Homework Can Be Fun!

This past weekend I packed up my homework and travelled to Chris Jobe's and Mildred Barry's - my homework being Mitch, Floss, Nan, Gin, Ky, Kelly and Sal. There were a couple of hitchhikers as well - Kap and Dan who would find new homes in Bowden, and ol' Fly and Artie came for the fun of it..   This was going to be a weekend in which the rule of the day would be to get in much needed training for the dogs - the following weekend would be the first field trial, and it would be nice not to look too much like a fool out on the course (although it has happened a time or two in the past).  

Randy Dye (who is a descendant of George Washington - yes, it is true, I wouldn't lie to you - next time call him your worship!) and his wife Val had come down for the day as well.  We brought out the young dogs, and I soon realized that Sal was quite overwhelmed by things - she will have to be put on a shelf for a while.  As the rest of the youngsters came out, it was soon apparent that there were nice dogs in the making.

Stephanie, the new kid on the block, came down with her young dog Jake as well.  She is gung ho about training dogs, and I can see a little bit of myself in her when I started - live and breath about training.  Hope we didn't scare her off with all our help, but being a vet herself, I am sure she can sift through the crap and find the jewels of knowledge needed to go forward.

After an afternoon of working, it was time to socialize.

The next morning, the parkas had to come out as it was quite winter like outside, and we decided to work in the field.

This was a neat field to work in, and there is is gossip out there that there will be a trial on it this fall.

After we were all done, we let all the dogs have a run.

There was, yet again, time to relax before Randy and Val made it back to Bowden.

Mother's Day was the next day, and Randy had to make sure he got some flowers for Val, or perhaps it was to make sure his children had gotten something for him to give to her....like all good fathers do.

Stephanie and I stayed behind for the roast lamb - no, we didn't have any over the top grips that had to contend with, but it was a stupendous way to end the day and celebrate Chris's birthday.

A couple of Chris's workmates came to celebrate as well.

We sat and visited, and the dogs relaxed.

I then found out that some dogs are like their owners.

 A little bit twisted.

It was a fantastic way to spend the weekend, and really we should do it more often.

Now is the question...will the dogs remember all that was taught this weekend...better yet....will I remember what I taught them this weekend?



Where Were You Born?

Another month, another photo.

And unlike the others, there is a definite lack of snow in this picture.

Now, the caption is obvious.  Perhaps this is where the phrase, "Were you born in a barn?" originated.

 

Driving The Wheels Off Of Dora.

Dora the Explorer was really tired this weekend.  On Friday, I headed up to Regina to stay with my sister's on route to Saskatoon.  I had a thought that I would leave on the Saturday morning, but I suppose someone was looking out for me, since on the way to Regina, a tire was blown out, and a nice Saskatchewan resident (they are all nice) stopped to help me on the side of the road.  We both swore at the lovely jack system that Ford supplies-we were both getting jacked up about it- and soon the spare was put on.  I made it to Assiniboia to the tire shop at 5:29 and luckily they had a few new tires for me to by - new shoes for Dora!  I made the rest of the way to my sister Sharon's and brought the cargo into her house- Flynn the border collie was going to go to Saskatoon the next day.  There was another reason for the Saskatoon trip - an important meeting with the Saskatchewan Veterinary Medical Association.  Flynn was dropped off, and the meeting took place.  Now for those who don't know what the meeting was about, I would ask - why aren't you a regular reader to this blog, and then I would direct you to past blogs to get you up to speed.  This meeting was only a first, and there are bound to be more to come, but the fact I sang to the radio coming home told me that I felt things went well. 

We drove home (Dora and me), and got ready for the next trip - back to Regina the next day for Pet Expo.  The cargo was loaded up, and a moment of deja vu happened as I drove the next day.  Bev Sommer was supposed to come to help me at Pet Expo, but she too had the Flat Tire Gods lurking about, and they succeeded in grounding her.  There was only a few things to set up at the event.

The sign for the upcoming Western Canadian Finals and Canadian Border Collie Association Championships was out for all to see.  Soon they will be seen at a road near you (that is if you live in Southern Saskatchewan).

The Serta sheep were resting for their show.  I felt sorry for the tupperware lady beside me since a distinct Ode d'la Ovine was in the air.

Then it was show time!

I had pretty good crowds and I think I got some interest piqued about the trials as I worked Gin and Floss with the lambs.  Serta(inly) there would be spectators because of Pet Expo.

 I even showed them a brace demonstration -

By the end of the day, the sheep knew the drill. 

The sheep had more fans than the dogs.

There was another demo with the Regina Canine Unit - burglars beware, this member of the force will catch their man and not let go!

Nein!  Nein!  Perhaps you don't understand German, how about "Let go you SOB!!"

 The day was over, and the circus was packed up to go back home.

The sheep had seen the bright city lights of Regina, they would return home to see the bright stars of McCord. 

Til' The Cows Come Home

Growing up, I lived on a farm in which we milked cows and shipped cream.  During the non-winter months - which seemed to be longer back then - the cows would go to the pasture and come in for their milking in the morning and evening.  If they weren't seen, mom would step out on the doorstep and call "Come Boss!!" until they came-not for the "udder" enjoyment, but to relieve their bags, which were often busting at the seams.  We had about 20-25 cows milking, and most of them had a Jersey or Brown Swiss influence.  I remember Shorty - the cow with no tail, Crooked Face - a cow with a crooked face (I think she got kicked as a calf or something and grew up with a face only a mother could love), and there was a barrage of named cows, often named by who their owners were.

In my field of work, I always hear the phrase "Stupid Cow!"  I think the cows are as stupid as their owners are - and in that case there are few doosies out there.

 I remember the day when I discovered that cows have feelings, she was a Brown Swiss that had a new calf.  When you milk, you have to take the calf away after a day, so that you can get their fruits of their labour.  The calf was inside the barn, and I was outside, and this particular cow came to the door and started to bawl.  I watched closely and I could see tears coming from her eyes - yes, the cow was crying - and as a kid I cried with her.  Just recently, there was another incident, when it solidified in my mind that cows had feelings.  I had to do a BSE (where you take a part of the brain), but the cow was not yet dead.  The farmer had fed the rest of the small herd in another pasture, in which he always did, but this morning they were not hungry, and did not go off to feed.  I watched as few cows went up to the cow who was down and licked her face, or touched noses.  They were saying goodbye.  Stupid cows they are not.

In the fall, we had found Daisy the Jersey. I was sort of amused by the lady who had owned her - she had hugged Daisy and cried as we took the little cow away.  Man, she loved her cow.  Daisy loved her grain, and would call in the morning and evening for her ration, and would get milked.  And milk she did.  We started to have a milk route set up for all the cream and milk she had. Ice cream was a regular dessert, even a fellow coworker bought an ice cream maker to make ice cream from Daisy  She even donated to the United Church with jars of cream for a garage sale-a sure bet to get to heaven's pastures. We had originally bought her to put a calf or two on her, but she ended up hating calves - and had to tie her feet, or stand beside her as calves would drain her out.  I guess it added to the workload, but it was what had to be done.

Her love for the grain is what killed her - grain overload. We had seen that she may have gotten into the pelleted feed, but we didn't know how much, since there were a few other cows with her.  Hindsight it 20/20 - possibly I could have stomach tubed her with some medication to prevent what was going to eventually happen. Perhaps I should have done a rumenotomy - taking all the feed out of the rumen - but I thought -the pellets would just be mush, and would be difficult to determine just what to take out.

One morning, she wasn't at the barn bawling for her grain.  I found her at a watering hole in the field, just standing there.  The normal pail of milk that was given twice a day was down to a mere trickle.  Daisy wasn't feeling good, and knowing that, I gave her some pain medication - since laminitis (a condition which causes sore feet) can be a part of grain overload.  By that evening, she was staggering, and an IV was put in. The next morning she was down. I thought I could be a miracle worker and bring her back.  She would lie with her head crooked into her flank - not caring about the world around her.  Litres upon litres of fluids were put into her (up to 25 litres per day), loads of electrolytes, antibiotics, pain medication and stomach tubing with medicine.  We had even gone to a slaughter house to retrieve rumen fluid to transplant it into her rumen (a four hour round trip).  I thought things were getting better - her rumen had started to move again, and she was looking slightly brighter - even taking a few mouthfuls of hay and drinking water.  But she still looked dopey - not quite there.  I then thought of something that I probably missed -poliomalacia.  With the good bacteria that died would be those that were needed to make thiamine.  A lack of thiamine would cause brain necrosis-even worse than caused by drinking too much on a Saturday night.  I had started early on with thiamine, but only a few treatments - in my mind it was the metabolic acidosis was killing her.  I had treated her like a dog with parvovirus who gets acidosis - with loads of fluids with electrolytes and sodium bicarbonate.  Now high doses of thiamine would be given as well.  Chris went to get a sling back in Alberta, since the next thing we would worry about would be the fact that she was lying down for five days. 

Daisy however, had enough.

And now I wonder, did I make her suffer?  Maybe I should have let her go earlier on as I would have suggested to other people if they had a cow in the same position.  Did I do all this just to see if it could be done, to be a hero?

But then I think... she wasn't groaning, or grinding her teeth in pain.  She wasn't thrashing.  She was just in a semi-comatose state. I had to try everything I could think of for her. In the end, she just went to sleep and died.
And it was then I understood the previous owner's feelings about Daisy - since I had them too.

Like the rancher with a heart, who did not want to do a BSE on his own down cow after retrieving a calf from inside her, Daisy too will keep her head.  The $75 is just not important.  Perhaps they should chop my head off since I was the mad cow that tried to play miracle maker.

Daisy will now be pushing up daisies...or maybe milk thistle.