic free, tasty and lean. One inch thick chops, ribs and bacon. Mmmm, mmm. Are you ready to get your first pig?

Well, don't go whole hog yet. Before you get your very own Petunia, there's a few things you should know. First, you need a pig proof pen. Pigs are very destructive, both in and out of the pen. If you can keep them in the pen, you can minimize the destruction.

We've build a lot of pens and we've chased a lot of pigs. Our latest and greatest pen is the only pen that has proven escape proof. It was quick to build and, thanks to some shopping at farm auctions (yes, more auctions!), relatively inexpensive.

Here's what we did. We bought four 4 foot tall, 12 foot long pipe gates. They were old and not pretty, but still sturdy. Inside of the gates, we made another fence of used cattle panels. We also laid cattle panel on the “floor” to eliminate any tunneling out. We wired the corners together with baling wire. We also wired the floor to bottom of the gates. Nothing connects the pen to the ground but the pig can't lift the gates either, since it is standing on the floor panels. Ideally, the pig goes in when it gets to the farm and it goes out when it is leaving, so no access gate is needed. If I have to go in the pen, I simply climb the sides.

Pigs don't have sweat glands, so they do need shade. We used some scrap lumber to make a little shed, about 4 feet square and 4 feet tall. Remember, your pig is going to weigh about 250 pounds before you take it to freezer camp – so don't make the shed too small. And, if you ever (heaven forbid) have to wrestle the pig out of the house for some reason, you want enough room to get in and get back out.

Since pigs can't sweat, they want to lay in mud. That usually means their drinking water gets dumped, to make the mud. We got a durable child's sandbox from Freecycle and we keep that filled with water for our pig to lay in. That seems to cure the desire for mud, until the pig gets old enough to flip the sandbox.

How do you keep fresh drinking water for a pig? We've had good luck with a 55 gallon plastic barrel. Filled and wired to the gates, it's not easy to dump. The barrel rests on three cinder blocks, so the bottom of the barrel is at the pigs chest. My husband drilled a hole in the side of the barrel, close to the bottom. Then, he installed a water nipple. The pig can drink from the nipple, without dumping the barrel or making mud. So far, no pig has dumped the barrel or pulled out the nipple. Yet.

If I had the time and money to build something akin to the Great Wall, I would love to pasture my pigs and let them feed more naturally. If you can find a way to do it, I'm sure it is the way to go. I just don't have enough faith in my fencing abilities to gamble it.

If you too are concerned about chasing pigs and you pen them, you'll need to have a feeding plan and a pig proof trough. We keep feeding simple around here – all the scraps and leftovers, topped with the goat milk that's getting old. The pig's trough always has corn, too. They are free fed as much corn as they want. Then, we top it all off once a day with a pound of Calf Manna.

As for the trough, we have two. One is a big rubber pan, the other a metal pressure tank that someone cut in half lengthwise (another auction find). Both are relatively indestructible. However, they do fill with rain (and require dumping) and they can be moved by the pig. Dumping troughs and/or pulling them near the sides to feed requires climbing into the pen. Don't expect to come out of the pen clean. If the pen isn't muddy, the pig will be so excited to have guests, he won't be able to resist sliming you with something, from one end or the other. I've wired the tubs to the gates before but it was only a day or two until the pig managed to break them free.

Once you get out of the pen, you'll have a new challenge: Removing the hog smell. In my experience, only lemon juice and bleach kill the smell of pig. I keep a good stock of both.

If all goes well, follow that plan for about five months. When your pig reaches 240 to 260 pounds, he or she is ready to go. Keep him or her any longer and he'll start gaining fat faster than meat.

So, the big day has come. Your own little Petunia's appointment with the butcher. Hmm... but, what if Petunia doesn't want to load? It's not so easy pushing 250 pounds of rebellious pork into a truck or trailer. Everything on a pig is wedge shaped, with the smaller end pointed away from the pig, so there isn't a good way to tie something to it. You aren't going to drag it. Of course, if your pig has made any previous escapes, you've already learned this the hard way.

Here's a few tips to help you prepare. First, if a hog can't see something, they generally won't try to go toward it. Most hog farmers have “pig boards”. A pig board is nothing more than a flat board, often just plywood, that may be 30” tall and 3 or 4 feet long. Usually there are one or two holes cut out, close to the top, for handles. Put the board in front of the pig and they will almost always turn away from it. If you have two or more pig board operators, you can form a moving chute and guide the pig right into your waiting trailer.

My second tip is a little more unorthodox, but quite simple. As you are raising your pig, feed him peppermints. Yes, peppermints. The little red and white candies. We feed our pigs one or two a day, making sure we crackle the wrapper loudly each time. The pigs know the sound of the wrapper and even the most determined escaped pig will head for it. Our last pig ran me over as he raced into the waiting trailer so he could have a peppermint.

Once the pig is in the truck or trailer, CLOSE THE DOOR QUICKLY! A pig can change his mind in record time – and once he's on his way, you won't stop him. If you get in the way, you just might get to go for a ride, too.

The work is done. Take him to the butcher and in a week or two you'll be enjoying the delicious fruits of your labors.

In my opinion, raising hogs is the simplest way to produce meat on your homestead. We've had very few health problems and, other than castrations, routine worming and any vaccinations recommended by our vet, no other vet costs.

If you decide to try your hand at raising hogs, be sure you get a knowledgeable friend to help you find a good, healthy pig. Someone who knows the various breeds and traits they are known for can be invaluable. For instance, Hampshires aren't known for having the best hams, but they do have great pork chops. To me, ham is okay, but I love chops, so the Hamp is a great choice. Your preferences might be different.

Also, if you have an experienced friend, they'll be able to advise you the body conformation of your choices. It might not seem like it matters what your pig is shaped like, but when you find out that certain body types produce a higher ratio of lard to meat or you have puny hams, it matters.

One final word of advice? Be sure and pet your pig. Underneath the dirty, rough exterior, lies a great personality. Pigs can be loud and scary, if you don't understand them. Spend a little time with them and you'll find out that they are loud but rarely aggressive. In the 20 years that we've raised hogs, I've only had one bite me and I don't think it was on purpose.

A tame pig is an easy pig to handle, if you have to move it or vet it. Pigs are greedy, so a little snack goes a long way toward winning a pig's heart. So does scratching his back. Scratch your pig for a while and there's a good chance he'll flip onto his back so you can rub his belly too.

When you're done scratching his belly, head for the house to wash up. And don't forget to use some lemon juice!

Wool Gathering

Have you ever seen a professional shear a sheep? They plop the sheep on it's well padded butt, a position that somehow causes the sheep to become helplessly immobilized. Then, using very expensive electric clippers, the shearer starts at the head and zips the clippers down the sheep. Zing, zing zing. A clean, one piece fleece tumbles to the ground. The sheep rolls forward, onto its front feet and stands. Usually the sheep will bleat once and then bounce off to join the flock. The whole process takes about 3 minutes per sheep.

In my dreams, someone magically shows up and shears my sheep in the above mentioned way. I stand back and watch. Later, I pick up the bundled fleeces and hand this marvelous shearer a check. Then I go out to dinner. I am not covered with bits of wool and sheep ... ahem... poop. My shirt is not torn by pointy sheep feet and my back doesn't even hurt.

In reality, I have begged several shearers to come to my place to shear, no matter what the price. In my fifteen years of owning Shetland sheep, I've gotten one shearer to show up one time to shear one sheep who had gotten into cockle burrs – off season, of course. No shearer in his right mind wants to come and shear my tiny flock of 3 to 10 sheep (depending on the year).

I don't have the muscles, the strong back or the handy dandy electric shearers. I'm not magical enough to hypnotize a sheep to sit on its butt while I try to find the sheep under the wool. And I know my back wouldn't last five minutes hunkered over a wriggling hundred pound animal. Regardless, I am my own shearer.

It's just me, some hand shearing scissors, some over sized sewing scissors and a goat milking stand. Actually, the goat milking stand is a new convenience. In past years I've sheared with sheep tied to the bumper of a truck (even my ram couldn't do much damage to that!) or even on the picnic table – with the sheep held down by teenaged children. I have to admit that the goat milking stand is a significant improvement. However, we use what we have, right?

Although Shetlands will often “roo” or shed their wool, if you want it for spinning or felting, you really have to shear it. Other breeds may not roo. A heavy wool coat that stresses the sheep in the summer heat and the risk of wool maggots (blow fly larvae) in the dirty wool makes shearing a necessity.

Most shepherds shear in late winter (February or March), before lambing season. The theory is that the lambs will have an easier time nursing. I can't stand to see my sheep shivering (and I can't stand shivering while I shear them) so I shear in April or early May. I haven't had any problems with lambs but on the few occasions I've had to help a ewe deliver, it isn't the most pleasant thing dealing with muddy or bloody wool. Still, I prefer the later shearing dates.

By shearing later, spring rains have naturally cleaned up the fleeces from winter mud. Shearing at the same time they begin rooing is more in line with what nature intended. I don't understand why one would shear early – so the sheep will be naked and cold in winter and heavily fleeced and hot in the summer?

Another advantage of shearing in warmer weather is that you can pre-clean your fleece. I've only heard of one other time someone pre-washed their sheep (and that was in “Farmer Boy” by Laura Ingalls Wilder) but it's a lot easier washing a fleece while it's on the sheep than when it is off. If you are a spinner and you like spinning “in the grease” you might want to skip pre-washing. But if you want clean wool, pre-washing is the way to go.

When the forecast calls for warm, sunny days, pull out the hose and get to work. I hose the sheep down, douse it with shampoo (yes, shampoo – a good quality one, such as Tresamme). I keep the scrubbing to a minimum so I don't felt the wool. With some breeds it doesn't take much to cause felting so you have to be careful. Then I rinse, using the sprayer end of the hose. I use as much pressure as the sheep will comfortably tolerate. The sprayer not only rinses out the shampoo, it also blasts out tons of dirt and debris.

After the rinse, I follow up with a generous dousing of conditioner. Again, Tresamme is my favorite. I use about 1/6 of a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, per sheep. I leave the conditioner on for the suggested time and rinse again. The conditioner prevents felting and helps the wool shed dirt while the sheep dries.

Let the sheep drip dry and put it in a clean stall. I put down a clean layer of straw in the pen and keep the sheep in the sun to aid in drying. Then I let it dry for a day or so. I want it completely dry before I shear.

Once the sheep is dry, I put it in the milking stand. Starting at the top of the back, I slide my scissors carefully through the wool, against the skin. It's important to keep the blades flat and as close to the skin as possible – cutting further up into the wool is harder and results in second cuts. A second cut is just that – a short cut of the fiber caused when two cuts are made. The short scraps are unusable and cause knotty bumps when the wool is spun.

As I uncover more and more of the sheep, I roll the fleece along the sheep's back, toward the head. After I get a few inches of back uncovered, I trim down the back of each hind leg then the rest of the leg.

There are a few places, such as the flank, where there is “extra” skin that can easily end up in the scissor blades. When I cut in those areas, I stretch the skin above the area as I work to prevent accidents.

Once I get to the belly, I usually switch to the front. I trim the face and work my way down the neck. I split the fleece at the chest so I can roll it back. When I have sheared off everything in front of the elbow, I return to the back and shear until the back meets the front. By doing it this way, the fleece is still secured to the sheep while I do the trickiest parts – legs, belly and chest.

Once the fleece is totally sheared off, I lift it off the sheep in once piece.

After the fleece is safely out of the sheep's reach, I trim up any straggles of wool, just so no one could call my shearing efforts amateur. I do have some pride, after all. Then, I trim hooves, vaccinate and worm. The sheep is already caught and humble so I save myself the trouble of doing it later.

After the sheep has been freed, I take care of the fleece. I spread it on a table, dirty side down. I gently shake out any debris. I trim the belly wool off and throw it away. It's usually too dirty to work with. Sometimes the butt wool is also too dirty so I'll separate it from the main fleece. I fold the long sides in, so the edges meet in the center. Then I roll the whole thing, like a sleeping bag. I tie it up with twine. Then I label it with the year, sheep name and any other information. If you have different sheep breeds, you might put the breed on the label too.

If you are spinning the wool yourself, you may not care about labeling. However, if you are going to sell your fleece, the information may be of interest to your buyer. Lamb's wool is the finest, ewes are next and ram's tend to be more coarse. Wool from a fine wool breed, such at the Shetland, is best suited for clothing. Rugs made from the same wool pill and wear poorly. Leicester wool is better suited for rugs but you would want to scratch your skin off if you tried to wear a sweater made of it.

If you haven't made plans for your wool yet, storing it can be tricky. Moths from every town within your state will know you have wool available. And they will come, trust me. Long term storage is always a challenge, but it can be done.

I've tried storing with cedar chips and in cedar closets but have found that isn't foolproof. Mothballs work, but we all know how they smell. I hang my wool, still bundled. I've hung it in the barn, in the dry basement, in a storage room. It doesn't seem to matter where I hung it, I never get moths. I suspend it from the ceiling so that the fleeces don't touch and they can swing a bit in the air flow. For some reason, I've never had a moth in a hung fleece.

It hasn't always been easy, learning to shear my own sheep. More than once I've watched a half-shorn sheep gallumphing away from me, dragging a fleece through the straw and manure as they dash back to the flock. I've certainly left several jumpy sheep with nicked skin. And I've pulled “safely” stored fleeces from bags – only to have them turn to piles of crumbly debris and moths in my hand.

My wool gathering methods aren't the most traditional, but after a lot of trial and error, I've found ways that work. It would be nice to have a shearer, but if I wanted someone to do everything for me, I wouldn't be homesteading!

The Ugly Side of Spring Chores

            De-Horner                        De-horn Test                        Copper Ring

       Holding in place                      Shaved and ready                 Burning the horn

Back with momma for comfort and a snack!

Spring brings a more work, there's no doubt about it. Time to fix those fences that got a lick and a promise during the cold weather. Extra feeding as the new chicks grow in their separate brooder box. New calves to bottle fed. Sheep need sheared.

Most of those chores are no big deal. However, there's one spring task that I dread. Disbudding (dehorning) the baby goats and calves. It's a quick task, but very heart wrenching to listen to those tender youngsters crying.

The good news is that five minutes later, that same shrieking kid has forgotten and forgiven. Best of all, you don't have to worry about getting hooked by some hard, sharp horn later on.

Although some might feel dehorning is unnatural and inhumane, it is not only for your protection, but your animal's as well. Goats with horns can inflict considerable damage to other goats. They get their horns stuck in the fence, leaving them vulnerable to dogs and other predators. You won't have to deal with the bloody mess of a broken horn later.

Sadly, there's no painless way to dehorn. However, doing the job right the first time minimizes the trauma of repeated dehornings, scurs or even horn removal later. Once the task is done, you'll never regret it.

Getting your courage up to do the job is no small thing. That is why many farm stores sell dehorning paste. Seems simpler and less painful to dab some paste on the horn bud and be done with the job, right? Not so. The paste is caustic, not pain free and goat kids and calves rub, spreading it around. I used it once and my calf rubbed until he got it in his eye, which was very painful. He ended up blind in that one eye as well. No more paste for me.

That brings us back to using a dehorning iron. Yes, it burns. However, there is no blood, no mess and no additional treatment required.

It's not a fun task, so you might be tempted to let the job wait. Bad idea. You want to dehorn between 4 and 14 days. You can get away with doing it a bit later but once your goat grows horns, removal becomes much more complex and risky. A goat's horns are part of their skull and open to the sinus cavity. There are two methods used for dehorning a horned goat, both of which make disbudding look like a picnic in the park. First, you can have a vet surgically remove the horns. We did that once. Despite the fact that the vet did it, we still dealt with a lot of bleeding. We had to dress the open holes (yes, holes) with antibiotic powder several times a day to combat the great risk of infection. It took weeks to heal. In addition to that, goats don't tolerate general anesthesia well so there is a risk for your goat. In the end, our goat was fine and looked like she had never had horns but I will never do it again.

The second method for removing horns is to band them, using an elastic band which cuts the circulation to the horn. There are various methods, which I'm not going to go into here. Most of the options take weeks or even months. Frequently, the weakened horn ends up getting knocked off and again, there's a lot of bleeding. I recently banded a scur on one of my does. It took months, even though the scur was considerably smaller than a full horn would have been. One day I found the doe standing, head down, covered in blood and obviously suffering a pretty good “headache”. Somehow, she had knocked the weakened scur off. It was messy and painful for the doe, but less so than surgical horn removal.

Still not convinced? You could pay the vet to do the job for you. You even could pay for anesthesia, if you want. Of course, this assumes you can find a willing vet. Many goat owners find that their vets don't know much about goats and/or don't want to work with goats. Vets who work on cattle are easier to come by. However, you'll probably find that the 10 or 20 seconds of pain is far less traumatic to a young animal than hauling to the vet or even having the vet come and injecting the anesthesia.

If you're ready to do it yourself, you'll need a dehorning iron (buy a GOOD quality one, it will last forever and you want one that will do a thorough job), scissors or clippers and heavy leather gloves. If you can, beg, buy or steal (okay, probably shouldn't steal) a kid holding box. That's even better, especially for your first time. When I started disbudding, I didn't know there was such a thing so I made do and have actually gotten fairly adept at holding the kid between my legs.

First, plug in your dehorning iron. Be familiar with your particular model's instructions so you know how long it will take to reach it's peak temperature. Mine takes about 15 minutes. Make sure the hot end of the dehorner cannot touch anything – it is VERY hot.

While the iron is heating, use scissors or clippers to trim around the horn buds. This makes it easier to get the hot tip correctly on the horn buds. It also means you won't have nearly as much smoke or burning hair smell wafting into your face. If you are nervous about the kid screaming in pain when you burn the horn buds, you might take note. Most likely the screaming will start when you begin trimming the horn area – despite the fact that there is no pain involved. Goats can be dramatic, calves less so.

Test your dehorning iron by pressing it against a wooden board. If it's hot enough, you should see smoke and it will leave leave a solid burnt ring.

Wearing thick gloves, hold the kid or calf tightly against your legs. Do not skimp on your gloves – if the kid or calf pulls back and you accidently jerk the hot iron, you'll be glad you had those gloves. Usually, once the kid or calf gets over the initial fight, they will stand, even when you apply the iron.

Apply the iron so the open circle tip of the iron fits over the horn nub. It will fit neatly in the center of the tip's opening. Be prepared for a startled scream from the kid or calf. Apply the iron for about 5 seconds, rotating slightly to better burn a complete circle. You don't need to press down hard on the iron, for the most part the weight of the iron is sufficient. Your goal is to damage the horn bud, not to cook the goat (or calf).

Lift the iron and check the ring. You will probably have to do two “burns” to get a sufficient burn. If you see a copper ring around the horn bud, it should be good. The more evident the copper ring, the better your burn. If need be, reapply the iron to areas that aren't copper colored, until you get the ring. Sometimes, the burnt hair and skin tissue will char and harden, covering the ring (as in the picture) so you might have to make a judgment call on how good your copper ring is.

Test the temperature of your iron against the wooden board before doing the second horn. Some irons need a few minutes to recover.

Often I will blow on the kid's or calf's head during the application of the iron. I don't know if it makes it less painful, but it does keep the smoke away. I have one friend who applies Bactine after she is done. It makes her feel better but I'm not sure that it makes the kid feel any better.

The scabs from the cauterized area will fall off in a few weeks, all by themselves.

That's all there is to it. Your baby will probably be a bit dazed by the operation. Giving him or her a bottle or putting them back with mom will comfort them sufficiently.

How NOT to Get Another Horse for Your Homestead

The day of the horse is, for the most part, come and gone. I know there are homesteaders out there that are using horses for plowing – but they are few and far between, unless you are Amish. Despite that, there are a lot of homesteader that keep one or two horses. Why?

There's an old saying - “The outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man.” Personally, I can vouch for that. Horses are the best therapists around, even when they are merely standing there chewing hay. Having owned as many as 16 at one time, I would say I've had a lot of therapists!

If you have a homestead, chances are, you've got the space and animal experience so that adding a horse isn't going to make much drama in your lifestyle. Unless you decide you want to BREED your horse. That's when the drama begins.

I know most homesteaders like the idea of “make or grow it yourself”. In most cases, you get a better product and you save money. Breeding your own horse isn't is not one of those cases.

First, forget all about breeding to save money. That is not going to happen. You might as well build a fire out of dollar bills as expect to get a return on horses – you'll probably even lose less with the fire. And foaling and raising that foal isn't the same as raising goats or bunnies. It's like a whole 'nother dimension.

I knew the downsides before I even bred my thoroughbred mare, Sugar. But, being stubborn, I wanted to learn that for myself. After all, Sug was a top notch mare but she was getting older. How could I possibly ignore the opportunity for a baby that would, of course, be as good as she was?

Getting Sug in foal was the easy part. Ten months later, the real lessons began. My husband and I had just finished building a new, huge foaling stall. I moved Sugar to the new box and watched her, expecting her to investigate the stall. Instead, she curled her lip and turned and looked at her side. Labor already? No. Colic. I called the vet. After an exam, she talked about options, if Sugar didn't improve.

Colic surgery, C-sections (can you imagine a C-section on a 1100 pound animal?) and other choices were loomed. And so did a big, big hole in our checking account. Fortunately, Sug made a speedy and relatively inexpensive recovery. Well, inexpensive when compared to the alternative options. I still remember my husband stomping into the house following the vet's visit. He said, “You know, by the time this is all said and done, this foal is going to cost a thousand dollars!”

I kept my mouth shut. He had no clue that we had passed that mark months before.

Sug kept plugging along to her due date, without any additional problems. I started sleeping in the barn. Two days after Sug's due date, I woke up to find Sug looking at her side. This time she was sweating too. It didn't take long before it was obvious this was the real thing.

Sug kept laying down, rolling and getting up. Over and over. I checked the foal. The feet were upside down. The foal was turned. Visions of a for-sure dead foal invaded my mind. In my far too limited experience, I'd never heard of an upside down foal being delivered successfully. I called the vet. She was an hour away. By the time she got there it would be too late. She said I had to turn the foal.

If you've ever tried to turn a foal (and hopefully you haven't), you'll know that finding something to grab onto is not exactly easy. It's kind of like trying to flip a pile of warm jello with two butter knives – all while working in a tight, unseen space. It was going to take a more competent person than me to get that foal turned. I called the vet again.

Plan B - pull the foal. Only pull down, toward the mare's feet, the vet said. Pulling down meant the foal's front legs stretched way above its head (or where it seemed like the head would be if it was out enough to see it). I was even more sure that, if the foal wasn't already dead, that would kill it. I pulled. Nothing happened. I called my friend, Michele. She was the only one I could think of that would be around that early in the morning.

Poor Michele. Extremely allergic to horses and hay, she always avoided the barn. To top that off, Michele had made me promise that I would NOT call her when Sug was foaling. She knew there would be more gross-ness than she wanted to deal with. Michele was a trooper – she came, even though she had just gotten off from working third shift. Everybody should have a friend like that. Michele was no dummy though - she picked up my 15 year old daughter, Manda from school.

Manda and I pulled. The foal didn't move and I was pretty sure it was dead. We pulled some more and finally saw some progress. Several pulls and the head was out. I broke the sac and cleared it, just in case the foal was alive. Right away, the eyes popped open and blinked. We cheered.

A few minutes later, the foal was about half way out but progress had stopped. I called the vet. Oh, yeah. You'll have to turn it now, to get the hips past the mare's pelvis. Great. That would have been good information to know sooner.

Foals don't come with handles, unfortunately. And everything about a foal feels soft and very breakable. I felt around, trying to find something that seemed like I could hold onto. Meanwhile, the mare was contracting. Did I mention how much it hurts to have your arm squished next to a foal by a contraction? Ow.

I finally grabbed under the rib cage and decided to exert whatever force needed to turn the foal. To my surprise, the foal spun around easily and slid out into my lap.

Fortunately, the post foaling routine was just that – routine. Michele drove home, steering with one hand and holding an allergy swollen eye open with the other. The foal, a plain black colt that we named Armani, was just fine. In fact, he's nearly 11 year old now – huge and burning through my hay as fast as he can.

I'd like to say Sug was the only mare that I had trouble foaling out. However, broodmares are sneaky creatures and every one of them is bound to have trouble sooner or later.

A few years after Armani was born, I had four mares bred. For two months, I slept in the barn. During the day, I kept the mares in a lot, right in front of the house so I could watch them all day. One rainy and very muddy evening, I was running about fifteen minutes behind in my barn routine.

I went to the lot to bring the mares into the barn for the night. There, standing in four inches of mud, was a foal. Smokey, his mom, alternated between licking the mud off the foal and lunging at the other mares with her ears pinned and teeth bared. It took three people to get the other jealous mares to the barn and then an hour to clean the mud off the foal.

Then there was Jade, a tall, elegant thoroughbred, bred to Armani. She had fantastic babies but she was very fragile after foaling. As she went into labor, I watched for any signs of trouble. Nothing seemed amiss, but the mare was not laying down, despite the fact that the foal's legs were out up to the knees. I went in the stall. The foal kept coming and the mare didn't go down.

I had heard that mares can drop the foal and the foal will be fine. Even so, the thought of that delicate baby thudding onto the ground was more than I could bear. Unfortunately, Jade usually had gargantuan babies. I had visions of me trying to catch the foal – it would shoot out, land on my chest. My husband would find me in the morning, trapped in the straw with a dried foal sprawled across my middle. Luckily, I was able to ease the baby to the ground and all was well.

Two foals later, it wasn't such a happy ending. For some reason, one week after every foaling, Jade would colic on and off for about a week. The last time, she collicked bad enough that it required surgery. She was recovering well and coming out of the anesthesia when, for no apparent reason, she had a fatal heart attack.

Those were the dramatic foalings. Less dramatic but still problematic, was my friend's mare Genny. Genny, a cute but very pudgy quarter horse, loved feed. I slept, in front of her stall door, watching. I woke to check Genny. She was not in her stall. I heard something rummaging around in the grain room. I swear, the mare had magic. She had unhooked the rope across her stall door, FLOWN over me and my bed, and silently gotten into the feed room. Okay, maybe she didn't fly. But I don't know how else she could have gotten over me. At any rate, I had no idea how long she'd been in the grain, nor how much she had eaten. When she started showing signs of founder a few hours later, I was sure my negligence had ruined my friend's mare. Six hours after than, she popped out a darling little filly and never showed another symptom of founder.

My favorite foaling trick was performed by Chequers. Chequers was THE broodmare. Queen of the herd, she was determined to do things the way she wanted. Once she laid down, she pushed violently three times, shot the baby out and leaped to her feet. She didn't foal, she ejected. She was a good mom and had no problem letting me handle her foals, as long as I kept it mind that it was hers, completely hers. Since the foal was hers, she also was determined that the foaling time would be hers, and hers alone.

I had managed to defeat her intentions with previous foals, but I was getting tired of sleeping in the barn. I bought a foaling test indicator kit. One evening, during my final mare check, I thought Chequers had “the look”. I pulled out my handy-dandy test kit. I wasn't going to sleep in the barn if I didn't need to.

I collected a sample from Chequer's udder. Then I went in the house to run the test. Ten minutes later, the results said there was an 80 percent chance Chequers would foal during the next 12 hours. I debated whether I should sleep in the barn. I went out to check again.

As I walked in the barn door, I saw Chequers leap to her feet. I had seen that leap before. I went to the stall. A large, wet colt was nestled in the straw. So much for relying on the test kit.

If there's one thing I've learned about mares, it's that they will do exactly what you don't expect them to do. You just have to be ready for anything, and then it's all good.

I've sold the mares and life is more predictable now. My herd consists of three horses now – a good number. I've got Armani and two of his kids from Chequers, a gelding and a mare, Stella.

Call me a fool, but I think I'm going to add some more drama into the homestead next spring. I've already got a nice stallion picked out for Stella. How can I possibly ignore the opportunity to produce a baby that would, of course, be as good as she is?

You Win Some, You Lose Some

Remember the November article buying animals at the auction? Like I said then, auctions are unpredictable and don't always turn out the way you plan, no matter how well you plan. I should remember my own advice more often.

During the far-too-recent January Arctic freeze, I was SUPPOSED to be a casual observer on a goat shopping expedition with my friend, Myra. I didn't even bring any cash with me – because I wasn't there to buy. Well, I wasn't there to buy until I saw a truckload of calves coming off the truck. It was 6 degrees and there weren't many buyers. I figured the competition would be scarce and prices would be low. Besides, the seller was right there and I could ask him questions.

There were two Jersey bull calves, our family's preferred choice for steers. Jerseys make great meat and a Jersey is just the right size for one year's worth of beef for our family. They also tend to be very affordable. The down side is that they are usually quite young when they are sold – sometime only a week or less old.

These two calves looked to be older than a week – their umbilical cords had already fallen off. Even better, I thought. The seller assured me the calves had had colostrum. The calves looked healthy and playful. I decided to bid.

I didn't win the bid on the first, larger calf. I did win the bid for the second. Minutes after the bidding closed, Myra and I stood in the pen looking checking out the calf. He was the typical Jersey pumpkin pie orange so I named him Pumpkin.

Calves are fragile and, even though Pumpkin had had colostrum, I wanted the auction vet to give him a quick once-over. She suggested giving Pumpkin a pneumonia vaccine and poly serum. We put the calf in the back of Myra's mini van and headed for home.

The first two days, everything was going along great, despite the brutal temperatures mother nature dished out. Then, on the morning of the third day, I walked into the barn and was greeted with the sickening smell of calf diarrhea. Scours. Pumpkin stood, his back hunched and shivering. A puddle of yellow diarrhea dribbled across the straw behind Pumpkin. I called Dr. Stone.

I was about to learn more about scours than I ever wanted to know. Scours can develop from viral causes such as Coronavirus and Rotavirus. There are also bacterial causes such as E. coli (Escherichia coli), salmonella and enterotoxemia (Clostridium perfringens). E. coli, the most common cause of scours in calves, is found in manure of even healthy animals so it's easy for a calf to get exposed to it. Salmonella bacteria can be transmitted by other cattle, birds, cats, rodents, the water supply or even humans. Enterotoxemia is usually associated with changing weather, feed changes, overcrowding or any condition that might cause a calf to be stressed so it doesn't nurse for it's usual amount. At the next feeding, the overly hungry calf will then overeat, creating an environment in the gut that is a clostridial incubator.

Did it really matter what caused Pumpkin's scours? Yes, and no. Determining the cause wouldn't likely change the treatment. The only value I saw in determining the cause was in knowing what steps I should take for future prevention.

Pumpkin needed a four-fold treatment. First, an antibiotic. Dr. Stone gave Baytril, a fast acting, long lasting drug. The Baytril would knock out the bad bugs, whatever they were. Next, to combat the downhill spiral that usually kills most scouring calves, Pumpkin needed treatment for the effects of the diarrhea. To treat dehydration, the lost of electrolytes and acidosis (too much acid in the gut), Dr. Stone prescribed Lactated Ringer's, often abbreviated as LR, twice a day, inserted subcutaneously (under the skin).

Don't let the name “Lactated Ringer's” throw you off. The first time I heard it, the image of a plastic circle with milk in it came to mind. The name is odd, but really, it looks just like a standard hospital IV bag. It was developed by Sydney Ringer and contains lactate.

By the time we began treatment, poor little Pumkin looked pretty rough. Diarrhea was all over the stall and Pumpkin was getting weaker, shivering and not getting up. I cleaned the stall. My husband suggested putting a heat lamp on him. Over the last few months, three barns near us had burned down from heat lamps. I squashed the heat lamp idea. I put a quilted, flannel people jacket over Pumpkin. Then, I used a very stiff and heavy horse blanket to make a tent over that. It would hold in the heat without weighing too much.

In thirty minutes, Pumpkin seemed more comfortable and toasty warm in his nest. I felt better too. I put the lactated Ringer's bag in a pitcher of hot water to warm it up. No sense in warming the calf, only to freeze him out again with a giant, cold injection. I started the fluid and waited. At first, the solution went in fast. Then, no matter how hard I squeezed, nothing moved. It took me a few minutes to realize the IV line had frozen. Duh. It was ONLY 6 degrees outside – of course if froze! I thawed the line and the solution flowed again.

By the time I came back for the night feed, Pumpkin seemed perky but he drank his bottle without getting up. I felt positive and congratulated myself on catching the problem early. I gave another dose of lactated ringers, just in case.

The next morning, Pumpkin was mooing for his breakfast when I walked into the barn. A good sign! He wanted to get up but wasn't strong enough to push the horse blanket off. It was -1 outside with 25 mile an hour winds and our barn isn't exactly draft free. I figured it was a good thing he couldn't get up – he would stay warmer where he was.

Pumpkin downed his bottle. The diarrhea seemed to be clearing up and he didn't seem dehydrated. He did sound a little wheezy though. Time for another trip to the vets. I came home with Draxxin (antibiotic), Nuflor (another antibiotic), both used to treat pnuemonia, just in case.

By the time I got home, Pumpkin was on his feet with the horse blanket pushed to one side of the stall. A thick puddle of almost-not-diarrhea was glopped into the middle of it. Apparently Pumpkin didn't think much of the horse blanket. He wasn't bouncing around but he did butt me, trying to speed up the breakfast delivery.

I was certain he was out of the woods. I called the vet to report the progress. It was cold outside but He seemed no worse for it. I waited until he laid down for the night and covered him with the tent again.

The next morning, I warmed his bottle and headed for the barn. I was greeted with several moos. He was up and he ate enthusiastically. And then, right after he finished eating, the diarrhea came again. Not good. I called the vet. She was running out of ideas. “Maybe worms? Let's give him some vitamins? It's not looking promising for him, though.”

I headed for the clinic. By the time I came home, armed with wormer, injectable vitamins and more antibiotic, Pumpkin was down again. I could see that he was giving up. Still, I dosed him with everything and gave another dose of lactated Ringer's. The weather warmed up again, all the way to 10 degrees. Still not warm enough though. I covered Pumpkin with his plaid flannel shirt and the scraped-clean horse blanket.

By feeding time that night, Pumpkin was warm but hungry. He ate well and that gave me a little hope. But an hour later, during my barn check, it was clear that Pumpkin was too far gone. Within minutes, he was dead.

Whether bought at an auction or bought from a private sale, there aren't any guarantees with young calves. With Pumpkin, I'm pretty certain I came home from the auction with a healthy calf. I think the combination of the cold, the wind and change in feed and environment were conditions that stressed Pumpkin to the point that he scoured. Those same conditions hindered his recovery.

Once again, I am reminded that raising livestock is not without risk – financial, sometimes physical and emotional. Despite all that, I far prefer this life to the alternative. And, when the weather warms up a bit, I'll be back at the auction shopping for another calf.

Surround water tank with old pallets screwed or nailed together.

Stuff straw into pallets and around tank for insulation and cover top and sides with two layers of clear plastic. Flap door is open in daytime for animals to drink.

 Close flap at night to hold in heat. Tank will hold in heat collected and should not freeze solid but you may still have to break ice sheet on top or let the sun melt it off.

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