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How We Found Our Place

Published January 18, 2020 by admin

Our search for a farm was pretty much a Hallmark movie.

Mark was nearing the end of a 30 year career with the Department of Natural Resources living in shotgun bachelor pad on the water with all his tools and equipment crammed in the basement. His dog, a large Flat Coated Retriever named, “Belle”, needed a lot more space. I was laid off my job as a strategic planner and rattling around in a four-bedroom house in the suburbs trying to grow vegetables in garden boxes with an ancient and somewhat bossy pug named, “Flora”. We had four kids between us on the college track when we each took an uncharacteristic chance and answered questions on an online dating site. We met at a Krispy Kreme donut Shop.

On our second date (Christmas Eve), I brought “Flora” to Mark’s house to meet Belle. We were outside looking at the pretty lights on the harbor when we heard a splash! In an instant, we realized 12 year old Flora had fallen off the bulkhead and was swimming in the wrong direction toward the bay. Mark jumped in fully dressed with his shoes on to rescue her – and he made ravioli for dinner. How can you not fall in love with a guy like that? We entertained each other with stories about dogs. our experiences raising goats, chickens, pigs and in my case, horses. On Valentine’s Day, we gave each other the same book, How to Build Animal Housing. It would not be the last time we gave each other the same gift. We have been married eight years now, and it is uncanny how often this happens.

Between drives on logging roads visiting the tree farm that Mark planned to manage post retirement, I watched Mark do things I would personally never attempt like unload a freezer from a flat bed truck, build a retaining wall, and repair a washing machine. I got Mark acquainted with my culinary skills pulling off a sit down Thanksgiving dinners for 25 in the ‘Kayak’ (my name for Mark’s shotgun house with one oven) and my considerable ability to organize anything with Post-it Notes. By the way, that dinner would have never happened without that freezer, and you can keep food hot in an ice chest lined with towels. I digress.

Before long, we settled on a vision – find property with a house on it and create a small farm in the county we already lived in. Something close in, Mark likes to drive, but I don’t. In a past life, I have lived 20 miles from the nearest grocery store. You want to cry when you forget the milk, and we rather like seeing our family and friends.

We didn’t want anything too big (less than 10 acres) with some kind of house on it (even an ugly one) and maybe some out buildings. As much as I drooled over images of picture perfect kitchens on Houzz.com, a turn key homestead was not in our pocket book. As long the house had good bones and live dirt around it, we were confident that we could plan, hammer and shovel our way to the place that would suit us over time. It would be and still is a labor of love.

As if we just needed any more inspiration, on another trip to the bookstore, Mark picked up the The Have More Plan by Ed and Carolyn Robinson, a classic (original copyright 1943, updated in 1973). Yes, some of it’s outdated, but it has plenty of practical advice for first time farmers, like building a harvest kitchen. and making room for fruit trees. We read it cover to cover, and re-read from time to time just to see how we’re doing, highly recommend.

The search was on! We scoured online property search engines and used up a lot of ink cartridges printing aerial maps off google, satellite view. We shared listings we were interested in with our favorite realtor, Dan Bennett and touched base with Washington State University Extension Center. The Extension Center gave us links to soil series maps with lots of detail. While details on percentage composition of the soil and opportunities to improve drainage might seem more interesting to Mark, suburb living had me longing to move dirt without a jack hammer. We both got excited when it said a site might lend itself to blueberry production or short season annuals.

So heavy clay or rocky soils and swamps were out, along with really, really, long gravel driveways, steep hills and properties right up against apartment houses and motorcycle repair shops. Watching someone on their deck with their Hibachi would take the romance out of feeding chickens and milking goats. It was 2011. A lot of properties were in sad shape with saggy decks, scary bathrooms and more moss than roof. I wasn’t having much success finding a job either. We probably looked at 30 properties, and I applied for way too many jobs.

Like Elvis Presley said, “Some things are meant to be.”

And then, we got a call from Dan to take a look at a property in Puyallup. Mark had to work, so I drove out to meet Dan at this unusual property, a shy five acres with two houses and a barn all on the same parcel where everything (including the barn) was rented (as in income producing)! It was hard to see this place behind the 40 foot tall evergreens, but the view of farm fields from that not too big and very replaceable wooden deck (pictured) – be still my heart. I called Mark to come and take a look. This was the part in the movie when you know everything will turn out perfect.

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Rest in Peace Mary

Published April 24, 2019 by admin

Mary, I was really sorry to miss your Funeral Mass, a month ago today. I knew you would understand. I was all dressed to go. Mark looked so nice in his blue shirt and tie, all ready to deliver the Welcome and your eulogy. The car was packed. We remembered the high chair for Lena, the tissues, the name tags. We had five copies of the schedule with everyone’s assignment and maps to the site, where you would be buried at 3:00 p.m. next to your son, Lawrence, and above your beloved Ray. I got an awful case of bronchitis earlier in the week and used most of the energy and face masks I had to make pie and lemon bars, but that still wasn’t the reason I missed Mass.

It was Willapa, one of our pregnant does, now a week past her due date. Mark went to the barn to check on her one-more-time. “She’s pushing,” he said through the mudroom door. “You and Zach stay here. I’ll ride with Karen, Carol and Pam. Come when you can.” He unloaded everything out of my car and put it in Carol’s truck. I hated not going with him. I remember riding to my Mom’s funeral in a car between my two children like it was yesterday, but I don’t remember who drove. I laid my dress and slip on the bed, put on my barn clothes and moved the kidding kit next to the kidding pen so Zach could hand me the things I needed like paper pads to wipe the babies off or a bulb syringe. Zach is 19, Craig and Niki’s son, our Godson. Zach had never seen a goat give birth.

The plan was to get to Saint Louise by 9:30 a.m. and gather in the Cry Room while David prepared everybody for mass at 11:00 and Father Sirico said the rosary. Karen was bringing the angel quilt she made to lay across your casket, the same one we prayed and sang over while you laid in your hospice bed at the Farm. Raelyn was bringing the crucifix from Italy to put on top of the quilt, the Holy Cards and the flowers, one for each of your 16 grandchildren. The reception committee was taking care of the food and Karen had a check for them and cash envelopes for the altar boys ten dollars each. I can’t remember how much we paid the Church musicians. We just wanted them to play Edelweiss in the prelude to Mass.

Willapa was pushing alright and it looked like she had been trying for awhile. As Mark drove away, I realized I forgot to get a potted plant. The plan was to put it next to the Remembrance table and plant it later at the farm in your honor, maybe a lilac bush or a hydrangea? I usually try to time when labor starts, but we were so busy doing other things. I’ve assisted in a couple handfuls of goat deliveries and for the most part it’s the Mom who does all the work. Kris chose the scriptures and the music, but every one of your seven living children did something to help or at least made the effort to get here. When I help a goat mom, I usually just help dry the kids off, keep mom from rolling on them while she pushes out a second, third, or fourth baby, and I encourage them to stand and nurse.

Something wasn’t right this time. Willapa seemed extra tired. She laid her head in the straw and closed her eyes. Maybe she had been laboring longer than we knew? I should have been watching her more closely. I put on plastic gloves and lubed up and felt a tail where we like to feel a nose and front hoof, and then I saw it, brown goo, the tell tale sign of a dead baby. Dead and breech. I found my calm mother’s voice. Mary, mother of eight, with one drowned child, I know you had one too.

“Zach, this isn’t going to be easy. This baby is dead and there are probably more in there. I need you to help me dial the vet.” I gave Zach my passcode. He searched my contacts and got Dr. Best’s voicemail. Dr. Best is a large animal vet. He travels from farm to farm. It can take him awhile to get back to you. “Okay,” I suggested, “Now let’s text my friend, Sherwin. She’s a goat expert.”

Even when you can’t imagine anything worse, don’t loose faith. Mary, I could almost hear you say it, “God is a fox.” He will make a way out of no way, and it came to me. Had I read it somewhere? Maybe Sherwin told me? If you push a breech baby in a little bit, it can make it easier to unfold their back legs and get them out. I tried, and I was able to free two back legs and get them sticking out. There are moments when farming looses all it’s romance, and just gets real. What now? Would I hurt Willapa if I pulled it out? That baby was really stuck in there.

The phone rang. Zach put Dr. Best on speaker and he said, “Just pull as hard as you can. You have to get that baby out.” I pointed Willapa’s head in the corner of the kidding pen, sat on the floor and pulled those tiny legs with all my might. I thought I might tear it or hurt Willapa, but like you must have done when you lost Lawrence, I kept my mind on the other babies probably trapped behind it who needed a chance to live, It was all as awful as it sounds, and the dead baby goat came out. I looked at it long enough to note its full size and lovely caramel and white coat. I wrapped its still body quickly in some paper pads that Zach handed me from the kidding kit. I didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl.

Almost immediately, Willapa was pushing again and out popped a second and third baby goat, both black and white, slippery and squirmy. At the sight of life so soon, Zach’s squeamishness evaporated. He joined me in the kidding pen, wiping away the healthy membranes with more paper pads, suctioning out their little mouths and noses with bulb syringes to clear airways. Oh the blessed sound of the first gasp for air and the bliss of eyes opening! In no time we had both kids dry, standing and nursing. Willapa perked up like mother’s do with a little molasses tea and the presence of her children. It was almost 11:00. Was I finally at the point that I could clean myself up, get my dress back on and get on the road for the hour’s drive to Saint Louise? Would I make it in time to see the Honor Guard of children line up when they took you out of the Church and loaded your casket into the hearse?

Another oh no, this one almost embarrassing to admit, no fuel in my car! I had to stop and get diesel, no option. In all our scramble of preparations, all the picking up, dropping off, loading and unloading. I forgot to fill up. I remember thinking about it when Mark drove off in my car to pick up chicken teriyaki to feed everybody the night before. He probably didn’t look at the fuel gauge. He wanted to get back to the house to see Nate, arriving from Illinois. Hoping there wouldn’t be a line at the pump, I drove to Fred Meyer, musing a little that the father of all our goats was named Diesel. Life and death are a marvel of connections.

Finally, I was on the road, highway 167, Interstate 405 north to Bellevue, I-90 exit east toward Spokane. Mary, we must have made this drive together between the Farm and Raelyn’s a hundred times. Before you lost your voice, you would ask us where we were going and if we knew how to get there?

Mark always smiled and answered you like it was the very first time you had asked that question. “Mom, we are going to our Farm in Puyallup. We need you to supervise me digging fence posts or building a deck.”

You smiled back and said, “I am a workaholic. I need something to do, chop, chop.”

Mark, eyes always on the road, smiled and said, “Mom, you can shell peas, fold socks, and help Belinda make pie. Kyle’s coming to dinner.”

You looked out the window a little while and asked Mark, “Where are we were going and do you know how to get there?”

Just a mile from the I-90 exit, a red light flashed on my dashboard, “Oil Pressure, Stop Engine.” Just two miles from Saint Louise, I had already missed your Funeral Mass and the reception lunch was probably wrapping up. In your prime Mary, you might have said, “what can’t be helped must be endured.” I was grateful to make it to the Church parking lot. I would have to arrange for a tow.

I found my way to the reception hall. My terrible cough reminded me to put my face mask before I walked in. I moved my way past bouquets of flowers through family and friends who all knew why I missed Mass. I hugged my dear Mark. Carol and Karen made room for me in Carol’s truck, and we went with the rest of your children and grandchildren to Sunset Hills Cemetery, where you are buried next to your son Lawrence and at last above your beloved Ray.

Rest in Peace Mary.

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Month to Month Calendar

Published February 13, 2019 by admin

My life in Post-it Notes. If you get a chance to visit us and you want to know what is going on around here, check the refrigerator.

January is probably our quietest month of the year, no goat babies, no milking and no gardening. Usually we are just grateful that the holidays are over and our freezers and root cellar are still full. It’s a good time to think about what worked and what didn’t the the previous year before spring comes and things get crazy. The seed catalogs start to arrive. Mark orders chicks for Easter, and I make pie!

Last year we went to this awesome Country Life Expo and Cattlemen’s Winterschool, a one-day annual event in Skagit County sponsored by Washington State University. They offer a stunning array of classes from butchering your own chicken to sourdough bread baking. Highly recommend this event and the prime rib lunch was awesome!

Pie: Blackberry, Key Lime, Chocolate Cream, and Blueberry Peach

February comes and goes quick, usually! I try to get my seeds ordered by the first week and do some root cellar clear out. The carrots (harvested in September) usually give out first. I kick around the greenhouse and throw out stuff that I didn’t have the sense to get rid of over the summer. We look for deals on quality potting soil, row cover and hoses and prune the fruit orchard (Mark is better at this than me, but I provide moral support). I start the compost and squeeze in some last minute bulbs. If it’s warm enough and not too wet, I’ll weed. As soon as they arrive, the 10 blueberry bushes we ordered last month need to go in behind the guesthouse. It’s time to immunize the goats and find two spring piglets (we’d love to get a couple of Berkshires) and get some starts started in the greenhouse.

Surprise snowstorm on Feb 8th! Crazy! All of winter came to Washington in one week (8-9 inches here)! I will be scrambling to get the greenhouse cleaned up. A pile of seeds have arrived, now sitting on the end of my kitchen table with my garden diagram notebook.

Pie: Yellow Plum and Sour Cherry, Blueberry Rhubarb with a Crumble top

March is all about the goat kids. We try and time things to have goat babies on the ground for Easter. Around the time the daffodils and tulips pop out, we are double checking due dates and making sure kidding pens are ready. Please excuse my messy house in advance. Last year we had five does kid (17 babies!). I am too much of a weanie to dis-bud (remove horns) and neuter male goats by myself – so I helped our vet. Mark prepares the pig pens. We rotate the space they’re on every year because pigs make such a mess. Also need to make sure all the milking equipment is in good working order and get the brooder ready for chicks. Make Pie!

Pie: Blackberry (if we have a lot in the freezer), Butterscotch Cream, and Chicken Pot Pie

April has us kicking into high gear as the piglets, chicks and more goat babies arrive. Milking starts. Between visitors and bottle feedings, we make cheese and ice cream. With the extra daylight, the orchard blooms and egg production goes up. All those starts that I should have put in – in February (tomatoes, broccoli, eggplant, cauliflower, alyssm, zinnias, and herbs) better be doing something in that greenhouse. We always have a big family gathering at Easter so there will be extra pie preparations and a huge egg hunt.

Pie: Lemon Meringue, Chocolate Cream, Vanilla Cream, Quiche Lorraine, Apple, Peach something and Blueberry

May is time to til, soil test and get that rabbit fence up – Mark does it as soon as the fields are dry enough and the tractor won’t sink! That 150 x 50 garden layout better be done. I am usually scribbling and shoving stuff into the plan at the last minute. Last time I screwed up and put the peppers and the Brussels sprouts way too close to the tomatoes. Need to remember to leave lime free area for potatoes, and succession plant the green beans. We don’t want them all coming up at the same time (like last year). The chimney needs cleaning and the freezers need to be cleared out. Make sure there are enough jars, lids, canning and freezing supplies.

When are we harvesting meat chickens, Mark? Did you rent the processing unit from the county? Do we have enough hoses? Water wands? Tomato cages? Stakes?

Pie: No time, order pizza.

June is for berries and rhubarb! Strawberries are first, then raspberries and blueberries (July). We love Picha’s Berries and Richters Produce (across the field) for rhubarb. I order a case of pectin and put out an all points bulletin to friends to come jam with me. We scramble together a couple bags of lemons, 20 pounds of sugar and six or eight boxes of pint jars and do freezer jam (mostly). Yeah it’s basic, we love it. I use the strawberry jam to make a very dangerous strawberry ice cream and pssst I put a tablespoon of raspberry jam in my Blackberry Pie. Last year, Mark scored a couple grocery bags of yellow plums from an overloaded friend’s tree. We made about eight pints of yellow plum preserves with it that were positively swoon worthy, like the best apricot jam you every had.

The weeding and watering that dials up is the least fun part of June. It takes hours and hours every day to keep up! Our friends work for pie (hint, hint)

Pie: Strawberry Rhubarb,Peach Raspberry and Blueberry Rhubarb with a Crumble Top

July is full of endless weeding and watering, amazed visitors and those damn fireworks. We bring Gwendolyn (livestock guard dog) inside on July 4th so she does not lose her mind over the noise. Gwen’s partner, Sadie, doesn’t seem to mind them and stays in the barn with the goats. Folks, when you visit, please wear farm shoes and leave your pretty sandals at home. We try to send visitors home with couple of baby goats (just kidding). Yes, time to say goodbye to the kids and make room in the barn for next year. Mark shells peas in front of the TV (every night) and tries to pick the blueberries before the birds do! Tomatoes start to swell and we start begging people to take zucchini and figs. The sweet cherries get eaten as fast as we pick them and ice cream flies out of the freezer about as fast as I make it (especially chocolate and strawberry)! I stockpile pie pie dough for Dad’s Annual Pie Open House Birthday. He’ll be 87 this year.

Pie: Chicken Pot Pie, Ham and Onion Quiche, Ratatouille, Chocolate Cream, Vanilla
Cream, Blueberry, Lemon Meringue, and Peach Blueberry

August plunges us into harvest. The back porch becomes a produce stand and the kitchen processes whatever comes in from dawn to dusk, five gallon buckets of green beans, boxes and boxes of tomatoes, cucumbers, collards, peppers, fist-fulls of parsley and more. The place is full of bubbling pots, jars, huge cookie sheets and wet dish towels. In the garden, we have won the weed war (mostly), but still we are still watering and begging people to take zucchini. Mark keeps his eyes on the orchard, thank goodness, and brings home a couple gallons of blackberries that he picks everyday. I don’t have a minute to spare. Pretty soon we’ll have wagon-fulls full of apples, pears and plums and maybe peaches (we planted two trees in January). The goats and chickens are happy. There are plenty of treats!

Pie: Peach, Tomato, Ratatouille, Blackberry, Blueberry Rhubarb with a Crumble Crust (yes, Zach)

September brings this thing in the air that tells you this won’t last forever. I try to recruit a few helpers, and we process as much as we can as fast as we can all the while wondering if the zucchini will ever give up?? Even the animals won’t eat anymore of it and I start putting the stuff out on the road. The onions start falling over (finally), our clue to get them out of the ground to cure in the shed before the rains come. Potatoes need to come out too and get in a cool dark place, but I have to sweep the root cellar first. My fingernails are absolutely gross, and I keep cancelling hair appointments. Pumpkins are getting close, but we don’t pick until the stems are dry. Will the tomatoes ever quit? I am running out of jars. Pull the broccoli stalks and feed them to the goats. Watch the corn so the birds don’t get it. Pick apples!!! Let the pears wait. Who has time to dry parsley?!

Pie: Bake something from the freezer

October signals the end of harvest. It’s time to get those all those pumpkins, squash, apples and pears picked! Seriously, our fields get so wet, you can’t walk out there. Need to make sure all those shallow boxes I get from Costco will fit under under bed. Yeah, that’s where we put the squash. This year we want to can enough apple pie filling for Christmas presents. We plowed through the applesauce by Christmas last year. Still have pear butter. We got a nice Weston Apple Press last year and a crusher, works great. Plan to add apple pressing to our annual Harvest Party for family and friends. After the first rain, Mark will be on the hunt for Chanterelle mushrooms. I want to try drying and making a powder out them.

Lease a buck from Mountain Lodge Farm so we will have goat babies in the spring. When are we harvesting meat chickens, Mark?? Did you rent the processing unit from the county?

Pie: Apple, Pear, Plumb

November is all about Thanksgiving. Last year we seated 33 people, not including children and dogs. Mark puts up a party tent on the back of the house to expand our dining room. It takes a solid month to prepare this feast and a lot of it comes from what we grow right here on our farm. It’s all totally delicious, exhausting labor of love that we wouldn’t trade for anything on earth. If anymore people come though, they may have to eat on the beds or sit on the stairs (laughing out loud).

Return visiting buck to Mountain Lodge Farm (he will have his done duty).

Pie: Coconut Cream, Pear Cranberry, Pumpkin, Blueberry Rhubarb and Blackberry

December is the month before I collapse which is January. Usually, Mark and I have set ourselves up with some kind of handmade gift project. I made blankets one year and aprons the next. I can’t say what I will do next year because it would spoil the surprise (plus I am not sure yet). Mark has made cookbook holders, cutting boards and clocks and trivets (wood being the dominant theme) I try to avoid hosting anything too big so, we just schedule a bunch of little gatherings one right after the other. I made gumbo and cinnamon rolls one night, and pies another. For Christmas I made three pans of lasagna and six apple pies. I can make a pie when I am asleep.

Happy Holidays everyone no matter how you celebrate!

Pie: Apple, Sour Cherry, Tourtiere and lasagna. Lasagna counts as pie in my book.

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Make a Farm

Published January 17, 2019 by admin

There are a lot of good reasons not to do this. Shoveling animal poop is disgusting. Chopping wood is exhausting. Fencing a two acre goat pen is expensive and they’ll break it twice a week. You can’t stand grass with weeds in it. You have no idea what to do with all that zucchini and wouldn’t dream of slaughtering 60 chickens in the same week as Thanksgiving.

You are definitely afraid of pressure cookers. You think goat milk tastes nasty and it would never occur to you to put a dog shower and milk pasteurizer by your front door. If scrubbing concrete in a dark basement is involved, you would probably be, out. It would not make you feel better to know that the dogs’ barking all night is keeping the coyotes at bay. Walking into the pasture at 2:00 a.m. to find out what all the fuss is about would be – unnerving. Goat labor not progressing? Put a glove on and stick your hand up there and check that baby goat inside of its mama at 3:00 am? No, no, that’s not you.

If you are still reading you this, you may be a glutton for punishment or maybe you are you were the kid who wanted to build a real fort, the one everyone watched out kitchen window, wondering if you would ever come inside and eat dinner? You had a grand plan. You could see the whole thing in your mind and map it out in the grass with stakes. You were willing to start small, and build your cabin out of the box your Mom’s refrigerator came in. Never mind the Sears logo, you knew where you were going with this. You negotiated sleepovers.

If you like living in your very own project and creating order out of chaos is appealing to you and living in chaos while you are creating order is satisfying, make a farm. Tube feeding a baby goat, baking bread, soil testing and a trip to the dump can all be part of really good day.

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Guardians of Our Galaxy

Published January 15, 2019 by admin

We decided to get a livestock guard dog about five years ago when we came home to an enormous eagle sitting on top of our chicken coop. The hens were safe inside, but screaming their heads off. We had three mama goats in the barn, all expecting and had seen some coyotes. Farms can be violent places. It was just a matter of time.

Allow me to present the “Devine Miss G” (Gwendolyn) seated among the buttercups in this spring photo. Gwen (for short) is our four year-old Great Pyrenees – Maremma Sheepdog cross who has succeeded in scaling any fence my husband, Mark, builds. At this writing, we are on fence version 5.0. Gwendolyn-the-wander-dog (bless her) faithfully lets us know each time she is out and before she takes off running into the wild blue yonder. She usually comes to the back door and barks, having yet again dug under, jumped over, or otherwise cleared a hot-wired fence (maximum setting does not phase her). In her eyes at least, she always has a good reason, things like duck hunters in the neighbor’s field, Canada geese, a car she doesn’t like the look of, or a coyote we can’t see, yet. The last time Miss G appeared at the back door was New Years Eve. It was the fireworks. Her barking let us know this was not manageable. My husband brought her in the house, and she laid in the doorways until 2:00 a.m. so no one would leave. There are no words adequate to describe how much we love this occasionally exasperating canine. I wouldn’t trade her for her weight in gold. My husband might (smile).

We found G through a classified ad in a local ag paper, the Capital Press, and we added her younger partner, “Sadie”, a Maremma Sheepdog, last year. Sadie is the white dog on the left. Our thinking was that companionship might keep Gwendolyn-the-wander-dog in the goat pen, away from a busy road and neighboring farms. The outcome has been a division of duties, worked out between the two of them (a common occurrence between dogs working in pairs). We were never consulted about these arrangements.

Sadie, a tender, somewhat possessive soul, is showing herself to be all about the goats. She is all lovey dovey until you try to take a goat out of the pen. Sadie needs lots of reassurance that everything is going to be fine and “Oyster, Hailey, Piper, Aurora, Button and/or Willapa are coming right back and you can watch through the fence, okay?…whine, whine, whine.” Sadie sticks close to her goats, the barn, and assumes the majority duty for guarding during the day. Gwendolyn, reigning queen of the realm, focuses on the perimeter, especially at night, and frequently catches up on her sleep in the barn during the day. Sadie who now outweighs Gwen is cuddled up to Edith the pug (LGD wannabe) in the picture. Gwendolyn as usual has her eye on the distant universe. I can assure you that Sadie and Gwen see you and have already formed their own opinions.

Approaching the fence tends to get the girls all riled up. On the other hand, heading to the barn for a greeting (with a trusted escort) is a good sign that you know how things are supposed to work around here. Expect Sadie and Gwen to get to the barn before you do and hang over the gate while they eat a couple of plain Milk Bone Dog Biscuits (“cookies”) and get a really good look at you. Miss G has a short list of approved humans (another Great Pyrenees trait). You know who you are. It might take several visits before you get a chance to touch Gwendolyn if you ever do. In the meantime, she’ll step back and shine those other worldly eyes at you. Sadie is friendlier and will give you nuzzle or two and a smile and if she really likes you a pat on the arm with her paw (common Maremma traits). Just don’t mess with her goats.

If I had a crystal ball when I started this LGD stuff, I would have dialed up the Maremma Sheepdog Club of America and found my way to Cindy Benson at Benson Ranch Maremmas in Gold Hill, Oregon on the day we brought G home and kept her on speed dial. Yeah, there are other places you can go to find and learn about livestock guard dogs and Maremmas in particular, but there is nothing like husbandry expert devoted to the science of it all to get a determined novice on the right track. Cindy nicely affirmed that we had done a lot of things right in mentoring Gwendolyn to her role. I will say Cindy ‘s methods for preparing LGD pups made Sadie’s transition to our farm at 11 weeks of age almost seamless. Gwendolyn, Mark and I learned this thing by trial and error. Sadie had a pro.

If you are a novice (like me), the differences between Great Pyrenees and Maremmas are subtle, not dramatic. You can look them up online if you are curious. As puppies, though there is one important thing they have in common. They are among the most adorable creatures on the planet, think baby polar bears. You want to cuddle up with them on the sofa and binge watch Disney in your pajamas!!! Stop. I am not kidding. If you want a livestock guard dog, put your boots and jacket on and take that baby straight back to the barn. This is not a house pet. Do the dog, yourself, and the world a favor and don’t screw this up!

The best guardians are born to working parents and have enough early exposure to bond to livestock. When you bring that pup home, they really need to continue the tradition. The dog needs to live in your barn with your animals and learn trust you as the human owner(s). This part we got right. We ignored stupid stuff we read about only spending 10 minutes a day with Gwen. Some people think too much human contact interferes with a guardian’s bond to the animals they are supposed to protect. There is probably an element of truth here, but there is also a balance. There may be settings where this makes sense, but not on our farm. Even though Gwen was living outside, we made sure she felt like part of the family. She was 11 weeks old and the only dog in the barn! Gwen spent her first nights in a kidding pen full of straw with my husband and I coming regularly in and out to sit, visit, snuggle and groom her. Gwendolyn still loves to be brushed and loves it when we talk to her. She could SEE the goats, but they couldn’t touch her at first. This was important for her safety. She could have been head butted and seriously hurt. We spent LOTS of time in the barn with G and the goats, getting them used to each other. We kept Gwen on a leash and walked the perimeter of her territory together, multiple times a day. The goats followed. We gradually gave G her freedom to walk independently among them.

We taught Gwen to lie down and quietly accept having baby goats jump on her, but it took a couple years of observing her and verbally correcting any sign of rough behavior to be sure she was consistently appropriate, We never hit, jerk or force our dogs and are very careful to misjudge or over correct behavior. Livestock guardians can be very sensitive if in their view they are unfairly corrected. No exaggeration, Gwen will literally pout, deliberately avoid you and not eat for days if she thinks how you treated her was not deserved. Likewise “Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn the Wonder Dog” expects to be noticed for a job well done.

Here is Sadie at 16 weeks. Look at those claws. It is so important! Don’t let your LGD play rough. They can maim or kill the animal you need them to protect. They can hurt you and you can create a dog that no one can manage and no one wants. These dogs need all the encouragement you can muster to be “gentle, gentle, gentle.”

Look also for any opportunity to praise guardian behavior. “What do you see over there? Oh good girl for checking that out!” Let me tell you there were days when G was between 12-18 months old I thought I would lose my mind hollering out the back door in my nightgown, NO CHASING!!! Leave Oyster alone!!!. I know our goats have put up with some crap from these dogs, and they have nailed both a time or two. Sadie is a year old and so far so doing pretty good as she enters the too familiar LGD teenage period. She has a different spirit than Gwen. I am not expecting the same degree of challenge. If you can get through this…it’s worth it!

LGDs mature around two years of age. This was certainly so with Gwendoldyn and that was also about the time her bark kicked in (Pyrenees definitely bark more than Maremmas). Dog barking is one of those things that can drive you (and your neighbors) up a wall. Truth! LGDs don’t belong in suburbia. It can be awful hard to listen to a dog telling you about something for an hour straight or longer. Hard to believe sometimes, but these dogs really don’t bark for no reason. The best news is their barking keeps predators away from your livestock and nobody gets hurt. It does take some getting used to, but now we mostly sleep through it or get the hell out of bed to see what the fuss is about. Once somebody flew off the road and drove a truck through our fence and into the goat pasture. Another time it was a pack of coyotes.

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