the puppies are here! the puppies are here!

Some states call it Super Tuesday because of politics. Here on the farm, it was Super Tuesday too. But not because of Donald Trump's inability to articulate a thought or Hillary's angry rants. Our Tuesday was super because . . . Petunia had puppies!

Last year, Chris found me another Great Pyrenees. We took an afternoon road trip to pick Petunia up, and she curled up in a little ball on my lap and slept the whole way home. That sealed the deal. 

See how cute she was? So tiny. So happy. So little! 

Now she's the size of a small horse. 

See the two puppies in the back? The one on the right is Winchester, and he's half Great Pyrenees. He's now a proud papa. 

Colt, on the left, is Petunia's faithful sidekick Colt, half Shar Pei. But bless his heart, he'll never be a dad. Let the reader understand.

You can see more pictures of their adorable puppy cuteness here. 

So with Blackjack the lab and Winchester running around the farm, Petunia was basically destined to be a mom. And from the looks and sounds of things a couple of months ago, there was no way she couldn't be. 

Doesn't she look like pretty much any mom who has just given birth? Exhausted. Bleary eyed. Hungry. And yet still pretty magnificent!

Chris took a look at Petunia a few days ago and pronounced that it would happen any day. And he wasn't kidding. 

One moment she was shuffling along the deck, dropping treats out of her mouth and then slobbering on them, as is her custom. 

And the next minute, she was nosing at a pile of little puppies that were busy making itty bitty kitty sounds. 

For now, they are tucked up under the deck, sleeping, eating and snuggling. Mama Petunia growls at any dog who gets close and is grateful for any head scratches we have to offer. 

Donald Trump may be busy building walls and Hillary can pant suit with the best of them, but over here, with six puppies, three chickens, 650 cows, a pasture full of heifers and four dogs, pretty much every day is Super Tuesday. And, as with most of farm life, we vote yes.

My name is Adriane and I approve of this message. 

dads

I'm a firm believer that children need a mom and a dad. 

Certainly there are cases where the mom is left on her own, or where the dad shirks his duty and takes off, or where the dad has passed away. 

But I'm not talking the exceptions. 

I'm talking the rule. 

I know how much I need my dad . . . and I'm 31. 

And I know that Georgia already recognizes her dad and responds to him with smiles and toots and big eyes.

She knows her dad because he's here.  

Because he sings to her. 

He reads to her. 

He prays over and for her. 

He tickles her. 

He smooches her. 

He takes her to church. 

He keeps her safe. 

He comforts her. 

He snuggles her. 

He explains things to her. 

He tells her about her future. 

He describes the puppies and the cows and the chickens to her. 

He works long, hard hours so that her mom can stay home with her. 

He tells her about Jesus and politics and land prices and farm markets and how to build fence and dig tile and why Lent matters. 

And he always has a smile and a kiss for her when he comes in, even after working a 21-hour day. 

I can feed her and change her diaper. 

But she needs her dad. 

And I'm glad the Lord blessed her with this one. 


PHOTO COURTESY KATIE LOCKHART PHOTOGRAPHY 

oh dear

It turns out that our Great Pyrenees - Petunia - has been, uh, KNOWN. 

In the biblical sense. 

Ahem. 

To make this even more complicated . . . our first Great Pyr, Wally, got the neighbor's lab pregnant. Then he got run over. 

So we got a second Great Pyr . . . the exact same day the neighbor asked us to take two of the lab's puppies. 

One was Wally's protege and one was their Shar Pei's offspring. 

That's correct. 

We ended up with three puppies in one day. It was also the day we told our parents we were having a baby. 

Like I said . . . oh dear. 

Now Petunia is pregnant . . . perhaps with Wally's son's baby or perhaps with our black lab Blackjack's pups. 

Can someone please cue the Lion King's Circle of Life? 

In any case, if you're in Missouri and are on the lookout for a 3/4 Great Pyr -- or perhaps a half Great Pyr, half lab -- give us a shout-out. Petunia, like State Farm, has got you covered. 

puppy brothers

Remember the Geico puppy brothers commercial?

Well, these are Wally's puppies. And they're brothers. Clearly.

This is the dog the neighbor kept. 

And this is ours.

Puppies.

Who are brothers.

Clearly.   

winner, winner, chicken . . . ?

We had a little . . . incident . . . over the weekend. It involved a chicken . . . and a dog . . . and lots and lots of feathers. 

Our chickens apparently find their coop completely and utterly LAME because they like to fly out and free range it on a routine basis. Their new favorite is to roost on top of the grain bin. Turns out those birds can get some serious flight. And height.

What one couldn't get, though, was a break. She wandered across the lawn, over the lane, up the yard and near the deck, pecking the ground along the way. 

And then it happened. Or so I assume. I just heard clucking. Lots of clucking. 

I looked out the window and saw one dog come around the corner and trot right toward the chicken, who took it upon herself to fly down the stairs, which would have been a perfectly good escape route if  . . . another dog hadn't been waiting at the bottom of the stairs. 

This dog. This sweet little half Great Pyrenees, half Lab right here. This one. Winchester. 

The chicken might have had a chance had the two dogs not been so strategically positioned. But as it stands, she didn't. Have a chance, that is. It's like they planned it.

Well, I'm sure you can imagine how this turned out. 

And if you can't, let's just say: Dogs are dogs. And farm dogs are most definitely farm dogs. 

I proceeded to chase Winchester through the yard -- as much as a pregnant lady can chase a dog -- yelling, "Drop!" as though he would (a) know what that command meant since I've never used it before because he's never nabbed a chicken before and (b) actually listen. 

To no avail. 

And then there were four. 

Well, almost three. One of the Black Stars decided to take her chances and walked right into the pile of three dogs lounging in the yard. 

Not the brightest. 

She lived to see another day, but only after barricading herself behind a feed bag and then probably passing out due to fright. 

That whole free-range thing? Not so much for us. Or the chickens. 

But I'll tell you one thing: The dogs loved it! 

day 18 of farmacology: we take breaks . . . sometimes

One of the things you may not know about farm folks is that

we do take breaks. Sometimes.  

We missed the prettiest leaves by about a week, but today we took a little hike at a local state park, and my farmer got to enjoy the weather from outside the cab of a tractor and without his work boots on. Success! 

  

Hiking while pregnant gave me a good foretaste of what growing older will be like. You have to watch where you place each foot like you're walking a mine field, you're basically just trying not to fall, and you lean heavily on your husband, who does his best to humor you with his a fake aged voice. 

  

You also take breaks to learn about acorns. (I told you we were old at heart.)

Here's a fun fact for the day: Did you know that acorns are poisonous to cows? [Click to tweet.]

Neither did I! What a coincidence! 

Not that you or I are busy spending our days cramming nuts down random cows' throats or anything, but it never hurts to know these things just in case. 

Or in the event you're someone phone-a-friend when a million dollar game show question is on the line. 

You can thank us later. 

Chris then pointed out that this plant looked like something I'd attempt to craft with, and as with most things, he's right. 

I left it there . . . but only because I'd probably get it home and then we'd all break out in hives or something equally awesome. 

Because I'm good like that. 

  

We also talked about coming back to that same park in a year and doing some hiking with a little buckaroo or buckarette . . . and how I'd carry the water and he could tote the baby. That's a dad rite of passage, right? Err . . . rite? Errr . . . 

Farmers, to quote Mike Row, are #notafraidtowork. But they're also not afraid to be a little spontaneous, take a little break, go on a little walk, and have a little chat with their wives. 

And that makes me more than just a little happy. 

Want to read more of my 31 day farmacology writing challenge? Click here. 

day 9 of farmacology: naming animals

  

One of the things you may not know about farm folks is that

sometimes we name our animals; sometimes we don't.

I was homeschooled for a couple of years before I headed off to school. Whenever any kid found out my dad was a hog farmer, he inevitably asked, "Do you name your pigs?" 

I always thought that was a weird question. It wasn't because giving names to animals was awkward. It was because, well, how did people expect me to tell the difference between all those identical-looking pink pigs?

A few did have names. One sick pig got the distinct pleasure of hearing 8- or 9-year-old me read Charlotte's Web outloud. I perched on a footstool next to her while she recovered, thinking I was a pretty good nurse, although perhaps my literary selection could have been slightly more helpful. Her name was Princess. 

We don't name all our cows today, but sometimes we do. There's Snout, Lucy, Snowflake, Snickers, Reba, Ruby, Queen Mother, Talulah, Clementine, Gandalf, the General, Dorothy Lynch . . . Some also have numbers, and my farmer can recall many of those digits just as quickly as he can a name. 

We have a whopping six chickens at our house right now. Our rooster's name is Horace, but the five hens have no names. We've had well-named cats too, like . . . Truck Kitty and . . . Little Kitty. (Ok, so we struggle in the cat moniker department.)

And that's not even mentioning the four canines who keep all coyotes, mailmen, falling leaves and raccoons at bay. 

Some farmers name all their animals. Some don't. Some, like us, go for the combo approach.

But if you come to the farm, and you spot a calf that you think is just downright adorable, tell us her number and give us her name. 

We'll remember both. We promise. 

Want to read more of my 31 day farmacology writing challenge? Click here. 

day 3 of farmacology: naps

One of the things you may not know about farm folks is that

we take naps, and we take them in really strange places. 

Farmers are notorious for working from sun up to sun down. But that doesn't mean they don't take a break here or there to recharge. 

My dad took a nap almost every day after lunch. Somehow, no matter how hard he was sleeping, he only napped for 15 minutes. Then he'd pop up, refill his coffee thermos and head out the door again.

Heck, I lay down for five minutes and I can be out for the rest of the afternoon. So that capacity clearly skipped a generation. 

But if you're chopping silage, you can take a 10-minute nap in the chopper while you wait for the next truck.  

If you're waiting for a cow to dilate so you can help pull her calf, you can lean your head back in the Gator and catch 40 winks. 

If you pull your truck up to your house after an 16-hour day and you're too tired to even walk inside, you can sleep in the pickup for an hour or two before getting up the energy to go in the house and shower . . . and then go to real bed. 

If you're planting or tilling, you can stop your tractor, turn off your phone and stay right there in the seat while you catch a nap. 

If you're milking cows in the parlor and you're waiting on the girls to finish, you can pull up a bucket, hold your head in your hands and get a good five minutes in before having to wake up. 

If you're stopping home for lunch, you can fall asleep on a . . . pile of dogs. 

The napping options are virtually limitless for farmers! You get up early, you go to bed late, you nap when you can. 

And where you can. 

If you can. 

Sometimes, even with the dogs.

** This post has been paid for my farmer . . . who has napped in all the places mentioned above. Except he didn't actually pay for this post. He just likes naps. **

Want to read more of my 31 day farmacology writing challenge? Click here. 

this week in iPhone photos {sept. 21, 2015 and maybe the last couple of weeks too}

This week, we wished it was nap time. Like, every day. Cooler fall weather, lots of sunshine, bellies full of apple fritters from a local apple festival thanks to kind folks . . . and we were ready to nap for DAYS.

But there's a baby on the way, so there's really no time for napping. I'd say there might be time for a snooze or two after baby arrives, but let's not kid ourselves here. 

So instead Chris chopped the second round of silage and I went for long walks in what had been--just days before--a field full of corn. The heifers in the nearby pasture kept their distance. Puppies and loud noises have that effect on these girls. 

We went in for an ultrasound at the crack of dawn and found out that we're having . . . a baby! So that's reassuring. 

I took a little work trip to Washington, D.C., where I sat a lot, let people cart my luggage around, got a nice case of swollen ankles and met the awesomeness that is Drs. Ryan Anderson and Sherif Girgis and caught up with--albeit quickly--Mollie Hemingway and Scott Murray. 

And it was good.  

Chris and the guys rounded out silage season--not without some hilarious exchanges over the radios--and drove the choppers and trucks off into the sunset. And we gave thanks that nobody tipped a truck over or backed into each other or drove over the chopper. It's the little things. 

The puppies learned how to bark and howl at nearby neighbor dogs, and yet they still choose to stick together like the Three Musketeers instead of meeting their brother, whose bark from the neighbor's house stopped them all in their tracks.

Literally.

To top it off, Winchester christened the new feed truck by sniffing it, surveying it and curling up next to it . . . for a nap. 

And now, since we've come full circle--all the way back to naps and just the way we like it--I think we're done here.  

a (p)update

Colt - half Shar Pei, half lab 

Just a few weeks ago we suddenly found ourselves in THAT category: the one that includes people who have too many dogs.