Now that the weather has warmed up, it is not uncommon for me to take advantage of Jenney, my jitney, a battery-powered scooter, and with Foxy our house dog, my constant companion, trotting along side, to go check on the animals to see what their needs, if any, may be. My first check is usually the interior of the barn.
There I first look to see if there are any newborn kid goats. This past week, a single was born to a young mother and she refused to recognize it as hers. It took three days of holding her every two hours while the young nursed, and luckily for us, she finally chose to accept it.
On that same day, triplets were born to an older mother and she bleated continually, encouraging her young to nurse. This we suspect stimulated the young mother to nurse her baby. Unfortunately, one of the triplets died shortly after birth while the two remaining were up on their feet and bouncing around, as though in play, within the first hour of entering the world.
From there I usually take a look at the pen of laying hens. I can tell by their contented chatter and chorus of song that they lack neither food nor water. While in the stable also, I check the contented grunting of the penned Berkshire hogs that, on weight gain, will be introduced to the abattoir. These are aptly named Freezer One, Freezer Two and Freezer Three. Believe me folks, there is nothing more tasty than heritage hogs that have been pasture-raised.
Outside again, time is usually spent petting the two look-a-like barn cats, Mike and Mollie, who seem to be doing an excellent job of keeping the rats and mice at bay. From there I usually just follow Foxy, as she knows the routine quite well.
First it’s the goat paddock where 20 or more Boer goat moms and their young frolic and play on the miniature mountain of huge rocks, which were put there with heavy equipment, for them to exercise on. Then it’s on to the adjoining paddock to have a chat with our three pasture-fed Berkshire brood sows and their soon-to-be daddy. Usually they are munching grass, rooting for roots, or thoroughly enjoying themselves wallowing in the mud hole that was especially created for them. Black in colour and covered in mud, you just don’t go looking for them in the darkness of night.
Following Foxy from there, she heads straight to the corner of the back pasture where half a dozen like-looking black cattle munch grass, gain weight and wait for their 40-gallon water trough to be refilled twice daily by a hose from the barn.
Then it’s a way back the back lane, to the bee yard, where 40 hives of honeybees busy themselves buzzing about, filling scads of honeycombs with their faraway-collected nectar. From there, after circling the newly-planted gardens, it’s back to the front porch, where I sit and enjoy my breakfast.
Life such as this can be difficult don’t you think, for an old gaffer like me? But Foxy, my personal physiotherapist, makes me do it sometimes, weather permitting, several times daily. So goes my day at Westwind Farms.
Take care, ‘cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105