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That’s not Crackers the goose…

After the demise of my ENTIRE chicken flock thanks to a rascally neighborhood fox, it refueled my desire to adopt a canine who could slide effortlessly between companion animal and working farm dog.  The desire’s still there but after sleeping on it, I decided to complete a few of my other goals first so until then, I’ve become my own watchdog.

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We have one goose left–Crackers–who spends his (or her? not sure yet) days in the dog run and night locked up in the coop.  I keep a watchful eye on him throughout the day and fortunately, it’s been pretty uneventful.  Until yesterday.

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A sure sign of excitement–running when they aren’t required.

I spotted the horses prancing and snorting around out the window.  Usually, they’re lazily stuffing their faces with the new green grass but they were focused on something scary and fascinating.  I took a closer look and spotted it:

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A whitetail buck.
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The girls watching the deer from the kitchen.

His horns were barely sprouting and he was quietly rummaging around Cracker’s pen, nibbling on plants and tasting his poultry feed.

He took a gander at the goose and the horses and kept foraging.
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I watched carefully from the back door until he gracefully leaped the fence . . .
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. . . and headed straight for the garden.
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I’ve spend the last month combating foxes from eating my poultry (so far, fox: 10, me: 1) and the slugs from consuming every tender leaf that pops out of the garden beds.  I wasn’t about to let a deer help himself to a buffet.  Charging out the door, I shrieked at the deer to stay away from my peas.  It worked.  I might as well have been a dog growling and barking and nipping at his hocks.

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That’s right!  You’d better run!

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Welcome to the farm!

True stories of raising children, remodeling, braving the elements and plotting out life, all while living on a humble acreage in central Indiana.

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