"Help. Me."

A symbol of what just occurred; not the actual bunny I saw Sunny consume.

It’s the day after Easter and I just saw our border collie Sunshine snacking on a baby rabbit.

At first I thought it was a mouse, the creature was so small, but as soon as Sunny dropped it, I noticed the long ears, the big hind legs, the little limbs twitching in a desperate attempt  to stay alive. It was an Easter tragedy.

As soon as Sunny saw me, she dropped her kill and scampered over. The bunny, meanwhile, struggled to stand up and hobble away.

“Sunny!” I yelled. “Finish what you started! Go on! Put the poor creature out of her misery!”

Sunny just looked at me as if we were sharing a Hallmark moment, all gooey with love.

(A little background on Sunny: We think she was a romance novelist in a former life. She hates work of any sort, preferring to sip tea and eat crumpets while staring longingly into her masters’ eyes….. or anyone’s eyes, for that matter. She does not discriminate when it comes to doling out the passion.)

“Sunny! Eat! The! Bunny!”

She continued to look at me with daffodils and butterflies in her eyes.

“Damn dog! Go write your poetry!” I went back inside the house, thinking if I left her alone, she might get her head back in the cycle-of-life game and resume her kill.

It’s been 15 minutes and I now see Sunny resting on the front porch, contentedly licking her lips, probably wishing her Lord Byron would come and lick the bunny nuggets from her teeth.

There’s a convoluted Easter omen in here somewhere.

Sunny loves the death and the poo, so she’s always coming home with a crusty neck that hums like a dumpster outside of an Ozark piggery.  She stanks. And it’s no good trying to wash it off because she just rolls in it again. Usually the same day.

I took her to the vet in the hopes of making it their problem. They told me that she either has worms or “her anal glands need to be expressed.”  Excuse me? She’s a dog, not a performer in some Bangkok sex show.

They said that sometimes bacteria builds up in the two small glands located on either side of a dog’s rectal opening. In healthy glands, a  tiny amount of icky smelling juice is secreted whenever a dog urinates or defecates; this custom blended scent serves as a dog’s calling card. It’s how dogs identify each other and explains why they pee to mark their territory and smell each other’s butts, in general.  But when glands become blocked — which some think is the result of low-quality dog food  — the area begins to itch, and eventually the glands need to be relieved….or, in fancy vet parlance, “expressed.”  ”Expressing the anal glands” means tthe rectum is squeezed until juice is released.

Sounds like a good ole fashioned dog diddling to me, but again, I’m no dog whisperer.

“Why do you call it ‘expressed?’”  I asked. “That makes it sound so…theatrical.”   I suddenly got an image of a mime in white face diddling my dog.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” said the receptionist. “It almost makes it sound artistic when it’s really just….so gross.”

I decided to spare Sunny’s dignity and skip the diddling expression, opting for the worm medicine instead. Hopefully, that will clear up the problem. Otherwise, it’s show time for Sunny.

Sunnie keeps a close eye on me while she naps with her new best bud Parrot on the dog bed.

&*$%**!!!!

I’m really glad this occurred while Pauline was working at the library because if this happened while she was here, I’d really feel like I lived in a shed down by the river. Two days ago, my house was so cold, she was forced to wear clothes made for a lumberjack (Jake’s), topped with a winter hat that resembled the tip of a condom. (Scroll down to see it, posted 10/6/09.)

The power outage perp: A squirrel.  The little devil somehow tripped the lines, and electrocuted himself in the process. Sure enough, the serviceman who came over to fix the problem fished the carcass out of the bushes just below the power lines. As you can imagine, the dogs became quite excited:

Pauline’s dog Parrot gave the fried squirrel the once-over. Do New York City dogs eat squirrels? Let’s find out….

“Mmm, looks tasty.”

It’s squirrel a la carte for Parrot and Sunnie!

Believe it or not, I actually didn’t let the dogs eat the squirrel….I just wanted to whet their appetites for my puerile amusement. Besides, how could I pass up the killer photo op when the serviceman was willing to pick up the carcass like it was nothing more than a basket of Easter candy?

Oh, and power has been restored.

In order to go to the movies, we have to put the chickens up.  Do you know how challenging it is to herd 32 chickens back into their coop before they’re ready to do so? Well, let me just say that I’m REALLY glad we have Cowboy, a 9-year old border collie who cut his teeth herding cattle as a pup in Montana. Between the three of us — Jake, myself and Cowboy — we were able to corral the chickens in their coop in under 20 minutes. (Our other border collie Sunnie is pretty much useless…we think she was a romance novelist in another life.)

Indulge me as I go on for a moment about Cowboy: To herd cattle, border collies typically nip at a cow’s ankles. But Cowboy somehow knew that biting the birds would not go over very well. (It would be very bad, actually) Instead, he put the fear in them by assuming a super aggressive posture as he chased them back in the coop. He didn’t even growl. He was in dog heaven! He lives for this stuff.

Man, I’m so impressed with that dog, it hurts.

And now we can go to the movies. I feel like a real farmer now.

So far, Sunny seems relatively uninterested in the chicks….though I suspect she’s putting on a show for my benefit. Typically, she’ll wander by their cage whenever I’m in the vicinity without so much as a look. As if to say, “See, mom. NOT interested. LA LA LA LA LA!”  But every once in a while I’ll catch her staring at them and licking her chops, in what I’d call a KFC trance. 

In other chicken news, my next door neighbors informed me they just found a POISONOUS COPPERHEAD SNAKE right outside their chick pen.  Gak, I HATE SNAKES!! Hate them!!! Luckily, they killed it before it got too close, but still….it’s a reminder predators…even the really scary poisonous ones….lurk.

Hmmm, I have the chicks outside in the yard right now in a makeshift pen. Perhaps I shall go check on them.

She’s got a bruised right scapulae (her shoulder), and she’s on pain killers, but is otherwise doing okay.

I held off taking her to the vet because my husband kept telling me over and over dogs are tough, they’ve evolved to survive hardship.  If Sunny looks okay, and acts okay, then she is okay.  I didn’t want to be charged hundreds of dollars to be told the same thing by a professional.  

But yesterday Sunny was so lethargic and whimper-y; she barely moved.  What can I say.  I’m not some grizzled old farmer with no dog compassion.  I didn’t want to chance it any further.  

So I called our good friend Nellie—a vet—and had her look at Sunny when Nellie wasn’t working.  Clever, eh?  Sure enough, she declared the dog fine if a bit banged up, gave me a few pain pills, and sent us on our merry way. 

That same day, Cowboy came home with two gashed and bloody front legs. He got into a nasty fight with a raccoon….and was on the losing end of the battle, apparently.  Fearing rabies or an infection, we took him to the vet right away. Cowboy has been on antibiotics since Monday. (See, we’re not totally indifferent pet owners.)

If two war-torn dogs aren’t enough, one of my baby chick’s legs gave out.

I found the poor little guy trying to crawl around the cage using his baby wings, dragging his limp legs like two useless twigs.  He could barely lift his beak out of the bedding in the cage.  It was so sad. When I’d pick him up, he was so weak, he almost felt hollow. There was no strength in his body whatsoever. He could only keep his eyes open half-way.

The peculiar thing about chickens is how vicious they can be. Even at this tender age, stronger chickens will seek out weaker chicks and peck them….to death.  Five or six chickens will gang up on a sick or runty member of the flock and tear it to pieces.  They’re so heirarchal they begin jockeying for social position as soon as they’re born.  This is where the term “pecking order” stems from.  I’m not sure why they do this, but I suppose they instinctively know weaker members draw predators.  

Sure enough, already the stronger members of the flock were pecking and pulling at the sick chick’s prostrate body.  So I immediately quarantined him in a separate, smaller box. Dazed, he refused food and drink, so I called the hatchery for advice. They told me point blank I was probably going to lose him, but I can try force feeding him a mixture of egg yolk, honey and drink mix fortified with electrolytes and vitamins.  Apparently, chicks feed off yolk while they’re still in the egg, so it’s a taste they already identify with.  He gobbled up a few beak-fuls, drank some liquids, and soon enough was walking upright around his little abode, happily chirping.  

I was elated.

But as time wore on, he refused sustenance again, and yesterday morning, when I peaked inside his litte box…..the poor guy had died. 

I was heartbroken.  He had put up a good fight!  But the truth is, when dealing with animals/livestock, death is part of the equation.  There’s no getting around it.  So I had to buck up, deal with it, and move on.

My parting image of the chick was the sight of his little body slowly spinning though the air  as I ceremoniously tossed him into the sink hole. 

Sometimes life isn’t pretty on the farm.

Sunny before the accident....happy, smiley, content

This was not the best weekend for our 2-year old border collie, Sunshine.  

She got hit by our truck.

It was an accident. We were driving a load of materials from one side of the property to the other, an occasion in which the dogs like to scamper along. Since we were driving across grass, we were moving about 5 miles an hour. 

Our older border collie Cowboy likes to chase the truck, and Sunny likes to chase Cowboy. Apparently, she got too close to the wheels because all of a sudden we heard a garbled howl of pain.  I thought we ran her over.  Jake slammed on the brakes, we got out, and saw Sunny hobbling away from the vehicle, whimpering.  

We rushed over to her, told her to lay down so we could give her an inspection.  She didn’t whimper upon having her limbs and paws prodded and squeezed, which led Jake—the animal whisperer—to conclude she was fine.  Had she been really hurt, he said she would have run off into the woods—a collie trademark—or wildly lick or paw at the injured area.  Instead, she just lay there, submissive, docile but excited.  She actually had a goofy grin on her face, which I think was from shock.  

Judging by her limp, it looked like her left rear paw had been run over. Thankfully, we were on grass, and the soil—made soft from the recent rains—provided a cushion.  Had we been on pavement, her paw might have been crushed.  Jake thought all she needed to do was “walk it off.”  

I thought we should take her to the vet.  But Jake kept insisting they’d give the same diagnosis…only charge $150 for it.  He reminded me again that dogs aren’t humans; they’re much tougher and more resilient than we are.  Especially hearty breeds like collies, who have been bred throughout the centuries to survive farm life. They can fall off a truck going 35-miles an hour (our old dog Junebug), have their paw run over by a Bobcat (Junebug), and get kicked full-force in the face by a horse (Cowboy), and be fine. 

I want to believe him—I do believe him—but as the day worn on, I watched our little dog become more and more lethargic.  Maybe she’s simply not as resilient as our other dogs.  Maybe she’s…like me—a genetic wimp.  Not every species can “tough it out.”

If that had happened to yours truly, I’d be on life support.

What if she has internal bleeding?  What if she’s suffering psychological trauma?  

Sunny after the accident....lethargic, depressed

I kept her home with me today so she could rest.  I notice she didn’t eat her breakfast, and I have to call her numerous times before she’ll come.  When she does come, she walks slowly with her tail between her legs. Her gait looks a little off, but she is otherwise walking okay.  

I’ll keep a close eye on her. If I see her condition deteriorate, I’m taking her to the vet, border collie resiliency be damned!