Daisy

I had no idea that chickens could wail. I have heard all manner of clucks and crows, but never in these four years on the farm have I heard such a hopeless cry come from a chicken. Upon hearing it, Chris took off running for the stable, while I followed not so quickly behind. Entering the stable, we found our dog, Daisy, hopping about with excitement, and Rock-Star, cornered and howling in exhausted defeat.

I knew getting a dog would take some work- that we would need to work with it to teach it basic manners (not to jump or gnaw on people, to sit, etc.), but I was hoping Daisy's farm dog pedigree would make her indifferent to the chickens. Thankfully, she has no intention of ripping apart and eating the birds like the strays we caught a few months back, but she sure does like to chase them.

At first I thought she was just exercising some of her herding instincts, and would watch her chase them for a few yards before she moved on to another chicken or other distraction. It wasn't until after the incident with Rock-Star- then when I saw her chase Isadora through the yard, under the trailer, back out, then all the way around the trailer without slowing- that I really realized I needed to put a stop to this behavior.

(You'd think the chickens would be smart enough to fly up out of reach onto a fence or something, but apparently, they lose their minds in the panic and can only think to run.)

So until we can put in the time and training necessary, Daisy cannot have free reign of our entire yard. This means that we either have to keep her on a tie-out, or in the fenced area behind the stable. You would think that having a quarter acre or so to run would make a dog happy, but not Daisy. As soon as I close the gate on her, she starts to whine, then spends all her time and energy (when she's not crying like a poor, tortured soul) looking for a way out. Tie her up to the 20 foot lead on the front porch of the house, and she's as happy as a clam. But since I can't stand to see a dog tied up, I've been trying to get her used to the fenced area.

I can't count the number of times she's escaped. Time and again, I patch a hole, only to find her on the porch half an hour later. So I lead her back to her yard, play with her for a bit, then lock her behind the gate and watch to see how she gets out. The last time, she found a hole in the back fence, worked her way through some tall grass and brush, then through another hole into the calves' pasture, a squeeze through the cattle gate, back into our yard.

I've been taking her on walks around the farm. Usually, we walk the fence and tree line of Queenie's pasture: one that we are only using for hay, so that I don't have to worry about her running off to pester some animal. As I walk she'll run ahead or lag behind, stopping to sniff whatever catches her fancy. By the time we've made our way around the perimeter of the 14 acres, I am winded, but she can still run full tilt. If I keep this walk up once or twice a day through the winter, I'll be in good shape!

Indecision

Our clock has been sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the living room for more than a week, waiting.

I need to hang it. But it's complicated.

Interior decoration is an art. And I am ridiculous enough to want my home not only to look good, but to say something, so the placement and grouping of items is important to me. It doesn't help that some of the things I'd like to hang aren't framed, or that the trim isn't up to help me know where to position things on the wall, or that I haven't built the wall shelves out of the barn wood yet. So I think and re-evaluate and put off.

And the clock still sits there, grumbling, "It's time, it's time..."

Living in the New

It happened.

Last Monday, I called in for our electrical final. Tuesday came and went, and the inspector never showed. He was slammed with work and didn't make it out to us. He was not scheduled to be in our county again until Thursday. If he failed us on Thursday, we would have to wait until the next Tuesday to have him back out for a re-inspection, which meant our hopes to move in over the weekend were looking dim. We tried not to be disappointed.

Wednesday, I picked the kids up from school, got the kids working on their homework, then wandered outside. There was a truck in the drive that wasn't ours. The inspector had come! I went out to the house where I found him poking around upstairs. He explained he had run out of work in a neighboring county and decided he might as well get a few things knocked out over in ours. Besides, he knew we had been waiting for a long time. After a few more anxious moments on my parts, he passed us.

Thursday and Friday, I worked feverishly, finishing the floor in the mud room. My mom came over and helped clean out the fridge, getting it ready for Chris to move when he got home. By Friday evening, with the help of our neighbors, we had all the major appliances cleaned up and moved over.

Seeing the table and chairs ready for us to eat breakfast in the new house the next morning made me happier than I can tell you.

Speaking of happy, instead of the used, scuffed up kitchen sink we had available, we splurged and bought a new sink and faucet to go with the countertops Terry finished and helped us install. I didn't realize how much I would enjoy this fancy, new faucet. I almost (almost) look forward to washing dishes.

 In the meantime, back in the trailer, there is a colossal mess. Nobody wants to go in there. For the past few weeks, the smell of death was added to the stink of moldy wood, so the relief we felt when we could finally move into the new house was greater than ever. I am sure when we tear the place down, we will find the bones of an animal or two tucked away in the insulation under the floor somewhere.

But every day, I have been braving the trailer, sifting through the chaos, throwing away whatever I can, setting aside things to give away or sell, then bringing over bit by bit the things we decide to keep.

The kitchen is slowly taking shape. Although none of the doors and drawer faces are painted, and there are shelves and an island I need to build, I am making do with what I have. I almost like the look of the unfinished drawers, but I doubt Chris would let me leave then this way long term.

In the evenings, we all settle into the beds in our clean, new rooms, breathe deep of the fresh air, and drift off to sleep, happy.

First of Fall

It is the first day of autumn, and we woke up this morning to a typical autumn day: cool and clear with the promise of a warm afternoon. The kids put on their shorts, t-shirts, and jackets, then headed outside, bearing backpacks, to see the newest member of The Funny Farm family before heading off to school.

 We adopted Daisy on Friday. I had resisted adopting a dog, determined to wait until we were in the house. But then a friend posted some pictures on facebook. She was free, oh-so cute, and her farm dog mix of Great Pyrenees, Australian Shepherd, and touch of Blue Heeler made her a dog we couldn't pass up.

I am hoping that Daisy will help Joe get over his fear of dogs. It is working, I think. Joe adores Daisy, but is still apprehensive. We keep reassuring him, "Daisy is just a baby. She is not mean, she just playing. If she is doing something you don't like, you can make her stop." Still, you can tell from this photo- he tries to keep a safe distance.

 While the kids are at school and I am doing chores around the farm, Daisy is my sidekick. I have to be careful, though. If I stop moving for more than a few seconds, she curls up on my feet, tempting me to cast aside all responsibility and plunge my hands into her fluffy softness.

 In spite of the new distraction, things are moving along on the house. We had the building inspector come out last Thursday to give us a list of things we needed before we could get our final certificate of occupancy. I also called the electrical inspector to see if we were ready for our final electrical inspection. We were hoping we could pass that inspection this week, but turns out there are a couple of minor thing we need to fix before that will happen. Maybe next week. Once we have electrical and a few other minor things, we can move in and work on getting our final occupancy.

Countertops are going in! They aren't exactly what I wanted, but comparing the time and cost difference between the in-stock countertops and ones we'd have to special order, we opted for the less-expensive, faster option. Terry, our ever-helpful neighbor, came over yesterday to help Chris install them. I am thankful. I was worried that with our inexperience, we wouldn't do a very good job. But Terry is a pro, and I can cast those worries aside.

In other news, Finley came to me about a month ago, bubbling with excitement and determination. Mrs. Sweeney, the music teacher at school, was about to hold auditions for Melody Makers, a 4th and 5th grade extra-curricular choir. Finley wanted to try out. Warning sirens went off in my head. My sweet, music-loving daughter can barely hold a tune. "That's great, Finley! I am proud of you for wanting to try out. I just want you to know that you might not make it," I cautioned her.

For the audition, the students were to sing Mrs. Sweeney a song, then try to match notes she played on the piano. I practiced with Finley. The results were not very good. I was not very optimistic, but kept my opinion to myself.

The day of auditions, I picked the kids up from school. As I pulled up to the curb, it was obvious, Finley was floating on air. "I made it! I made it!" she yelled before I could even open the door. Out of the 65 kids that auditioned for the 36 member choir, Finley was #36 on the list.

All I can think is that Finley's Sue-Heck-ish enthusiasm won her a place, because she certainly doesn't have the greatest ear. (Chris keeps making Barney Fife jokes to me on the side.) So, thank you, Mrs. Sweeney. Maybe you see potential that we can't. Maybe you just needed some truly earnest kids to boost the energy of the choir. Either way, I don't care. Finley really enjoys it, and I am just praying this experience will help my daughter to sing mostly in tune. That would be amazing.

I Will Not Be Cranky

We got most of the flooring laid this past week, and finished up the kitchen floor on Monday.

The laundry/mud room still needs to be done, but Finley was sent home Monday with strep. Tuesday, I discovered that the van's battery had gone kaput and a had to take Finley to a doctor's appointment. (Thank goodness for the truck.) Today, after getting a 4:15 wake-up thanks to Chris's alarm clock (I will not be cranky), I wrestled the battery out of the van. With an older model vehicle, the job would have taken about 30 seconds, but the brilliant engineers at Chevy buried this battery under a bar bolted to the frame, a fuse box, and tangle of wires, so it took a bit longer. 

In the mean time, the kitchen waits for counter tops and for Chris to hook up some plumbing. Once that is done, we are hoping to at least get a temporary occupancy permit so that we can move out of the trailer...