Maia's Meatballs

Maia has become increasingly uninterested in eating her food, causing her to lose more weight than I would like. To try and reverse this weight loss, we have taken to supplementing her dry food diet with extra calories in the form of a variety of treats, cheeses, meats, eggs and beef jerky. It is quite possible Maia is milking this weight loss for all she can and is fully enjoying this recent change in her diet. But as we estimate that she is approximately seventeen years old, we are willing to give her almost anything she will eat. Chocolate, however, is still not on the menu and it will remain that way; sorry, Maia.

For a while, Maia was willing to eat her dry food as long as we mixed it with some warm ground turkey, but in typical Maia fashion she has recently come to the conclusion that the formerly acceptable meal is now subpar and no amount of cajoling on our part will change her mind. Her behavior has meant that I have had to get creative in trying to get any amount of nutrition into her, hence the following recipe that I developed a few days ago. So far, it seems to have earned the Maia seal of approval, and hopefully it will remain that way. For at least another week, the standard time frame it takes for Maia to decide that she should abandon yet another formerly acceptable food source.

Maia's Meatballs

approximately 3 pounds ground turkey

2 cups rolled oats

¼ cup better in the raw powder*

¼ cup ground flax seed

½ cup finely chopped broccoli

¼ teaspoon garlic powder

1 egg

*Better in the Raw powder is a nutritional supplemental powder designed for a raw food diet that we had left over from the raw food diet Buddy was on in an attempt to improve his health. You could leave it out if you want, or perhaps use this recipe in a raw diet, omitting the baking step. I'll leave it up to you.

Mix all of the ingredients together and form the mixture into balls about 1 -2 tablespoons in size. Place onto greased baking sheets and bake for 30-40 minutes at 350 degrees F, depending on how brown you want them. Store in an airtight container in the fridge or freeze the excess. They can easily be rewarmed in the microwave before serving, or cut into smaller pieces for little dogs or dogs that prefer smaller bites. Or those that think they should be fed pieces of food the size of grapes, while reclining on a chaise lounge, being fanned with palm fronds, a la Maia.

Milestone on the Unfarm

I have big news. Are you ready for it? Here it is.... I FINALLY graduated! It was genuinely starting to look like I might be walking across the stage with the aid of a walker while wearing my cap, gown and dentures. I thought for sure that I'd be part of the graduating class of 2059, but here I am, way ahead of schedule in the class of 2013. The question everyone wants to know now is what I plan to do with my degree. And the answer is: absolutely nothing. I've graduated from I school I don't particularly like (which will remain nameless) with a degree I don't want. (The specifics of how I ended up with a degree I don't want instead of the one I originally planned to get are too tedious to get into at this time.) What an accomplishment! But at least I'm done and it wasn't a total loss - it would have bugged me to be a college dropout for the rest of my life, and the only member of my family who didn't have a degree.
The other upside to finally having my diploma in hand was that I got to go through all the papers, notes and textbooks that I had accumulated in 14 years (yes, 14 - it's not a typo) and get rid of everything I wouldn't need in the future - a full file box of notes plus a stack of textbooks that was approximately three feet high. (I should mention that two of my favorite recreational activities are decluttering and organizing, a fact that drives the rest of the family crazy when I run out of things to get rid of and badger them to declutter their stuff.) The books were donated to charity; the notes were finally put to good use: I rolled them into logs and roasted vegan marshmallows over them. They were, perhaps, the best s'mores I've ever had.

PS. I would also like to mention that I managed to pull of a 3.87 GPA. Not bad for a degree I don't want from a school I don't like.

Who rules the roost?

I think the term "owner" in relation to pets is outdated. I know that many animal lovers prefer the term "guardian" which I don't generally use, mostly because I am lazy: "guardian" has three syllables and "owner" only has two. But the main reason I no longer think "owner" is appropriate is because it seems to carry with it a sense of control over that which is owned. And as almost any pet owner can tell you, we are not the ones holding the cards. 

Maia, for instance, has decided of late that the living room carpet is the appropriate place to go to the bathroom, ensuring, perhaps, that Mighty Mouth, our industrial carpet cleaner (yes - we named him, it seemed appropriate after all the time we've spent together) earns his keep. Do we want Maia to pee in the living room? Of course not. Do we have much say in the matter? Of course not. In an effort to prevent any further affronts to our carpet we have now set up a system of gates blocking both living room entrances. The gates are low enough for everyone but Maia to get over so they have not proven much of an inconvenience (unless, of course, you happen to forget they are there and trip over them.)

The chickens have very little say with what goes on in the house (not that they don't try - they run into the kitchen any chance they get, looking for crumbs on the floor) but they do exert a fair amount of control over the garden. Contrary to what my mom thinks - that I am the one making all of the decisions when it comes to the garden, whether she likes them or not (a large honeysuckle vine is the current bone of contention between us) - the real rulers of the yard are the chickens. Mom wanted rhubarb - the chickens wanted it more. It is now a small, raggedy plant barely hanging on after merciless grazing courtesy of the ladies. I managed to clear enough space in my garden for a winter daphne plant but the chickens were convinced that I had hidden some delicious treat underneath it and scratched around the roots determined to find it. Needless to say I had not hidden anything underneath it but did that stop the ladies from digging my poor daphne out until it was too far gone to save? Yeah, right. And I was so looking forward to it blooming next spring. The chickens were also responsible for polishing off every grape within their reach last summer. I suspect the wild birds and squirrels finished off the rest. Total grape harvest: zip. 

I expect the ducks would go after the grapes too, but they are unable to climb the arbor the way the chickens can. That doesn't stop them from going after the blueberries, however. They are so fond of them that they eat every berry within two feet of the ground (the approximate limit to Maggie's reach.) They don't even wait for them to ripen. As soon as the berries appear the ducks are down there, plucking them off the branches.

And then there are the rabbits. The cute, fluffy, bouncy little bunnies. The chewing, scratching, biting little bunnies. If they aren't scratching up the carpet, or marking their territory by peeing on the floor (a practice I try very hard to break them of), they are chewing. Their cage, their litter boxes, the deck, the door frame, the wicker baskets I store my fabric in, paper bags, books, and the cute wooden desk I picked up at a garage sale. Oh, and cords. Rabbits love cords. Telephone cords, vacuum cords, iron cords, lamp cords, and cable cords. The only weapons I have in the war with the rabbits are gates to block off furniture I don't want them chewing and a squirt bottle of water that is sometimes effective, sometimes not. Rabbits are stubborn creatures.

So, "owner." I think not. We are hardly in control of the situation. The main purpose we humans serve seems to be damage control. We roll out Mighty Mouth whenever Maia decides to pee in the living room, and follow the chickens around the yard, replanting what they dig out. We hide cords and fence off enticing furniture. Other than that, we have very little say in the matter; around here, the animals rule the roost.

Long overdue updates from the Unfarm

I made a resolution at the beginning of this year that I would make posts more often. And I know that most resolutions get thrown by the wayside by mid January, or early February if we are very good. But despite that history, I really did have every intention of keeping this resolution. Things got a little bumpy at the beginning of the year, as you may remember, when Maia had a health scare, but after recovering from her surgery she had more energy than she's had in a long time and it looked like it would be smooth sailing from there on out. And it was. For her. 

But as I drove home from work on the evening of January 29th, I got a call from my parents that Kita was acting strangely. I rushed home long enough to call the emergency vet to give them a heads up and run out to the car with drooling, panting, unresponsive Kita. There was nothing the vet could do. He was ready to go (which was confirmed by our AMAZING animal communicator, Karen Anderson, who we LOVE) and we couldn't hold him here no matter how much I may have wanted to. The hardest part of living with animals is knowing that you will, in all likelihood, outlive them and you will have to watch them as they slip. I lay on the floor at the vet's office, with my nose resting against Kita's, trying to let him know I was there for him and would not leave his side. And then the vet gave him the injection, and he left. It was hard - incredibly hard - to lose this dog who had been part of our family for roughly 16 years. I kept expecting to see him come around the corner, or be sleeping on his dog bed on my bedroom floor, or pass his leash hanging on my wall. 

But one of the advantages of having multiple pets, for me at least, is knowing that all the other animals still need me and I can forget my loss, to some degree, by taking care of the rest of the animals. And we weren't without dogs - Maia and Buddy were still with us, although Buddy seemed to feel Kita's absence and spent the time after the loss moping around the house and showing little interest in his regular activities. About a week after Kita died I decided that Buddy needed to get out of the house and go for a walk with me and Maia, even though he didn't show his usual exuberant whippet energy. We got part of the way down the street when he stopped walking. He simply refused to go any further, despite several attempts to get him to change his mind. I finally gave in and took him back home and he went right back to bed. At about 6:50 that evening Mom noticed that his gums were pale and suggested we call the vet. They told us to bring him in right then, even though they were closing in 10 minutes. At the vet it was discovered that his red blood cell count, which should have been in the 50-60 range was down to 8, a number the vet described as "barely compatible with life." From there I rushed him to the specialist vet 40 minutes away and he was submitted and getting a blood transfusion within the hour. We were told by Buddy's internist (yes, he had his own internal medicine specialist) within the next couple of days that Buddy had IMHA. Immune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia. Basically, his body was destroying his own red blood cells, for reasons unknown. And more good news: it was a non responsive type, which is harder to treat. But we went all out - transfusions, regular blood counts, multiple night stays in the vet ER, special diets, and enough medications that we had to create an elaborate chart to keep track of when he needed his 13+ medications each day. I even tried alternative treatments. He went to a holistic vet, he got acupuncture, and he received reiki and shamanic healing from an amazing friend of Karen's. We spent one month fighting for Buddy, and over $10,000 to give our six year old dog every shot possible. I wish I could say that it worked, that Buddy finally began to make a turn around, that he is sleeping on the floor behind me as I write this. But I can't. In the end, Buddy became unresponsive and began panting hard one night. I rushed him to the specialist with my brother where they said he may have thrown a clot and they might be able to get him through to the morning if they intubated him, sticking a breathing tube down his throat. I decided that we had to let him go. He had told Karen a couple of weeks earlier that he was tired and ready to go but we hadn't been ready to let him go yet, and he seemed to be showing some improvement. I couldn't stand the thought of him dying there, in the hospital, with tubes down his throat and all alone. So I kissed him and hugged him and stroked his face as they gave him the injection, and then he left. Just like Kita, and only two months and two days afterward. And five short days before his seventh birthday. Driving home at 3:30 in the morning, it struck me as appropriate in some way that I had been the one to bring him into our lives, with a car ride together after picking him up at four months old from the breeder's house several hours away in Kennewick, Washington, and I was with him on his last car ride, as he left our lives that night.

Kita we had expected. We didn't like it, but we saw it coming - he had lived a long, full life with us. But Buddy. Buddy was so young, and so full of life such a short time ago. And now the house felt like a canyon - like you could scream and you would hear an echo with the emptiness of this place.

Two days after Buddy died, I checked in with him and Kita, via Karen. They were both feeling great and Buddy was raring to come back soon. He said he felt like he hadn't gotten to finish his time with us. But in the meantime, he said, he had sent us a gift. A dog at the local shelter was meant for us. So I went that very evening to get Axel, our newest addition to the Unfarm. He is a large dog - about 95 pounds, and black with brown markings, a Husky-Shepherd mix (so like Kita it's almost uncanny!) and ten years old. He probably didn't have much chance of being adopted with that triple threat: big, black, and elderly. He had, in fact, already been adopted and returned to the shelter once before. As I was filling out the paperwork for adoption I was given the highly encouraging news that Axel also had separation anxiety and should he ever be left alone he would proceed to destroy the doors, windows, couches, gates and any crate we might put him in. This gave me a great deal of trepidation, but not nearly enough to doubt Buddy's wisdom. 

We have had Axel for over a month now, and he has turned out to be THE perfect dog for us. He is gentle, calm, friendly, quiet, and he LOVES going on walks and for rides in the car. We have also discovered that he has little to no separation anxiety with us and my fears (and the ominous predictions of the adoption counselor) were largely unfounded. He certainly does not enjoy being left alone, but he tolerates it just fine. He also has loads of energy and doesn't show his age at all. And the cherry on top? He grew up around chickens and cows so he behaves perfectly around all of our various "snack sized" pets. We could not have created a better situation if we tried. Thanks, Buddy.

So the drama was over, and life on the Unfarm settled back into a comfortable, if slightly lonely, routine. Until exactly two weeks after Buddy died, when Aspen went to the vet to address his bladder leakage. I had to leave him there for the afternoon for x-rays but went back in the evening to pick him up and hear the damage (Aspen has had several bladder problems in the past and they tend to run at least $1000 each and involve at least one overnight stay at the emergency vet per occurrence.) When I got to the vet they told me to head back to the visitor's lounge. This was unusual - definitely more kidney stones. Sigh. It was not kidney stones. It was worse. He had a heart murmur. And was in kidney failure. And the cancer we suspected he had, had now spread and was filling his abdomen. He was uncomfortable and at 17 years old, even if we decided to be aggressive in our treatment, it would not buy him a lot of time. I held him, bundled up in a blanket, and kissed his little gray nose (enough times to annoy him, most likely) and whispered in his ear as the vet gave him the injection to send him sailing away from me. 

Three losses of my little ones in as many months. Can you see now why I avoided this entry? I did not want to admit that we had lost so much, so many animals that spent their days and nights with us, who kept us company and made us laugh and comforted us when we needed it. So many days I won't get back and so many experiences that were yet to come. But here it is. Written down for everyone to see. And in reading this, I hope that they might live on again, even for a short while, in you.

A scare on the Unfarm

Last Friday morning I noticed Maia was a little wobbly. Because she had suffered a bout of Old Dog Vestibular Syndrome six months or so ago, I was worried this was a recurrence. I called our vet (who is, of course, on a first name basis with us as we have spent enough money there to put EVERYONE'S kids through college - vets, techs, receptionists, the whole shebang) and got an appointment for that afternoon. 

When I took her in I wasn't overly concerned, as she had come through the previous bout quite well and this one didn't seem nearly as bad. The vet found that she had slow reactions on her left legs and in her right eye, leading them to suggest that it might be a neurological problem. Concern started to wiggle in the back of my mind. The vet ordered blood tests, thyroid tests, a urinalysis, and suggested we take x-rays. Hmm, someone else must be approaching college age. I was able to authorize the blood work but the powers that be (my parents) decided to wait on the x-rays. 

By the time my mom arrived home from work the blood test results were back and the vet managed to convince my mom to approve the x-rays for the next day on the basis of the neurological symptoms and the fact that she was anemic, which might be caused by internal bleeding.

Saturday morning I managed to get Maia to the vet by 9 am so they could work her in during the day. She seemed much better so I was optimistic. The concern had made a quiet exit. By the early afternoon I got a call informing me that the x-rays had shown a mass in Maia's spleen and the vet recommended an ultrasound to get a better picture. The door slammed open and worry barged in. While on the phone, the vet told me that the ultrasound techs were at the local ER vet and they were holding the last available appointment for me at 4pm if I wanted to take it. Schedule it. I'll pick her up in 20 minutes.

Down to the ER vet. Yet another place I am all too familiar with, having visited it before with at least one cat, one duck and two rabbits. The ultrasound showed that there was indeed a mass in her spleen, which may have been causing the neurological symptoms, along with fluid in her belly that had leaked out of the mass yesterday. I think they used the term "ticking time bomb" when they told me that the mass could burst at any time; they recommended surgery. Then. Saturday night, not even 48 hours from the first sign of any trouble. I could not bear the thought that the mass might burst, causing Maia pain and forcing her to go into surgery in a state of shock. 

There was good news and bad to consider. On the positive side, we had caught this problem early, before it burst. Many of the patients the ER vets see come in after the mass bursts, and Maia was in the condition that the vets want to see a patient go into surgery in: stable and relatively healthy - she is in remarkable shape and most people do a double take when we tell them she is, in fact, 16 years old. The bad news was that the vet was less than optimistic about the outcome. He informed me that the ultrasound can't see everything and that many times, when they open the abdomen they find that the tumor has spread. To the liver, the kidneys, the abdominal wall. Needless to say, this was NOT what I wanted to hear. 

I authorized the surgery. I did not check with my parents, on the grounds that I was afraid they would say no and I was not at all ready to lose Maia, or risk a possibly painful death at some point in the future. I left her there, and drove home, still in something of a tailspin. To their great credit, my parents were not mad but were, in fact, supportive of the decision to go ahead with the surgery. Maia has always been a good little girl, and is very fond of sleeping all night in my room, and then all day with Dad when he is on his week to work nights. She is, as he often reminds us, "a good little sleeper."

The vet had informed me that they would call when they started the surgery. I checked my phone to ensure it was on the loudest possible setting. I then checked my phone at 9:30 to be sure I hadn't missed the call somehow. 9:37. 9:46. 9:50. 10:13. 10:25. 10:39. 11:01. 11:16. Sometime between then and midnight they called to say they were beginning the surgery. If they encountered anything unexpected (read: bad) when they opened her up they would call. I spent the next half hour laying on the couch in the dark, visualizing with everything I had that the vet opens her up, inspects her abdomen and says, with amazement, "it's clean - no signs of spreading! Wow!" I also pictured the happy dance I would do when I got the good news. (The visualization has more power when you imagine how you will feel when whatever you hope for happens.)

A little before 1:30 in the morning, my phone rang again. 
"Hello?" 
"We're all finished with the surgery. The spleen came out in one piece without any trouble." 
"And the spreading? How did it look?"
"Oh yes, we checked the liver, kidneys and abdomen and everything was clean. No signs of spreading."

I thanked the vet and hung up, then bounced down the hallway, burst into the master bedroom and told a somewhat confused, bleary eyed Mom the news while doing my happy dance. (And yes, it did look ridiculous.) I then called my brother, my dad at work, and my sister - even though it was 3am in Minnesota.

Maia got the OK to come home Sunday night. Before picking her up I stopped by the store, got three different kinds of treats and a very fancy $70 metal frame "princess bed." Now, a week out from the surgery, Maia is doing very well. She has a cute red hoodie vest on to keep her from licking at her staples and she is back to her old self, with some improvements: her appetite has greatly improved and she is much perkier than she's been in a while, which has me wondering if this mass had her slightly under the weather for longer than we realized. 

All in all, I am quite pleased with the condition of all the Unfarmians. Kita continues to trek along, Ginger continues to insist that her litter box will work better if she dumps all the hay out onto the floor and then turns the box upside down like some post-modern sculpture in the middle of her cage, and the ducks are both molting, blanketing everything in a layer of down and feathers.

Unfarm updates and tips for living with an elderly dog

Well, it's 2013 and we managed to make it through 2012 relatively unscathed. We had two losses: Suki, who died and Buttercup - our hen turned rooster who we had to give up when s(he) started crowing. He did go to a good home, however, through a local farm store re-homing that places roosters with out-of-city farms that want them. We gained three new additions: Belle, our Brahma hen who arrived with Buttercup, and Beauty a black Australorp hen that we adopted to replace Buttercup so that Belle would have a companion; we also added a rabbit named Ginger who was given up by her owners when they could no longer care for her. 

After Suki died, Jojo was left alone and I was left with three bachelor bunnies. Adding a girl seemed to be the perfect solution: an unattached female might be just the thing to bring my bachelor males together. Forget sugarplums - I had visions of four calm bunnies, happily coexisting, dancing in my head. Alas, it was not to be. I now have FOUR rabbit cages in my art room, and have to juggle time out between four separate rabbits, instead of the three time outs I had before when Jojo and Suki could go out together. Of all of my pets, it is the rabbits who fight the most. Yes, those cute, lovable, fluffy bunnies are actually vicious fighters. Go figure. 

One significant loss that we did NOT experience in 2012 was Kita. He turned 15 last year and has slowed down considerably. He has arthritis and can no longer see or hear very well, but he's still happy and not ready to go yet so we keep him as comfortable as possible. He also sleeps a lot more than he ever used to and I always hold my breath a few seconds until I see his side rise when he's napping. As much as I would love for things to continue as they always have, and as much as I hate watching my children grow older, it is a part of having pets. Admittedly, one of the worst parts of having pets, but a part of it nonetheless. Given my experience with Kita's aging in the last few years I thought I would pass on a few tips for living with an elderly dog. 

1) Don't be so stingy with the treats. Splurge on some super tasty treats to spoil your pup. Kita is quite fond of original flavor beef jerky (the kind made for people - we get a bulk package at Costco.)

2) Let sleeping dogs lie - but if you must wake them, do it gently. Older dogs can't hear as well and tend not to sleep as lightly as they used to, so be gentle when you wake them up so you don't startle your dog. I put my hand on my pup's muzzle or paw, or wave a scoop of peanut butter under their nose to let them wake up more gradually. 

3) Accept accidents. More than likely, your older dog will have accidents in the house. They don't do it on purpose and they likely feel bad about it when it does happen, so yelling at your pup for something they have little control over won't help anyone and it won't fix the problem. Take a deep breath, give your pup a pat, and remind yourself of all the fun you've had together.

4) Now that you know accidents are in your future it's time to invest. Buy stock in paper towels and/or purchase an industrial carpet cleaner. Overboard, you say? I beg to differ. Our industrial carpet cleaner gets used at least once a week, it lives in our main bathroom and we've decided to name it Mighty Mouth. It is practically part of the family and one of our most used cleaning tools.

5) Quality over quantity. As your dog gets older, they will have more trouble keeping up on walks and likely won't be able go on the long rambles you went on a few years ago. It's time for quality over quantity, which means you take shorter, slower walks and let your dog sniff anything and everything without rushing them along or pulling impatiently on the handle of the leash. It's about the journey now, not the destination. Let your dog have fun and go at a pace that is comfortable for him or her. 

6) Take photos. We all get busy with our day to day lives and take for granted that our pets are always going to be there, but in the vast majority of cases, we outlive our pets and we don't know when the last day will be so take lots of pictures. Today. Now. What are you still sitting there for?

The best laid plans...

I had big plans for this summer. Go camping.  Train up Buddy for longer hikes.  Wander through the woods with the dogs.  Hike around the Columbia Gorge.  Go camping again.  Explore the Puget Sound.  Stay at our family vacation home up on the Washington coast, the dogs and ducks in tow.  And what did I actually accomplish?  Sadly, none of it. 

At first, the slow start to summer waylaid my plans - it is quite difficult, I have found, to get excited about camping if it means hunkering down with three wet, muddy dogs as we listen to rain dripping onto the tent for hours on end.  There goes May and half of June.  By mid June it was finally clearing up and I was attempting to set up a camping expedition or two with my sister, a person I had always loved spending time with, but - long story short - she was being rude, condescending, and self-absorbed and I was tired of putting up with it.  We have not spoken since the end of June.

July was taken up with keeping the Unfarm running while my parents went on various trips, and designing and building a new chicken coop to house the Littles, who were out growing their temporary housing in the living room.  We have a coop for the Ladies, but the size difference is too big and the Ladies tend to pick on the Littles, so shutting them all up in one coop overnight seemed too dangerous a prospect, especially with Penny the Attack Chicken on guard for the Ladies.

August - surely now I can find some time to go camping with my pups.  Apparently not.  August got taken up with time spent manning the Unfarm while my parents went camping (lucky them) and then one of my cousins came down from Washington to stay with us for a week. We spent most of the time hanging out with the animals, doing some arts and crafts, and going on a couple tax free shopping sprees.  By the end of August there was light at the end of the tunnel - I might finally get to go camping. Or not. Buddy the wonder dog got out into the front yard and, somehow, he managed to injure his leg. 

This happened, as these things always seem to, just minutes after our vet had closed for the day.  He spent the rest of the evening favoring that leg and by the next morning it had swollen up to a huge lump around his wrist joint and he wouldn't stand at all.  We carried him into the vet and several x-rays later we got the verdict: he had dislocated a bone in his wrist and torn the ligament.  We still don't know how he managed to do that - he had only been outside for 2 or 3 minutes.  Apparently, he does everything fast: run, eat, play, and dislocate his wrist.

The vet wrapped his leg in a huge green-striped cast - which gave him the appearance (and feel, no doubt) of having replaced one leg with a large watermelon - and sent us to the orthopedic vet.  A few days later (they wanted to wait for the swelling to go down a bit) he went to the vet's office for surgery and an overnight observation.  It was the first time he has ever been away from all of us overnight and I don't know who was more distressed - him or myself.  We both survived it and news from the surgery was good: he had dislocated his wrist but had not torn any ligaments, which the vet was rather surprised at and said that was hard to do.  Finally - something goes our way at the vet's office.  And here we were convinced that we were single handedly responsible for supporting the entire veterinary profession in our state.

However, even with the good news from the vet Buddy was still put into a cast that he will have to wear for at least 6 weeks.  In addition, he has to be kept quiet and prevented from running, playing, jumping on or off of furniture, and going up or down stairs.  All of which he does on a regular basis, and continued to do as if nothing had changed.  The sedatives they gave us might as well have been placebos for all the good they did.  In addition to the sedatives, he is also on thyroid medication, pain medicines, and antibiotics which he must take two to three times a day.  But that is another story.

We are about two weeks in now and by the time he is back to his regular routine it will be cold, and wet, and dark and much too late to consider camping.  

Normally I could handle this disappointment but this year is particularly hard because Kita has always loved camping and I don't know how many summers he has left.  At 15 he is already elderly and his arthritis gets worse every year. A depressing thought, I know, and I usually try to keep this blog lighthearted but death is an unfortunate part of life on the Unfarm at times.  I suppose I could spare myself the pain of losing my little ones by not having pets, but then life would not be nearly so worthwhile.  And besides, it would be incredibly selfish of me to not provide a safe and loving home for an animal simply because it causes me pain when they go.

Signing off for now - time to give Aspen, Buddy, Kita and Maia their medicines.  Between all of them I fear we may be in danger of wiping out entire pharmacies. 

The curse of being an artist

We all know that hobbies come with supplies. Whether you collect stuff, build model airplanes or create art, you need supplies.  Especially if you do art.  Which I do.  And not just one kind of art - I dabble in pastels, felting, fiber arts, watercolor, acrylic, quilting, and mixed media.  

And there's the rub: mixed media.  It means that I can find a use for almost anything, which, of course, means that I need to add it to my collection of supplies.  Even stuff that most people would pass up, I see inspiration in.  Old dominos? I could use those.  Second hand dictionaries, one english and one french? I could use those.  Mountains of small formica sample tiles?  Better stock up.  Samples of laminate wood flooring?  I could use those as a base for a mixed media piece: cheaper than canvas, and it's recycling!  Partially used spools of thread?  I would hate to be in the middle of a project and run out - I should probably get at least seven.  Bags of yarn from the 1980s - for FREE?  I'll take as many as I can fit in my car.  Piles of small boxes?  I'm sure I'd find a use for them the minute they drive off in the recycling truck, so I'll just hold on to them for now.  

And then there are the legitimate art supplies.  Those pads of scrap booking paper that Michael's occasionally offers for sale at 40% or (gasp!) 50% off?  How can I pass that up?  Stamps?  I'll need alphabets in several different fonts, as well as nature prints, and flowers, and swirls, and shapes, and... Of course, you can't stamp without ink pads, so I'll need one in every color.  Canvas?  You bet - some small, some large, some medium, and a few more small.  Colored pencils, crayons, paints, brushes, pastels, beads, fimo clay, wire and glue.  Each item in itself is not much of a problem, but when they add up, you get this: a room scattered with fabrics, papers, stamps, boxes and books in an attempt to "organize."  Somehow, whenever I organize, things always seem to get worse before they get better.  

In this case, things have been "worse" for a few days now as I attempt to fit all my supplies into one room in an orderly manner.  Add to this the complication of sharing this room with the ducks, my office supplies, and three rabbits and all their supplies.  It's not looking good.  At this point the only thing I can be grateful for is the fact that at least the rabbits are not artists.  They seem much more interested in destruction than creation, as evidenced by the shredded phone book that Clover is, at this very moment, ripping up and tossing around his cage, and the numerous pads of carpet that I have had to replace once they are reduced to 1/3 their original size and a pile of carpet fibers strewn about their cages.  

The grass is always greener...

It would seem that the old saying is true: the grass is always greener on the other side, or perhaps I should say, the food is always better in the other bowl.  We seem to be forever playing musical food bowls here on the Unfarm.  

The dogs, for instance, are constantly on alert for any opportunity to get into the cat food, or worse, the sand cookies (our term for what shows up in the litter box after the cats have digested their own food.)  Minna has mastered the art of sneaking under the gate and waddling into the chicken run to eat any food the chickens have left behind.  The rabbits appear to have no particular desire to eat anyone else's food, but Maia considers bunny berries (aka rabbit poop) a delicacy. (I don't see the appeal either, but there you have it.)  The chickens are equal opportunity snackers, eating not only their own food but any scraps we toss their way (they are particularly fond of corn cobs and melon rinds) whatever crumbs they can glean from the kitchen floor and duck food.  

Not only are the animals getting into forbidden fruits on their own, I think they may have enlisted help.  I suspect that one or more of the animals may have formed an alliance with the squirrels.  The chickens and ducks can often be found sitting under the squirrel feeder, catching bits of corn and seeds that the squirrels "accidentally" knock off the feeder while searching for the ultimate prize: peanuts.  In addition, I am quite sure that the dogs and ducks have a longstanding agreement - the dogs are forever nosing open the bunny room door (where the ducks spend the night) thus allowing the ducks to waddle down the hallway and into the kitchen where they proceed to splash in the dog's water bowl, making a mess that I must then clean up.  I can see what the ducks get out of the arrangement but I am still unsure as to what's in it for the dogs.  Perhaps they simply think it's funny to watch me chasing ducks around the house.  

Speaking of ducks, Maggie has recently discovered the dog's food bowl.  She will often sneak a couple mouthfuls while I'm busy chasing after Minna, trying to wrangle her into her diaper.  (If you have never seen ducks running, let me assure you that they are by no means slow animals - they can cover considerable distance in a hurry when they want to.)  For the most part, the cats seem to leave the other animals food alone - I expect they consider it beneath them to stoop to eating dog food and the grain and hay the other animals eat holds no appeal for them.  They do, however, flock to the kitchen whenever a can of tuna or salmon is being opened, and Aspen has insisted on milk at least once a day for the entire 16+ years we have lived with him.  If you decide that you don't want to get him milk until you are done, say, eating breakfast, he will help himself: he jumps up onto the table and sticks his head in your bowl to drink your milk.  

I would attempt to come up with a clever, witty ending to this post, but ironically, I can hear Maggie scarfing down Kita's dinner in the kitchen so I'm off to chase down two incorrigible ducks.  Until next time.

Updates from the Unfarm

It has been a while since I've checked in so another session of Unfarm Updates is in order. I (barely) survived the school year, managing to pull off A's and B's in a soil science class and a computer class. The computer class was especially tedious with lots of little details to memorize and four proctored tests to take. (Really, proctored exams in a 100 level online class? Please.) Needless to say, I was more than happy to cross that class off my list and I will never have to take another computer class for as long as I live. Do you hear angels singing, too, or is it just me?

Speaking of angels, we've had another loss here on the Unfarm. Poor little Suki-mama passed away about a month ago. She had been suffering from kidney disease for a while and eventually lost about half her body weight. Despite the best vet care we could provide, the disease was too severe and she passed away here at home in the morning. I had checked on her as soon as I woke up and found her sitting in her litter box, not looking great but hanging in there. I returned less than half an hour later, after eating breakfast and preparing her medicine, to find that she had passed away. So far, Jojo – who was her mate – seems to be doing tolerably and is not moping much, so I have hopes that he will not decline as time goes on and I will not be forced to lose another of my children any time soon.

Such is the cycle of life, I suppose. No matter how much we may want to, we can't stop it from turning. The way I handle it, usually, is to bring a new animal to the Unfarm. And so we have found ourselves with a couple new additions: Buttercup, a Chantecler breed chick, and Belle, a Brahma. “We found ourselves with a couple new additions” may imply that they showed up on our doorstep one morning, with their small possessions wrapped up in a bandana, carried over their shoulders on tiny sticks. This is not what happened. What did occur was more along the lines of my mother lamenting the fact that our hens don't lay eggs nearly as often now that they are more mature, which I took to mean, “perhaps we should get more chickens.” She will, of course, deny this if you ask her, so I took it upon myself to go to the local store and pick up a couple rarey breed chicks. When adding chickens to an existing flock, it is best to add two or more at a time, so that they have a companion while they are young and a partner once they join the flock, to prevent the older hens from picking on them too much. So really, it would have been irresponsible of me to only get one. Once she got over her shock, Mom quickly warmed up to the chicks and now calls them “her girls” or “the littles” (as opposed to our established flock - "the ladies") and likes to say goodnight to them before going to sleep. So really, I did her a favor.

I feel that I should perhaps mention another disclaimer - despite what most of my family thinks, I am not an animal hoarder.  I do not acquire animals willy nilly, so to speak. I never have more animals than I can take care of, or more than we have room for, or more than we can afford to care for.  It is quite possible that, if asked, my parents would argue that last point - they frequently complain that we have surely funded an additional wing or two on our vet's office by now, but when it comes down to it, we have never euthanized an animal that was not ready to go because of costs.  We pay for laser treatments for arthritis, surgery for kidney stones, specialists in cardiology and hysterectomies on hens.  It has always been my opinion that money can eventually be replaced, but we will never have another Kita, or Emmy, Dandelion the hen, or Patches the guinea pig.