A few days back, Joe got stung on his face pretty badly, or so I thought. The side of his face was huge and a little hot, but he was not complaining, did not stop eating or drinking and did not mind if I touched it. I figured in a few days the swelling would go down and he would be fine. I tried to get some Benadryl in him, but he is one of those uncanny dogs that knows when something is up. I wrapped it in hamburger and he would not take it. I had a pill in pocket and he ran away. How on earth he even knew it was there, I don't know, but he did. 

The swelling did go down in a few days and I thought all was well. 

Then, wow, a few days later, the swelling was back and Joe was drooling a little blood. Then I knew it was an abscess and needed to be taken care of. I tried to give him a shot of antibiotics, but, again, he just knew whenever I had that needle anywhere. I called my young friend, Pete, to see if he was available to load Joe in the truck, as he weighs quite a bit and is too heavy for me to lift. He came later that day after work, Friday, and put him in the truck and I immediately left for the nearest vet's. 

I arrived at the premises at 5 pm, just as the vet was locking the door. I asked if she would see Joe and she said she would for 200 dollars because it is after hours. I asked if she could take a look through the window and tell me if he would live until the next day, hoping she would show some compassion for the poor dog, and she said she would take a look for 200 dollars. We exchanged a few brief words more and she again said the 200 dollars and I drove off. I drove home in tears thinking about poor Joe and how I needed to help him. Should I let him out for the night and hope to get him in the truck again in the morning or...? I got home and phoned the next nearest veterinarian's office. 

Their first question was about the well being of the dog, was he fit to travel. They said they were open until 6, but it was then 5:30 and I said I was 40 minutes away. They said that was not a problem, and that they would wait for us. I arrived at 5 minutes after 6 and was greeted at the door by two assistants who carried Joe inside. They immediately weighed him and put him in a kennel once they ascertained he was not going to die, something I had asked the first vet to do. The veterinarian there was tending to a horse who just came in. The poor horse had torn open her chest and needed immediate surgery and a blood transfusion, I overheard them saying. Joe was next, but they would get to him as soon as they were able. They were compassionate and caring and consoling, telling me not to worry and that it looks worse than it probably is. 

The vet called me later when she had a chance to look at Joe and we spoke about his treatment. I understood the fees from an over the phone basic quote and they were less than 200 dollars, even though the vet was technically closed. 

It makes a difference in a small rural area when professionals show some compassion and care. The treatment for the dog and for me between the two veterinarian facilities was like night and day, and the fees were less than the after hours fee, even before any further treatment was done. It always makes one wonder why some people are that way. When I ran businesses, if customers came after closing and I was there, I always let them in and helped them any way I could. Who would not? 

Joe will be fine, thank goodness. 

Joe came home Saturday morning with a cone on his head. His face and mane are shaved on one side and he has stitches and a drain tube. He had a little surgery to excise the abscess and drain it and is on antibiotics and a pain medicine. He has a broken canine and the vet said it should be removed. I cannot afford to do that. The estimate is close to $1000 dollars for that. Joe's vet bill came to $600 for the abscess treatment. With this bill, the lack of processors for geese, the cost of feed and medicines and the low prices for heritage sheep breeds, I have made a decision to keep very few animals, just enough to feed myself and run the bed and breakfast. I need to make a decision about which ones stay. Hard to do!

This is a controversial post that some may wish to avoid reading. 

Most people balk at being controlled. No one seems to like to be told what to eat, what to wear, or to be made to do things they do not want to do, yet, every day, we are subliminally subjected to all those demands and we willingly comply. We are provided with huge stores with shelves upon shelves of food. Most have little idea what is in the packages they purchase, but if it is in the store, it must be OK, right? Fashion is another societal dictate. We are shown fashions and whether we like them or not, eventually, because the stores only carry those fashions, we are brainwashed into accepting them and happily wear them. Without this constant change, the fashion industry would lose billions of dollars. After all, everyone must keep up? We discard perfectly wearable clothing that is "out of style" in favour of the only clothes we are offered in conglomerate stores. Long days gone by, people sewed their own clothing, but fashion dictates were still in place. And daily, we are herded to employ means of entertaining ourselves, rather than going out in nature or enjoying just being outside. Few in cities grow gardens, yet it has been demonstrated over and again, that the therapeutic effect of gardening is as good for us as the fresh organic food we can grow. In some areas of the world, growing a garden is illegal. So is harvesting rainwater. Are you beginning to see the broader picture? 

A small farm such as the Fat Ewe is heavily regulated. The Canadian Food Inspection Association has demanded that all sheep and cattle, thus far, are tagged with a traceable radio frequency tag, so they know exactly who is producing food and where it goes. The farm has to be registered with a premise identification number just to purchase supplements, like sheep minerals so the government can trace exactly what is carried on at the farm. Refusal to tag means that the lambs can never go to a butcher shop and can never be transported in a vehicle. To transport sheep and cattle in Alberta, the animals require the radio frequency tag and a manifest, which is a document stating what is being transported, with the tag numbers listed. Animals cannot even go the auction without these measures in place. The governing body now wants ALL animals, including birds, tagged with the radio frequency tags. We, the farmers, are told that this will ensure traceability and if there is disease, they will immediately know where the animals were from. 

This is hogwash. Absolute hogwash. 

Technically I cannot sell lambs to the neighbour if he transports them in a trailer on a public road. Lambs sold for lawn control or weed control, not initially for food, must be tagged. A second tag is required, one that indicates the farm where they matured, if they are going to the auction. 

Today, I tried to book a butcher date for the geese on the farm. The only place that was processing them has been forced to stop. They can process factory farmed geese, however, but not those living the life geese should live, running around free, eating bugs and grass and having a humane existence. Currently they are permitted to process only chickens and turkeys, but I wonder how long it will be before only factory farmed birds are processed and any free range are not allowed. 

Folks, there is something going on. There is "something rotten in the state of Denmark" (Hamlet), or let's say in Alberta, but it is not just Alberta. Most of North America is falling under this control of food. Someone is behind this. Why would growing a garden or harvesting rainwater be illegal? Why would processing farm birds be banned? Why do we have shelves of food with GMO ingredients in boxes that are not labeled as such? Why is factory farmed food permitted and healthy food not? Who is demanding that we tag each and every animal on our farms? Who is demanding that we have a premise ID? and why do we have to provide our names and addresses to purchase minerals or oyster shells (to boost calcium for birds)? 

I guess it is time to take a good hard look at my farm and what I want to do here. Obviously if I cannot get the geese processed in a government inspected facility, the farm is not permitted to sell it or serve it at the bed and breakfast. So, no geese? Will this soon apply to free range chickens as well? 

I do not know the answers. I only know we are in deep trouble and somehow have to be able to produce our own food. In Russia, half of the produce is grown in gardens by the people. GMO foods are not permitted. Backyard chickens are encouraged. Should I move? What do you think is going on?

Along with being the farmer, which entails caring for the animals, fixing fences, getting supplies, and so on, I have been busy at the bed and breakfast painting. First I painted the whole house except over the stairs and my lovely friend Gail, who is a professional painter, did that little section on her pro ladders. Then I stained almost 1500 board feet of moldings. I did have help with half of that, too, from the Mormon Missionary boys, who come now and again to give me a hand and learn about the farm. Now I am painting the kitchen cupboards! But, today, I painted a pine sleigh bed instead. It will be for my room because the bed frame I have will go back to the bed and breakfast master bedroom. 

And, in between all the duties and chores, I planted a garden, some of it twice, because the chickens scratched the seeds and ate them the first time and painted window boxes and planted them, plus yesterday, I planted 40 some bushes, potentilla and rugosa rose. A neighbour wanted them out of her yard and I was more than pleased to be able to have them. Unfortunately, the dirt was shaken off the roots and many of them do not look very well. I am hoping they will grow, even if I lose the growth that was established this year. That was a LOT of work! 

But of all the things planted, I must say the flowers are my favourites. I even eat some of them. The roses are great in a salad with some peppery Nasturtiums, marigolds, pansies and day lilies with a beautiful raspberry and hemp oil dressing. Mmmmm! I have always loved flowers. When I owned a flower shop, it was a delightful occupation giving flowers to folks, who even in the tears of sorrow would muster a smile for a bouquet handed to them. They brighten my days immensely and I would have roses everywhere if I could. Come to think of it, if the Hansa Rugosas take off, I can! Things just have a way of working out! What do you think of the garden so far?

Life can be difficult for some. For others, it is a bed of roses right from the start. I sometimes ponder why a person like the singer, Jimmy Buffet, can sit on the beach and play music and become a millionaire, while most of us struggle just to make ends meet. What is it that he did differently? 

Not pretending to have all the answers, I do have some ideas. For people like Jimmy Buffet, there was never an agenda. He simply did what he wanted to do and others loved it. Joseph Campbell, the famous storyteller and myth expert said, "Follow your bliss" and the rest will come. But we don't do that. 

We remain frozen, thinking we have to follow a path that we did not necessarily choose. How many of us have had occupations by chance, not by choice? You needed a job to pay the bills, got one and stayed there. It is not that you were fulfilled and appreciated at your job, but it did pay the bills and the "living' happened when you were not at work. That is the opposite of Jimmy. His living happened to be his work which he loved. See the difference? 

I have followed my bliss over and over again in life, choosing to be a florist, an interior designer, a private investigator and so on, and now a farmer. Those jobs made me happy and the money did come, not hoards of it as in Jimmy's case, but enough to make ends meet. As a farmer, I have experienced some tough times too and had to go back to work to pay the bills, but I am constantly amazed at how things come to me. I believe it is because I am sitting on my beach and playing my own tune. 

For example, today, I picked up Hansa Rugosa rose bushes, big huge well established ones and lovely yellow Potentillas. My daughter said I need a place with roses and I agree, and guess what, I have suddenly acquired roses, LOTS of roses. A neighbour did not want the bushes because they prefer lawn to shrubs and it was my good fortune to speak up for them and be given them. I have spent all morning picking them up in 6 different truckloads, but fortunately they are only 5 miles from my place and the man had dug them out with a little machine he had at his place. 

Now, I have to go plant all that I reaped. The work will take me all through this day and possibly the next and it is hard work, though I will use the skid steer to dig the holes and cover the plants. I am full of gratitude for this gift. 

When we are doing what we love, the benefits begin to unfold in mysterious ways. This is synchronicity, the beauty of a wish coming true, such as my lovely rose bushes. When we are doing what we despise, the joy of life is sapped from us. I know what it is like to be stuck in a job that is secure when there are mouths to feed and bills to pay, but at least consider working towards following your bliss. It is so freeing and so fulfilling and so gratifying. And then we can all be Jimmy's sitting on our "beaches" singing our songs while the money pours in. That is the theory, anyhow. Are you in?

I apologize for not writing regularly lately. Life has gotten extraordinarily busy, with the completion of the renovations at the bed and breakfast nearing site, and the tasks of the farm, plus gardening. I had to replant some of the garden because the chickens scratched up the seeds and destroyed half of it. Darn chickens. The new beans are coming nicely and I am hoping we will have enough days before the first frost to actually glean a harvest. 
The pink painted window boxes have all been planted with a variety of pink and other flowers, but not hung. Try as I did, I could not get the hangers to screw properly into the wall, so will have to wait for a carpenter to hang them. At this point they are planted and beautiful, but in a month they will be stunning. 

There are many many planters all around the farm of different types. The old Victorian metal crib has not only flowers in it this year, but also some squash vines which have begun to trail. The mamma turkey chose to hatch her babies under that crib this spring and returns there for the night currently, so I dare not disturb it just yet. 

One sweet deal I have managed to find, is the acquisition of 10 Hansa Rugosa bushes that are mature and 8 Potentillas, also mature, from a neighbour. They are wanting them removed from their yard and plan to dig them out tomorrow. I just have to drive over and pick them up. Fortunately I have the skid steer and can predig the holes for them, then just cover them with the dirt thereafter. Both of these species are very hardy and can withstand the cold winters here. Rugosa roses produce large beautiful fragrant flowers and huge rosehips. Both the flowers and the hips are useful for tea and herbal preparations and are a great addition for mature skin. Potentilla has similar herbal benefits as well, plus these are stunningly beautiful bushes. I am so fortunate to get them. 

Whe time permits, I will take some more photos of the actual planters around the farm, and the newly planted bushes. You will wish you were here then for sure, right?

Oh, I forgot the painted door. I have been busy adding some artistic touches to the farm too. The door to the bed and breakfast is the first of many. Hope you like it!

All day long the shanks of the goat simmered away, fragranced with lemongrass, cinnamon, cardamom and mace, and seasoned with curry, onions, garlic and ginger. The cartilaginous bones had plenty of meat, but without long, slow cooking, would be too tough to eat. But, prepared properly, the result is heavenly!

I am on a limited menu plan, eliminating a lot of foods currently to determine exactly what my body does not like and which exacerbates the arthritis. So, into the mix went zucchini and parsnips and that was it. But wait, I had a spaghetti squash, that is permitted on this eating plan. I was now looking forward to noodles in my soup, sort of. 

And I had the last Kobocha squash of 4 that I bought. Kabocha is an excellent squash and is very rich and flavourful compared to many varieties. I most prefer it with butter, salt and pepper, however neither butter, nor pepper is allowed, boo! So, first the spaghetti squash...what! 

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Now that is odd. The spaghetti squash was whole, in tact, not blemished or bruised and in perfect condition, but when cut open, seed sprouts were present and they were green! Green! Yes! How on Earth did they get light to turn green. I was always taught that light must be present for chlorophyll to begin its amazing actions. Could light penetrate the skin and layers of squash? I will have to do some research on this and see what I can find. The flesh of the squash was still as it should be, but with a rank smell, like green grass. Obviously, the chemistry of the flesh was altered too. I put it aside, after all, the Kabocha was next. 

Now, that squash was also unblemished, showed no signs of bruising and was firm as they always are. I have had these squash sit on a counter in a cool room for up to 6 months and they were perfect to eat, as nice as the day they were picked. This one seemed to be just what it should be...that is until I cut it open. YUK!

Look at that! The entire seed bed was mouldy. Now, another conundrum posed itself. No obvious signs of air entry were there, yet, air needs to be present for mould to grow. How did the spores get in there anyhow? My heart sunk just a little, for there would be no squash of any sort in my delicious soup. Zucchini and parsnip it was. 

I poured in a can of coconut milk, just coconut milk, without the thickeners and additives. I tasted it, thinking it would be wanting, but low and behold, it was marvellous! Perfect just as it was. 

But isn't it strange, the two squash were altered, one growing and one rotting, yet both perfect on the outside? Has this happened to you?

I have never experienced a year like this. 90% of the goats and sheep born this year were male. I have been very fortunate in being able to sell some of those boys very early to keep the grass down for the local folks. They were excellent quality ram lambs, too, and many would make great breeding prospects, but I believe their fate is the freezer at the end of the season. Due to the large amount of rain in this area, the grass is growing faster than most people can keep up with. Here, mowing the lawn is a biweekly job at best and it can be let go for a month when it is dry. Lately, though, the grass needs weekly cutting and people are not used to that. I have never seen anything like the 'lawns' around here. They mow a few acres of grass for looks. I bet if they had to push a mower that would change in a heartbeat. 

But, I digress. There are still 5 Babydoll ram lambs and crosses, 2 Gotland Blue Faced Leicester ram lambs. 3 Shetland ram lambs, 1 Jacob cross ram lamb, and about 5 Cotswold/Blue Faced Leicester ram lambs, all of which are for sale. The Fat Ewe Farm has no shortage of rams because of the various breeds kept, sometimes the ratio is one ram for the one ewe, but the offspring are pure then. Some of these rams already have exceptional fleece. The Shetland boys are beautiful, as are the Gotland Blue Faced Leicester rams. Those should go to a fibre farm, but the Cotswold Blue Faced Leicester crosses and Merino Blue Faced Leicester cross boys are pretty spectacular too. That makes a total of 12 ram lambs for sale this year and 5 have already been sold. The farm has only one ewe lamb, a Suffolk Blue Faced Leicester mule for sale. Mules are special crosses that when crossed to a terminal meat sire, produce amazing fast growing strong lambs for market. She is $300. The prices for the rams vary from $150 to $350. 

There are 6 bucklings for sale as well and only one doeling. It was just that kind of year, a year with 90% males born. I wonder what the significance for the upcoming year might be? Superstitious? When more males are born, it means.....you fill in the blank and let me know, eh?

Daphne is a purebred Nigerian Dwarf dairy goat, only miniature. Nigerian Dwarf goats originated from Africa. The females are no less than 17 and no more than 19 inches at the shoulder and weigh around 75 pounds. They are calm and easy to handle. I don't milk any of them, but they do give two to three pounds of rich milk (up to 10% butterfat) per day. 

Daphne has quads usually and can raise them all if she is out on pasture. This year she had triplets, 2 boys and a girl. I have kept her last year's daughter and had previous daughters as well, but they are never as perfect as their mother. I breed the goats once a year for a late spring kidding, but they are able to breed year long. That means that the little bucklings, who can breed by the time they are 3 months and for sure at 4, need to be removed prior to accidents happening. Our boys are coming out next week, but the girls will stay with mom. She will eventually wean them by not allowing them to nurse and slowly dry up her udder. 

The two bucklings of hers will be for sale. One is blue eyed like his sire and the other has amber goat eyes. There is another buckling, black with a little white also for sale and the three that were born just last week will hopefully go to pet homes. They are so sweet and tame because I help them nurse. Mamma does not want them and bunts them away, so I catch her and hold her tight to allow the babies to nurse. She does not have enough milk for two and her friend, Pepper, has only one baby, so I catch Pepper and let the boys drink from her until they are full. Goats do not have a stop button. Normally the mother instinctively knows when to pull away, so I feel their tummies. When they are rounded, it is time to stop. At first I had to feed them every two hours because they were so tiny, then every 4. Now they are on 3 or 4 times a day and eventually, when they start to eat grass, it will be twice a day until they are 8 weeks old. It was a year for boys on the farm with about 90% males in the goats and sheep of the new ones. 

Daphne is already almost 5 years old. She was my first Nigerian and came as a weanling from Saskatchewan. None have come close to being as special as she is, but I am hoping that one of her daughters will eventually measure up and replace her when she is old. With good care and good health, Nigerian Dwarf goats can live 15 years though 10 is more the average. Their productive life is as long as they conceive and have milk to support their babies, but they are generally very healthy goats. I hope Daphne stays as beautiful as she is until the last of her days. She is lovely, don't you agree?

I was at the computer and could hear a scritch scratching. "Ah, a mouse", I thought immediately, but Robbie, who can detect a mouse better than any cat I have known, was not disturbed. I said the word mouse and he cocked his head, but he did not get up and try to find it. I thought that he knew better, so what was that noise. 

I get up to investigate. I have absolutely no fear of mice, so I am undaunted as I search. 

Found it! The skittering is coming from inside the wood stove. There are two doors to the woodstove, the front and the top. What if it is a bat? or worse yet, a bird? 

I have a nasty bird phobia. When I was a little girl, I went to my Aunt Dora's chicken coop alone to see the baby chicks. Inside the rooster attacked me and then the hens panicked and fluttered into me. I was hurt from the rooster spurs, but more than that, I was terrified. I was sure I was going to die. I do not recall this incident, only what my mother told me thereafter. They think I was gone maybe 20 minutes, which is a long time for a toddler to be scared to death. When my aunt and mother dragged me out of there, I would not stop screaming and they seriously considered taking me to the hospital. I must have settled down, but the rest of my life, any flying thing, even a moth, scared the crap out of me. 

I was determined to overcome this on the farm. I got some chicks and could not touch them. I had to put on a suit of armour coveralls) and hat and gloves, just to feed them. But one got injured and was going backwards in circles. I wanted to help it, though I knew I would have to reach in there and pick it up. Several times a day, I dropper fed the little gaffer, wearing my armour, of course, but that incident was the beginning of healing. I am mostly cured, maybe to the extent I will ever be, as long as I am not trapped inside a building with crazy, flying birds. I avoid the barn and the swallows there, but can manage the coop and duck house, because the birds are calm. 

So, if it was a bird, or a bat, and it got loose in my house, I would be terrified. I decided to leave the critter and see if it could make its way out by morning. I heard nothing at all for a long time, but this morning, there it was, the unmistakable fluttering and skittering. I made a plan. 

I put a small bag over the opening and slowly opened the lid. A little brown bird flew out and around the house. I am screaming by now and run and hide. The bird stops at the kitchen window. It has knocked my little plants down and is frantically trying to get outside and away from the bellering lunatic in the house (me). Hmm. I have to make a plan. Rosie said to get a net. I bought one at the dollar store the other day, a butterfly net, to catch baby chicks and ducklings with, but it was outside. I had to get outside safely. I edged slowly by that monster flying around the kitchen window and it came right at me. Actually it went over my head to the living room window and back to the kitchen. I continued to scream as I ran out the door to get the net. This was definitely one of those times I wish there was someone else here!

Armed with the net, I come back in gingerly, and look around from the door to locate that monster. It was at the kitchen window. Great. I cautiously sneak up to it and attempt to get it in the net. It flies by me to the living room and I scream again. My heart is beating fast enough that I think I might croak right then and there, but I steel my resolve and go after that thing. I manage to get it in the net flat against the window. Now, to make sure it stays in the net! 

I sneak up the handle and finally get to the bird, and carefully take it in the palm of my hands, still in the net. It is a little brown bird. There are lots of them around here. I can feel the tiny heart beating and feel compassion for it. It does not look injured or covered with soot as I expected it to be. Outside we go and I release it, thankful it is gone. 

Then I go inside and sit down to have a cup of coffee. What is that noise? 

It is another skitter in the wood stove. Cripes! Another bird? Was it there with the first one or did it just drop in. 

OK, I am wiser now. I make a better plan. I get a big plastic bag and put it entirely over the top of the wood stove and secure the edge with a board. That sucker ain't going nowhere. Carefully, I open the lid of the stove through the bag and out flies a bird who immediately finds a corner and flies right into me. I am dying. I am screaming. The world has come to an end. This is it. 

It gets off me and makes for the window. The net is right there. Once I still my heart enough, I grab that net and nail the sucker against the window. This bird is a sparrow. I did not touch it, but made a sack around it so it could definitely not escape and took it outside. That is enough excitement for a very long time. 

I finally pour my coffee and notice that the bird has shit on my dish cloth. Thanks a lot! 

My mother used to say that when birds try to get in the house, you will be moving. I have no plans to move, but maybe that is a seed planted. Anyhow, no more darn birds, please! and thank you!

One of the major problems humans have is they love to compare themselves to others, resulting in feelings of inadequacy or superiority. Have you ever wondered what would happen if Grade One students were given paper without lines to learn to write? What would the writing look like compared to the lined paper efforts? Starting with a blank page can make all the difference to ingenuity and creativity. 

When it comes to farming, there are a lot of young upstarts wanting to have a better life for themselves and their families. One thing that is lacking usually is money, so progress can be slow. But the real hinderance is often not the lack of money, but the lack of gumption. 

If you grew up on a farm you will tend to follow the ways of your parents regarding livestock treatment and care. If it worked for your parents, then it is good enough for you. Is it? Often the older people are an undervalued fountain of knowledge that should not be ignored, but they also stopped learning long ago. They did the best with what they had and that is remarkable, however; things do change and as more information is brought forth, how farming is changing should be noted. 

One highly creative farmer is Joel Salatin. He has single handedly changed a great deal we knew about raising animals. His methods are anything but traditional, and are highly productive, humane and lucrative. He diversifies too, so if one source fails, and it will, there are others to draw on.  A hog farmer who only farms hogs may have a disease wipe out his entire stock and be lost, whereas a mixed farm will have many resources to draw on. Moving towards sustainability, that is important. It goes for growing things too. If you only grew, say , strawberries and that crop failed, then you have to wait an entire year to try again, but by growing 4 or 5 or more crops, it is ensured that there will be some that will produce well. 

My favourite natural farmer is Masuoka Fukuoka and for the real greenies out there, his book, "A One Straw Revolution" really hits home. He diversifies, allows nature to take it course, employs animals to assist in the work and makes growing simple. Perfect! 

So, here at the Fat Ewe Farm, I follow Masuoka and a little of Joel and a lot of my own gut instinct. Having never grown up on a farm or had any previous farming experience, everything was new. I did not know the way to do something that had been handed down from previous generations. I researched for several years even before beginning this sojourn. I was also alone, so had to do things that I could by myself without depending on others, but from time to time, have been very thankful for the help I have received. Now, much to my amazement, people come to me to ask how I do things, me, little ol' me - HOW I DO IT! Wow! And then they go home and do it too. That feels really good. I feel as though somehow I have been instrumental in advancing the methods of a small farmer. Maybe I am not Joel or Masuoka and have not written a book (yet) or done personal speaking engagements (yet), but that might come too. 

My words of encouragement to you are this: Stop trying to write on the lines. Start with a blank page and make your way, your own way. Ensure the animals are living a happy natural life and employ dogs to do your predator control rather than guns. Be free, diversify and go, just go. If you make mistakes, and who doesn't, so what? Carry on, start again and keep moving forward. Farming is a little like walking drunk anyhow, two steps forward, one to the side, one back and three more forward. Happy farming y'all!