Farm Pooch

Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog. This vegetable farmer was amused to realize that the last five out of six sustainable farming columns have been about a certain farm puppy. Not only that, when we had our regular summer visitors, we talked about the farm less than the dog: the dog books we read, the dog documentaries we watch, the dog training classes we attend.

But really, this dog is all about vegetables and farming. 

Green beans: the dog loves ‘em. Brussels sprouts: the dog loves ‘em. Carrots, potatoes, tomatoes: loves ‘em.

Kale, winter squash, beets, zucchini. Yes, yes, yes. Also berries, apples, and cider. (Not to mention corn, popcorn, dog food, dog treats, peanut butter, and cheese, none of which we grow.)

The farm pooch also loves to dig holes, especially nearby a farmer digging carrots, or less pleasingly, in a garden pathway, where a farmer has to look sharp or fall in a heap.

The dog loves row cover, too, which the farmers use to protect crops from bugs. However, the farmers like their row cover without holes. The dog has his own designated piece of old holey row cover, which he periodically improves with more holes.

Plus the dog loves grain bags nearly as much as the farm draft horses do, except they like what’s inside and he likes what’s outside. What’s more fun than a noisy flappy empty feed bag to thrash about?

He does not, however, love the draft horses. They’re mighty big, and sometimes he stands three feet in front of one and barks, until a) a farmer gets annoyed and calls the dog away or b) the horse gets annoyed and walks toward the dog. Then the dog runs away, wisely.

The dog does love the farm cat, who does not return the favor, and no wonder, as the dog bounces around the cat, inviting her to play, and occasionally chases her, if a farmer is not quick enough to redirect him.

The pooch also loves the farmers’ market, and waits in the truck for an hour on market mornings, eager to go. (However, as the season went on, he became altogether too eager at the market, what with all the other exciting dogs and people. Bark, bark, bark, he said. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Leap, leap, leap. Alas, he lost his market privileges.

Happily, there was only one market day left, and there is only so much dog sadness I can stand: I took him on an alternate farm excursion to Stonewall Farm, where he invited the goats to play. At least he didn’t bark at them.)

This dog also loves the CSA members who come to our farm, and mostly he behaves when they come. Recently, though, as a CSA member came up the drive, the dog, after a nice initial greeting, jumped on her. 

“Off!” I said firmly to the dog, and “Oh, I’m very sorry!” to our CSA member.

“Don’t worry,” she answered, “I love dogs,” which was lucky for us. I hastened to tell her that our pooch hardly ever jumps, and had just passed his canine good citizen test at our Monadnock Humane Society class.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” she answered. “What did he have to do, vote?” 

 I laughed, thinking: Hmm . . . if a dog could vote, we might have kindness, understanding, good food, good friends, a comfortable bed, a little freedom to run in the fields  . . . 

Then I explained the ten canine good citizen tasks. On the test, the pooch did beautifully on nine of the tasks. He did need a second chance on the tenth, which was listening to his person instead of leaping delightedly at a new dog. 

“Well, I think he’s just perfect,” said our CSA member, scratching the farm pooch's ears.

“Thanks,” I answered. “We go to training classes so he doesn’t jump on CSA members.” Then we both laughed, as the pooch wagged his tail innocently.

Originally published in the Monadock Shopper News, Nov 13-19, 2024

Money, Fun, Hay, Horses, and Puppies

My fellow farmer and I, along with three chains, a come-along, four bars of various sizes, and an extremely excited puppy, recently spent a morning unloading nine big round bales off a borrowed trailer. The puppy loved jumping up on the trailer. Then he made several valiant efforts to get up on top of the bales, where my fellow was.

“Yip, yip,” the puppy said, “I want to come up and have fun too.” Finally I gave him a boost, and he ran around happily on the bales. Then he got so excited by the project that he started biting my fellow farmer’s shoes, which did not help my fellow to work the bar into the next bale that we were trying to tip off the trailer.

I distracted the pooch with one of his favorite toys – a piece of denim tied in a knot from our mending-jeans pile. First we played tug of war. Then I threw the denim, and he chased it, which gave my fellow and I time to tip off the bale. 

We repeated this process nine times, bar in bale, tip bale, roll bale into barn, up ramp, over to wall, tip bale upright. Sometimes the bales were too big, and we needed the chains and come-along. Sometimes the puppy was too excited, and we needed the denim. But we finally got all the bales in the barn.

This method hadn’t exactly been our plan, but the man with a tractor who was going to stack the bales in the barn for us was frantically working on someone else’s urgent farming project. Since we needed to fetch more hay, while we had the sunny weather and the borrowed trailer, we were left with our own muscle (and some muscle-enhancing tools).

Having big round bales wasn’t exactly our plan either, but we weren’t able to make any loose hay with our horses on our own fields this summer. This also wasn’t exactly our plan, but since we hated to send away our retired work horses, we had six horses instead of four, meaning all the grassland went to pasture, not hay.

It also meant we were buying a lot more hay than usual for the winter, and we have been touched and grateful to receive hay fund help from our CSA members. One person wrote us a thousand-dollar check, another slipped us $40 in cash. Then there was the mysterious $50 bill.

Was the bill meant as a payment on a CSA share? As a donation to the CSA Scholarship Fund, which helps provide CSA shares to people struggling with job loss, or cancer, or young families? Was it for horse hay? Was it for the farmer’s pizza fund? 

Soon we found out, in a phone conversation with a CSA member. “I trust you to do just the right thing with it,” he said. I think the trust meant as much to us as the $50.

Even after twenty plus years of small, sustainable farming, we sometimes wonder if we can trust ourselves: are we doing the right things, making the right decisions? The physical and financial realities of farming can weigh heavily on a body and mind, especially as those bodies and minds edge toward their later fifties. 

Are we crazy to be farming? To be farming with horses? To be retiring our draft horses here, when our margins are already so slim? 

Yet when we look at the alternatives, we still find ourselves saying Yes to this craziness. When we eat heirloom tomatoes all summer long and all winter long, too, from our canning jars, we say yes. When we can bury our horses under the apple trees after good long lives, we say yes. When people trust us, we say yes. 

When the puppy yips to join the fun farming project, we even remember that sometimes farming can be fun. We keep saying Yes. 

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Sept 18 - Sept 24, 2024

Farm Puppy: Bad Idea or Good Idea?

A puppy is a good distraction from farming, especially in August, when a vegetable grower has had enough of farming. In fact, our daughter, who loves cats, and who told us that getting a dog was a Bad Idea, has lately taken to saying, “It’s good for you to have a dog. It makes you work less.”

Working less sounds pretty nice. For example, sometimes my fellow farmer is walking purposefully along to do some farming, when he sees a puppy half-snoozing in the grass. The puppy thumps his tail on the ground. The puppy rolls over on his back, ready for a belly rub. My fellow farmer obliges, and soon I find them both half-snoozing in the grass.

For my part, I’ve wished for years to take regular summer walks in our fields instead of always working in the garden or greenhouses. With a dog, I get to walk morning and evening. 

I get to remember what it’s like to be upright, rather than crabbing along on my knees, ripping out weeds. I get to enjoy the wildflowers in the pastures. I get to see the turkeys and their children as they grow over the season. I get to visit the horses, chewing on grass, or snoozing in the woods. I get to watch a puppy run and run.

Also, a farm puppy reminds us that we have to stop working and eat. Whereas a farmer’s hunger results in a generalized grouchiness while continuing to work, a puppy’s specific freak-out about needing his supper is highly motivating, as he escalates from nose-nudging to tiny grooming nips to full-on launching himself at a leg and gnawing on a farmer’s knee. 

Sometimes, I have to admit, when the puppy is all riled up, in an over-bitey way or an over-barky way or an over-bouncy way, I also think having a dog is a Bad Idea. I have to remind myself that I am the mature responsible adult, and that this puppy, is yes, a puppy, and my job is to help him learn to live nicely with humans.

Recently a visitor, a vet of all people, said to the puppy, “Stay down! Down! You’re filthy!” 

Granted, the mature responsible adults, my fellow and I, had let go of the puppy’s lead prematurely, so we were to blame for the jump. But after the vet left, I said, “He isn’t filthy. He’s just a little wet. Aren’t you, pooch?” The puppy wagged his tail in agreement.

In a few minutes, after a vigorous excavation project, the puppy looked up at us. His furry face, his paws, his chest, were all covered in dirt.

“Now you’re filthy,” I laughed, and gave him a good scratching around the ears, as the puppy wagged his tail again.

Another nice thing about this puppy is that he likes people. CSA pick-up days, when members come to the farm for their produce, mean a lot more tail-wagging. The puppy also loves to go to the Farmers’ Market, which is ideal. One, it tires the puppy out tremendously, and he sleeps all afternoon. Two, it means that the farmer (me) who stays at home gets five hours to herself, which is plenty of time to write a farming column, for instance.

Just last week, the puppy was so excited about the Farmers’ Market that he got in the cab of the truck a good hour early, and watched us get everything ready. When I was loading the back of the truck, the puppy put his head out the sliding back window. He put his paws up on the tool box. It was very fetching.

“Yip!” he said. “I want to come back there with you! Aren’t you ready yet?”

“Almost, pooch,” I answered. “All this working less on account of a puppy means we’re a little slower than usual.”

“Yip!” said the puppy, which I took to mean that having a puppy is a Good Idea.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Aug 21-27, 2024

Panics, Puppies, Potatoes, and Pizza

The potato beds were ready: composted, disced, and harrowed, thanks to our new team of horses, Willow and Fern, and to our old team of horses, Molly and Clyde, who accomplished the more precise bed- and furrow-making.

But where were the seed potatoes? We hadn’t gotten an email or a call about the delivery.

“Did you order the potatoes?” I asked my fellow farmer worriedly.

“Yes,” he answered. “I always do.”

“But I don’t see them on the order form.” I was checking the computer.

“I’ll find it,” my fellow replied confidently.

A few minutes later, he said, “I can’t find it either,” much less confidently. 

“This is bad,” he went on. “I’ll order more, fast. I hope there’s some left.” Already my fellow was filling out a new order form. “Or maybe I should call them?” 

“Wait, wait,” I said, trying to slow my speedy fellow down. “I’m going to call the farm where we pick them up first.”

Happily, there were three bags of seed potatoes waiting for us at Walker Farm in Vermont. It turned out Fedco, the seed company, had our email address wrong, and Walker Farm would only call if weeks went by and we hadn’t picked up our order. 

We hurried over the next day, bringing our puppy along for our traditional picking-up-the-potatoes spring farmer date. 

The puppy was amazed by: 1) the big red barn, full of many things with interesting smells, including the bags of potatoes;

2) the traffic, which was impressively loud and fast, especially the truck with jig brakes that thundered by; 

3) the nice man who was so intent on checking our names off his list that he let out a surprised “Oh!” when he realized there was a puppy around his ankles. Then he offered to bring the farm’s puppy out to play;

4) the farm’s puppy, who was preceded by an adult Border Collie that came out of the farmhouse in its intense driven Border Collie way, which then stirred up the farm’s puppy, who barked and barked. Our puppy whimpered, and tucked behind our legs. But pretty soon everyone settled down for friendly dog greetings. 

At home again, the puppy took a nap, and the farmers hustled out to the potato field. We got two 200-foot beds planted before lunch. Then the puppy had lunch, a walk, and a play session, followed by the brand-new treat of a chicken thing-a-ma-jig to chew on, which got us through two more beds. Then the puppy had another nap. Thank goodness puppies need a lot of sleep. 

At about 5:30, we had just the last one of the six beds to go, and now I was whimpering, as my skimpy lunch of carrots and peanut butter had worn off long ago. 

“We could get a snack,” suggested my fellow, “or even eat supper.”

“No, no, we can’t,” I said, “The puppy’s still asleep. We have to keep planting!”

We got the last bed in, in a burst of desperate energy. After our initial lack-of-seed-potatoes panic, I was more than pleased to have gotten them all planted in one day, a rare occurrence.

In fact, I was so pleased I said I was going to order a pizza. 

“Yeah, right,” said my fellow, knowing the frugal nature of the Budget Committee (i.e., me). In a few minutes he asked, “Who were you talking to on the phone?” 

“I was ordering the pizza. Ready in 15 minutes. Better hurry!”

“What, what?” my fellow said. “I can’t believe it!” He would have fallen right over, if he hadn’t already been on the floor resting his potato-planting back while the puppy, refreshed from his nap, crawled over him. 

Thus our puppy had another fun experience, as we brought along his supper dish to the pizza shop. We all had a picnic on the grass, and watched the traffic go by. (No jig brakes, but three motorcycles.) 

Also, since we were celebrating, we dropped a tiny bit of cheese in the puppy’s dish. The puppy was amazed.
 

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, May 29 - June 4 , 2024