Oldest Pig on the Block / Ode to Piggy Sue

I was reading in the Dallas Morning News earlier this week that the "Oldest Pot Bellied Pig"(documented by the Guiness Book of World Records) had passed away at the ripe old age of 21. Turns out, Oscar lived just 1 & 1/2 hours away, in Dallas. Who knew??? In the article, the writer also mentioned that the normal life expectancy of a PBP is 12-15 years. This I did not know, and apparently, Piggy Sue doesn't know either :)....and I'm not going to tell her :).

Piggy Sue has been known as our "Grandma Pig" around here for the last few years. She is roughly 17. Piggy Sue was our first rescue when we moved up to this area 16 years ago. She had been living in an apartment with a well-meaning young guy who had followed the "trendy pet of the year" gang, and had bought her.....and had also bought in to the misconception that pigs make great apartment pets. Uhh, right.

Pigs are brilliant creatures, and can be taught pretty much any trick you could teach a dog (within their physiological capabilities!). I personally can attest to the fact that a pig can and does hold the ability to reason (I've seen it in action). However, while you CAN give a pig an education, you cannot take away their instincts. I will leave it up to your imagination what kind of damage a pig, whose natural instincts include rooting and nesting, could inflict on an apartment or house if left unsupervised. Heck, I guess you could say that about kids too...who am I kidding???

All this to say, we ended up with a sweet yearling piglet whom we renamed Piggy Sue (I honestly don't even remember her original name). And in the last 16 years, we have loved sweet piggy.

She's kept us laughing as she hung out with the other animals that have passed thru Ararat Acres' gates. In her younger years, she outraced Charlie in a footrace. (Charlie will never admit he was beat by a pig...he claims to have been tripped.)Piggy Sue learned to use the doggy door, could sit for a treat, and wore matching bandanas with her doggie peeps.

Piggy Sue can pick up on emotions almost instantly. When she was a younger pig, if a farm guest was afraid of her, she would puff up her hair and grunt menacingly (although harmlessly!), as though she knew she could convince the visitor that their fears were valid. Not! However, if a guest showed zero fear, she would be sweet as pie to them. Honestly, I think she got a kick out of making kids (and adults) think she was one big bad pig..... when she thought she could get away with it.

A few things we have learned about pigs:
Truly, given the option, they DON'T like mud, especially if it's cold wet mud. She would tiptoe out to eat and pee, and then go right back into her room.

Pigs have a large and distinctive vocabulary. Every grunt has a very specific meaning based on tone, pitch, and cadence. In a split second, I can tell you if she is happy, angry, content, hungry, territorial, in pain, or pleased with herself (just to name a few).

I am not a vegetarian, but I don't eat a ton of meat. Living with an intelligent pig has reinforced my belief that all animals deserve to live a dignified life in the surroundings that they were meant to live (ie- in a pasture with fresh food and water. NOT in a feedlot). I've just seen too many irrefutable examples that animals do have feelings, which do include fear and despair.

Piggy Sue has terrible arthritis now, and she sleeps most of her days away. A couple of years ago, we had to move her to a bedded down stall (we always leave the door open). She had decided that no old woman should have to go outside on a rainy cold day to go to the bathroom. (This did not jive with our belief that one can have many animals and still be clean folks.) On a beautiful day, she may come out and sleep in the sun. I think she has three teeth left. Because of this, her daily diet now consists of small food pellets and bananas. She loves her bananas.
I figure, in pig years, sweet Piggy Sue is roughly 96 years old. That's pretty dang old.....even for a sweet loveable pig.

Again

Sometimes it feels like I just get over grieving for one animal, when we lose another one. I know you must think I live in an animal cemetery given the number of animals we bury. And yes, most of them rest here in their earthen plots. They all have their own stone markers.... it is a peaceful place. I love them all, and I hate hate hate hate hate this part of my life where I have to say goodbye to my sweet friends. But I'll never stop loving and never stop rescuing because of it. Charlie says (and I so agree), the goodness of our helping animals and the joy in our lives because of it so outweighs this pain we feel when we lose one.

Sweet Earl. Earl the Pearl. Uncle Earl. Earl...aka Baby Huey. I believe he is nine this year. My how time flies. Earl was born at Ararat Acres. One of the few furry family members that has that distinction. He was born with a club foot, a structural deformity, that while not immediately life threatening, was a definite future threat to a long life.

See, there is this old saying: No hoof, No horse. Beginning when he was just a foal, we started managing Earl's condition. He wore glue on shoes (because his feet were too small for regular horseshoes) for probably a year. His structural defect lead to bouts of laminitis (for more info on that, click here) which got worse and uglier every year. Summers have been the hardest. Inevitably, he would abscess on a front hoof. We would go thru (every summer) a month of wrapping, soaking, doctoring, changing stall bedding (for he had to become an indoor horse during this time), etc. I can make the best duct tape horse boot on the planet.

Earl has been ever so patient with all of this, although he sorely misses his friends as he spends his days in isolation. This summer has been the worst. His episodes of pain have been so obvious. Clearly, we have been fighting a losing battle with a structural deformity that has finally gotten the best of all of us.

Regarding the Obvious (that was his APHA name). Earl. My mom always thought we had named him after my Great Uncle Earl. I never had the heart to tell her differently. We give all the boys their barn names of country music singers. Earl = Earl Thomas Connelly, Earl Scruggs, Robert Earl Keen, Goodbye Earl (that was actually a Dixie Chicks song, and our Earl was a much nicer person than the one the song referred to).

Sweet Earl. Always quick to befriend a new horse. Even Donkey Boy.

Earl. My problem child who frequently found unique ways to hurt himself. Doesn't every mother have one?

A redhead, our Earl. Being a lightskinned sorrel paint means sunglasses and protection for the sunburn prone areas. I am an expert on prevention of sunburn on horses now because of him.

Earl. Who was so sweet with all the foals we've had. We never had to worry that he would hurt them, despite their youthful antics. Frequently, he would join in their "reindeer" games. A great babysitter, our Uncle Earl, during weaning season.

Young Earl, who managed to almost scalp himself by running into a wood fence when he was less than a month old. He lay with his head in my lap while tears ran down his face. It hurt, I could tell it hurt as we waited for the vet to come sew him up. Proof that horses do cry.

We called him "one of the girls" simply because he was the only guy in the pasture, and he was good friends to all of them. Don't we all know a guy like that :).

He only unseated one of us one time.....( it was Charlie)....and when you step on a live electrical wire, it's only natural to buck, right?

Have you ever been licked across the face by a horse? No? Well, you should have spent some time with Earl. He was loveable like that.

Soft peppermints. Yes, it's wrong to give a horse too many sweets, but he sure does like them on occasion.

Sweet Earl. You were a tall man with a big heart. You are missed by all of us and you are loved.

March 2001 - September 2010

A Heron In The House and A Donkey On My Doorstep - (part 2)

After last week's harrowing event, I thought I'd lighten things up with a pictorial update of Donkey Boy. I'm not sure exactly how we've managed around here these last 15 years in the country without the love, companionship, and complete adorableness of Donkey Boy. He has moved in and made himself at home. Although we "put him to bed" in an enclosure at night (for his own safety), for the most part he pretty much has the run of Ararat Acres. He has proven himself to be trustworthy and liked by all the animals....although Murphy and Elvis (aka- "the boys") are by far his favorite running buddies. He has managed to sneak into their pasture at least 3 times, and all 3 times, The Boys appeared to be delighted by his presence. What makes this unusual is that Murphy is still a stallion, and therefore should not be all that friendly towards testosterone toting equines (other males). Such creatures could be considered a threat to his manhood, if you get my drift.

In the above pictures: Donkey Boy and Elvis race each other. Elvis and Murphy watch Donkey Boy (not pictured) hang out with me. Donkey Boy and Elvis in conversation.

Additionally, Donkey Boy has mastered every set of stairs on our wrap around porch. At any given moment during the day, we may hear "tip tap tip tap tip tap" as he wanders around the porch, looking for someone to scratch his ears, face, back, belly, etc..... Heaven forbid that our windows be open and he hears us inside the house. Then, we may get a donkey serenade until we go out and do some obligatory ear scratching.

Donkey Boy checks out one of the cat's lairs.

Donkey Boy and Leo The Wonder Kitty explore to the left........."Come On...I'll show you the right side too". (Doesn't this sound like the next super hero duo to conquer the world: DONKEYBOY AND LEO THE WONDERKITTY....TO INFINITY AND BEYOND! )

Currently (as of this post), the only place still out of bounds is inside our house. Hey, we do have our limits....at least for now. Charlie keeps threatening/asking about putting furniture protectors on DB's hooves so that he won't mar the antique wood floors we have. (And this, from a man who...in his former life.....was somewhat of a city boy!) We are still normal enough people to keep the donkey out of the house :). That's all I have to say about that...for now anyway.

A Heron In The House and A Donkey On My Doorstep

(Author's Note: The following is a true story. I couldn't make this stuff up....even if I tried. Really.)

This last week has been a flurry of activity, and I have so many entries I'd like to post, but not nearly enough time to recreate what goes on in my life. This one, however needs to be posted....at the very least as a public service announcement and as an apology to my husband for putting up with me.... his very own Ellie Mae Clampett (at least that is what he very recently called me).

The story goes like this: Last Friday was my day off. While heading out to run errands, I saw a blue heron standing by the side of the road on the edge of town. Hmmmmm....this is something blue herons typically don't do. They are usually seen in ponds and waterways, spearing frogs, crawfish, and fish with that long beak of theirs. Surely you've seen them if you live in Texas or other states in the south. They are about 3 feet tall. Long legs. Long neck. Long beak.

As I was headed briefly into the next town over, I made a mental note to come back the same way to see if the bird was still there. An hour later, I returned...and yes, in fact, the bird was still standing there. Well shoot. What's a person to do, but do a U-ie in her truck, grab a towel (kept for such emergencies), and try to catch a big bird who looks like it needs help. Upon close examination, the poor bird had a pretty badly broken right wing. My towel is big, so I was able to cover the bird including its eyes, get in my truck, and drive to our vet with it in my lap and its head tucked under my arm.

Our vet clinic doesn't work on birds, but gave me a phone number for the Living Materials Center , a somewhat local facility that will take in wildlife that needs rehabilitating. They agreed to take my feathery friend if I would bring him/her to them. Having not eaten all day, and needing a better way to transport a large bird in traffic, I called Charlie at home, and he offered to fix me a quick sandwich and then would drive with me down to the LMC with our heron. I got home, ready to quickly eat, put the heron in a kennel, and then head south. I walked into the kitchen with the (very quiet, very still, and very large) bird still wrapped in the towel with his/her eyes covered and beak held with my free hand.

Charlie greeted me and said, "Wow. That's some bird.", as I uncovered his/her head so he(Charlie) could get a better look (1st mistake). Then, (2nd mistake) I released the bird's beak while saying, "Watch out for the beak. It looks like it could do some damage." (3rd mistake..I didn't say this soon enough) The bird lays in my arms for oh, about 5 seconds, and then SQUARRRRK!!!! ....It unfolds its neck, and goes straight for Charlie.....RIGHT UP HIS NOSE!

OK, you can laugh now. WE can laugh now, but at the time...when blood was spurting everywhere, and I wasn't exactly sure which part of his face had been ripped off by a 3foot bird that I had invited into our house....we weren't laughing. I was trying to subdue an angry bird. Charlie was spitting blood out of his nose and mouth, and I was trying (mentally) to figure out how we were going to explain this type of injury to an emergency room that had seen Charlie about a month earlier following another run-in with a sharp object. I mean....there was ALOT of blood. ALOT of blood (and blood doesn't even bother me...but I really don't like seeing it coming out of my honey's face). It was several minutes before everything calmed down, the bleeding had subsided, and Charlie got near enough to me (and the bird) to realize that there was no visible wound, only 2 very very small scratches on the side of his face.....and one slightly swollen nostril. Exactly how many people in the world can claim this as a near fatal injury? Believe me, the obviousness of how easily that bird could have pecked his eye out, pulled part of the frontal lobe of his brain out of his right nostril, or left a serious life long scar on his face has not evaded either one of us. We can laugh about this now, when we could be crying (I had nightmares for two nights. Seriously).

The rest of the story is fairly brief. I ate my sandwich (with a queasy stomach, thinking about what I had allowed to happen. Yes, I knew better than to allow myself....even for one moment... to think that a wild animal could be trusted. I have handled too many animals to have permitted this type of thing to happen). We loaded up the heron into a large kennel (It remained calm and subdued for the remainder of its journey), and took it to the LMC. Unfortunately, the heron's broken wing had happened several days prior and infection had set in, and the bird had to be euthanized. I had suspected that this might be the ultimate fate of the heron from the beginning, but I could not with good conscience, drive by that bird and not stop to help. And yes, I would stop again, in a heartbeat. But.....I would hang on to that beak, no matter what.

Charlie jokingly calls me his Ellie Mae. (He doesn't know that she was one of my idols growing up....and that really...it's a compliment of the highest order!).

I'm nearing my bedtime....so stay tuned for part two!

Hey, Nice Asp!

I've been waiting for the end of this little story to emerge from its cocoon, and received word today that it is over. Our toxic little asp is dead. What!?? You may ask? "What?", as in... What is an asp?...... or "What?" as in.....Should we mourn another loss at Ararat Acres? I am here for you....to educate the general public about this bizarre creature in the insect world.

Lest you think we live in a scary world out here in the country (believe me, I think those of YOU living in the city are living in a scary world of a different variety.....but I digress!), an asp is just one of those things out here that you learn about and then watch out for. Nobody's ever died from one (that I know of), but countless people have ended up in the emergency room because of one.

Setting the Stage: So here I was, minding my own business, picking the evil bagworms off of a bush, when what should I see, but just about the cutest little caterpillar you could imagine. Why, it was so cute you'd just want to pick it up and cuddle it. The common sense side of my brain said, "something that cute can only mean trouble". So, with my gloved hand, I picked up the little bundle of cuteness, put it in a jar, and set about trying to identify it on the internet. It took awhile, but when I finally stumbled upon the right website (you really must go to that website to learn everything you ever wanted to know about these guys), I was VERY thankful I had not stroked its cute little furry body like I really wanted to (I am very texture oriented, and I really really wanted to!). See, one little brush with this little guy/gal, and you could end up in the emergency room. (Go here and here to see more pictures and information.)

I called my caterpillar expert friend, Michelle, and told her what I'd found. She raises caterpillars as a hobby of sorts (I think she might try to housebreak them too), and then she turns the butterflies loose when they emerge from their cocoons. It really is quite interesting, and she knows an awful lot. She was so interested that she raced 40 miles over here to "rescue" it. Only she would say, "Hey, nice asp!" , and really mean it. She put little asp in a caterpillar incubator, and within the week, it had finished its lifetime as a caterpillar, woven its cocoon, and was ready to think about being a moth (because, technically....it will grow up to be a moth, not a butterfly). There is very little information known about the latter part of the life cycle of an asp, so this was a biology experiment. I understand that the moths are really quite beautiful, except for the part about laying eggs and procreating more little asps.

Almost a month later, Michelle emailed me: the little asp had emerged as a cute moth, and then had promptly died, she feared, of neglect. She said it was so small that she didn't notice it for a couple of days, and by then, it had died. None of us are so sad about this ending, however. While it was a good biology lesson, we weren't sure what we were going to do with an asp moth. I'm sure even Noah had his limits on the ark.

We trust OUR "Weathermen". Do you?

This has been a crazy crazy weather year so far in North Texas. First, Winter swore she would never pack her bags and leave.

When she did, Spring sprung quickly, briefly, and then poof....we had hard core Summer. Summer started dry, with the heavy threat of a drought: an event that makes anyone who has to grow or buy hay (in copious amounts) cringe. Now, we've got the oddity of heavy scattered showers (in July!!!!) for the last two weeks.

I'm hoping it's enough to take the edge off the aforementioned drought. I bring all this up to give well deserved kudos to a couple of our farm "weathermen", who are right about rainstorms oh.....pretty much 100% of the time (can your weatherman make that boast?).

I was given some Rain Lilies about 3 years ago. A "little old lady" gave them to me from her homestead. She said, "You watch. They will only bloom when it's going to rain." These plants are dead on right, even when the tv weatherman is wrong. I have since learned that this plant might actually be called a Crinum. Or maybe it's in the Crinum family. The common term Rain Lily suits them tho. The only time the plant makes this fast growing shoot (no kidding. It grows about 18 inches in 24hrs, and then pops out blooms very quickly after that.) is right before a rain. Amazing. If they say it's going to rain, it IS going to rain.

Our other weathermen are a couple of our dogs....but especially Kelly. Sweet Kelly is our "formerly feral fido" who is about as sweet as you can get. Kelly was truly a wild dog who ran with the coyotes in our area before he decided that life on the farm might suit him after all. I will post about Kelly and his "Muttley Makeover" someday (it is a story that is worth telling). All this to say, Kelly mostly prefers to be an outside dog. Oh, you can ask him to come in, but he will probably politely decline the offer. Unless there is a storm coming. In the event of a storm, Kelly is most happy laying on the floor (or in his bed) in our bedroom. He will ask to come in, and he will trot down the hall, and he will settle in for the long haul. Sweet Kelly B is a fine specimen of a weatherdog. When the storm is over (even if in the middle of the night), Kelly will go to the door and ask to be let out where he can resume his position as night watch dog.

Living in the country away from the constant thrum of city life, I can see and hear and smell things I may otherwise miss. I love how often looking to nature for answers works. God so often gives us clues to help us solve the questions.....if you only know how to look.

IF YOU BUILD IT, THEY WILL COME........

...... Hopefully, that is!

Yes, you could say we're going batty here at Ararat Acres (in more ways than I care to count sometimes). When it comes right down to it, bats are an all around good idea for environmentally safe flying insect control. Did you know that a single bat, on average, will eat roughly 1,500 mosquitoes per hour? For more interesting bat facts, click here .

***This Public Service Announcement was brought to you by my personal "Bob the Builder" sweet husband, Charlie.....who has built dog domiciles, horse homes, bee buildings, kitty condos, chicken coops, a turkey townhouse, and now bat bungalows (not to mention a pretty nifty place for yours truly to live as well :). ****

If anyone is interested in their very own batville, Charlie is open for business!

IT'S ALL RELATIVE

A funny thing happened as we continued our quest for finding creative ways to save money. It began at the beginning of May, when things started heating up here in Texas. We decided to wait until the high temperatures became unbearable before flipping the air conditioning switch. It became a little bit of a game....who would be the first to crack? The days warmed. Our house, with its open air design, lots of windows with screens, fans, and high ceilings has become a team player in this event. We've had some pretty warm days on the farm by "civilized Texans" standards, but nothing close to being unbearable.

Paralleling this mini journey of ours, our friends The Waits , are planning for a much larger trip. In a little over a month, they will be closing the Texas chapter of their lives, and starting a new one as they move to a remote little corner of Honduras to care for the orphans of Puerto Lempira. Included among the gazillion modern amenities they will not have access to?.........air conditioning is one of them. Their daily temperatures pretty much mirror our current ones except for the humidity......which averages a balmy 70-90% on any given day. Suddenly, not using air conditioning became my constant reminder of what our sweet selfless friends are doing for others....what they are giving up to give of themselves. I have not told many people (until now!) that we're operating without AC around here because, by civilized standards here in the southern USA, only the poorest of the poor do without AC in the summer. We are nowhere near the poorhouse (thanks to our Dave Ramsey lifestyle) despite our financial setbacks this past year. Yet, I am sure if I told people, they would think we were either close to destitution or that we were nuts.......neither of which is a picture I want people to paint of us. (Ahhhh, the ego has elbowed her way into the musings of "she who doesn't care how other people categorize her").

Since we've gone AC-less, we've gotten two (house) electric bills, both of which have been the smallest ones we've ever had in the history of Ararat Acres. The first one was a shocker at under 125$. The second one, we got yesterday.....under 95$. Normally, with the AC running in our high ceiling-ed house, our house electric bills run 3/400$ per month. Apparently, we have inadvertently stumbled across the proverbial cash cow by allowing ourselves to be a little uncomfortable at times.

Another parallel story enters the picture. As I am sitting at my desk (in the 'its really not that bad' warm night) paying the electric bill.......happily, I might add....since its such a small one......it occurs to me that the amount of money we are saving each month by NOT turning the AC on is nearly the same amount it costs to sponsor a child in need for a whole year. So, for the price of being ultra comfortable cool for one month, some little kiddo could instead have food on the table, clothes on her back, and an education to boot.....for a child who probably has never felt a minute of a blast of cold air in her whole life. I am humbled beyond belief, and grateful for the grace of knowing that at least we have the option of having air conditioning......or not.



How many people are out there that think they have nothing to spare for people who are truly in need? I'm amazed by what I've found serendipitously, and even more amazed by what I can see when I open my eyes.

Springtime Smiles at Ararat Acres

I love
Frogs on Dogs,


Cats who can read,


Nosy horses,


Sweetness,


Flowers (too many pictures to post),


and
a good looking Farmhand (who also happen to be married to said blogger).


I love my place of peace, my piece of place. Surrounded by these special things created by God. It is where I belong, and where I long to be when I'm not.

How Cold Is It?

We are 3 days into our Siberian Express cold snap, and things are cooooold around here! How cold is it? I think our low has been 9 degrees during this Texas weather oddity.

Cold enough that 40 degrees sounds balmy.

Cold enough to freeze some pipes under our pier and beam house. (Prayers for no damage would be greatly appreciated!)

Cold enough to have to break ice on all the water troughs at least twice a day.
Cold enough that the cats take turns sitting in front of the heater in their "warm rooms". (In this picture, it's Eli's turn...)



Cold enough that you could walk across the pond. (I was just a few feet out in this picture...I'm not brave enough to walk all the way across!)



Cold enough that our pond looks like it belongs in Nova Scotia, and there is some amazing ice art out there.














Cold enough that you get TWO blogs from me in 10 days. (Now that's cold....it means I'm spending too much time indoors on my days off!)

Leo in Action...Take 1

It is about 34 degrees outside today, but if there are chores to do on a farm, they must get done no matter the weather. The animals are lively and rambunctious. The dogs and Leo the Wonder Kitty have been following us around as we tackle "the list".

Leo takes it upon himself to become the lead scout, in search of......what, you may ask?
Maybe the next best thing to tuna fish?
Slowly, his focus turns to me. I see intent. I see resolve. I (very briefly) see his invisible cape.



"NO!" I shout. I duck.....just in time. Sorry, I was too busy ducking to catch the fleeting shot of his cape flying in the wind. But Leo the Wonder Kitty hit his mark.....

The next best thing to tuna? A big dog with his winter blanket on. Otherwise known as Leo's bareback pad. (the better to hang on with claws don'tcha know). Gotta love this kitty of mine, and his (much bigger) buddies.