The Gift

I dreamed that God gave me 5 beautifully wrapped presents and He spoke these words as He placed them in my hands, "These gifts are not for you to keep, they are to be given to those you meet along life's way. It is up to you to decide who you will bestow them upon."

As I started my journey, my heart was filled with joyous anticipation as I began looking for those worthy of the marvelous gifts.  Surely I would meet a King or Queen or, at the very least, a Prince to bestow them upon.

Just then I saw an old man alongside the road--his head was bandaged, his eyes clouded with pain. As he held his withered hand out to me he cried, "Please help me".

I have no medical knowledge (I told myself). What else could I possibly give this dirty beggar?  Surely God did not mean for me to waste one of His precious gifts on this pitiful man.

And I went on my way, never giving him another thought.

I walked for many miles clutching the presents to me.  I hadn't really noticed before, but the gifts were becoming a bit heavy.  I hoped that soon I would meet someone worthy of these God given gifts.

Down the road I saw 3 people, a woman and 2 small children.  My spirit lifted as I anticipated finally bestowing the first of the gifts.  But, as the woman and children drew closer, I realized the woman's clothes were threadbare-the children untidy.  "Please, could you spare just a small piece of bread for my children, it's been so long since we've eaten."

"I have only enough for my journey, I couldn't possibly spare anything for you or your children", I told the woman.  And I went on my way, never looking back once.

The beautifully wrapped gifts seemed to be growing heavier with each step I took.  Those very things that once brought so much joy and anticipation now began to be a burden.

Soon, very soon, I thought, I will find someone worthy of one of these marvelous gifts.

Just then a well-dressed man approached me--surely he would be someone I could bestow a gift upon.  He said, "Can you tell me what the most precious thing in the world is?  You see, I am very wealthy but I'm not content.  I'm searching for joy that will last forever.  Do you know where I can find it"?

I clutched the presents even more tightly to me.  This man already has everything, why should I waste one of MY gifts on someone who wouldn't appreciate it any ways?

And I left him on the side of the road, alone and searching.

Time seemed to pass more slowly now, and it was days before I saw another person.

Finally, in the distance I saw a man and I ran to meet him.  The gifts had long since become a burden-the wrapping dirty and torn.  I was very disappointed that I hadn't found even one person worthy of a gift.

The sadness in the stranger's eyes was almost overwhelming and it was some time before his voice broke the silence.  "My child, how was your journey"?  Looking down at the presents He said, "I see you still have all the gifts I gave you.  I thought by now you would have given at least one away".

"Lord, there wasn't a single person I found worthy to bestow them upon. I looked hard and long but to no avail."

He said, "Suppose we open them and see what's inside.  Maybe then you could think of someone in need of their contents."

One by one I excitedly opened the gifts--secretly hoping I would be allowed to keep them.

The 1st package contained clean bandages and a cup of cool water.  I quickly tossed it aside, anxious to unwrap the next present--surely it would contain gold or silver or something of great worth.

The 2nd package had a loaf of freshly baked bread and a jar of honey in it.  Odd, I thought, that anyone would consider this a precious gift.

I impatiently tore open the wrappings of the 3rd present, hoping it would be the valuable gift I had anticipated during my long journey.  Instead, I found a Bible and I quickly laid it aside.  After all, I already had several of them at home.

The anticipation was almost unbearable as I opened the 4th gift.  In it was a parchment inscribed with 3 words: "Compassion, Encouragement and Love".

I didn't understand, so I asked the Lord, "What good are these gifts to me"?

"You've missed the point, My child.  These were gifts you were to give others but, you clung to them so tightly they were of no use to anyone--including yourself.  You have spent your life deciding who was worthy of your time and talents.  You were selective about who you called your brother.  And, Compassion, Encouragement and Love were brought out only on special occasions and, when it wasn't too inconvenient for you.  That's not how they were meant to be used, I gave you these gifts to share and now it's too late."

"How sad it makes Me to know that these very special gifts I bestowed on you were wasted.  My child, I picked them out just for you."

"You could have made such a difference in so many lives, you could have touched many for My Kingdom."

I could not meet His gaze, the tears on His cheeks pierced my very soul.

I hung my head in shame-all my excuses were hollow--there was nothing left for me to say.

It seemed like hours passed before I looked up again but, when I did, He was gone.  And on the ground lay the last unopened present.  I intended to leave it there in the road, certain I'd find its contents condemning to my very soul.

But something inside me whispered, "open it", and with trembling fingers I removed the wrappings--once dirty and torn--now shiny and new.  This 5th package contained another parchment inscribed with 3 words written especially for me: "Forgiven" and "Another Chance".


Shepherdess Blog
 December 18, 2011
Copyright 1995  Jackie Deems

WHO'S RESCUING WHO?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4 kittens needed to be rescued, how hard could that be?...

I got a call from a lady who asked if I could take in 4 kittens.  It was only 1/2 hour drive to her place so I figured I'd pick up the cats and have plenty of time to get them settled in before evening. 

On  the way to pick up the cats, the air conditioning in my van seemed to be barely blowing out semi- cool air but, it was only a half hour drive.

I got lost on the way to pick up the cats and when I called for better directions the "cat lady" sounded like she was speed talking and didn't seem to know where she lived to boot.  Hmmm...maybe she was on some kind of medication.  Any ways, the 1/2 hour drive took almost 1-1/2 hours.

I finally got to her place and she showed me her cat "collection". Now, I am not one to say you can ever have too many cats and I am a bit of a collector too, I suppose. But this woman lived in a trailer park where you are allowed to have only 2 cats and she clearly had 20+ cats.   "I planted all these bushes so my cats are hidden from the other residents.  No one knows how many cats I have for sure".  OK!  Her neighbors must be blind because I could see them all. Many were black and white and did not exactly blend in with the bushes. 

Whatever the case, I wanted to get the kittens and run but she had to show me all her cats, her cat toys, beds, etc.  "I have 6, 6-week-old  kittens and their mom but you can only have 4 kittens, my daughter wants the mom and 2 of the kittens."  Whatever. I was fine with that.  "Could you take an adult cat too?  I have a female cat, Sassy, that is already spayed and is a very sweet girl." Whatever again.  And we went outside to find one of the camouflaged by bushes black and white cats.

"Sassy" was indeed camouflaged.  Actually, she was so camouflaged she was outright invisible. By now it was 90 degrees with 1,000% humidity and we were both crawling around in the bushes trying to find this wonderful, sweet, invisible cat.  Am I on Candid Camera? No! Are you sure?

I finally said I had to go, packed up the kittens in a carrier, and almost got out of the driveway before Sassy appeared.  Yay!  I think.  I put Sassy in another carrier and got the heck out of Dodge.

I only got lost 3 times before I found the freeway and headed for home. I had 1/3 tank of gas, plenty to get home, until the traffic stopped a mile up the road.  Dead stop.  No cars moving.  No exits for miles. No air conditioning. 5 hot cats in a very hot van. Did I mention the kittens were very sick with upper respiratory infections and had trouble breathing before they were put in carriers and placed in a van with no working air conditioning?

Uh oh, the kittens were starting to open mouth breathe and panting they were so hot. Not good.

I alternately watched the kittens (in a carrier in the front seat), the adult cat (in a carrier in the back of the van), my gas gauge (which seemed to inch closer to empty before my eyes) and the stopped traffic.  This is not good, something is going to die: my van, the kittens or a cat. Maybe me. This was not the best situation for someone with asthma.

"Dear Lord, please don't let anyone or anything die. I am trying to rescue cats, not kill them in the process of helping them."

The traffic started to inch forward causing a slight "breeze" (I use that term so very loosely). I knew I had to do something about these open mouth breathing kittens but was in the far left lane and no one would let me over to the side of the road. So, I opened their carrier and took out each kitten, one by one, and held the sweet babies up to the window to get some air. Hot, humid air, but moving air at least.

 Each time I opened the carrier all the kittens tried to bail out. I had to push the kittens back in the carrier, grab just one, and hold it up to the window without dropping the little terrified wiggling ball of fur with needle sharp claws. Over and over again I repeated the process: open carrier, push kittens back in, grab just one, hold kitten up to the window--don't drop the kitten!!!

I am normally a very cautious driver and take driving very seriously. For me to continually take my eyes off the road (especially in bumper to bumper slow moving traffic) was a total act of faith. But all I could think of was getting those little ones to safety and I was going to do everything in my power to get them all safely home.

What should have been a 1/2 hour drive took almost 2 hours that day, but we got home. Safely. No one died. In fact, after all was said and done no one looked any worse for the wear. Well, maybe I did but that didn't matter.

The kittens are all happy, healthy (now) and a joy to have on our farm. I hope to adopt them out but maybe, just maybe, I won't try too hard to place these 4 kittens in another home. We went through quite an ordeal together and I learned yet another valuable life lesson the day I "rescued" those kittens.

I 'm sure you've all seen the bumper sticker that reads, "God Is My Co-Pilot".  Maybe you even rolled your eyes when you read it. Well, I think, after my rescue-the-kittens-day I could have a bumper sticker made that says, "God is my Pilot".

The funny sad thing about it is that it took 4 little sick kittens to make me realize again that I truly was not the rescuer that day (and so very many other days).  God was!

Shepherdess Blog
Copyright November 2011
Jackie Deems

Better To Have Loved?

 

 

 

 

 

I thought I had gone through enough losses that I'd become almost accustomed to them...

I remember clearly the first time I saw Baby.  I was in the midst of planning a funeral for a dear friend I'd been guardian of for 10 years and one of my cats had been very sick for 2 weeks ( I had taken her to the vet's several times and was caring for her at home).  I also remember thinking to myself, "If just 1 more thing happens...".

Two coworkers showed up at my doorstep with a day old kitten and asked if I'd take it.  Evidently, the kitten's mom had abandoned it and I was her last hope for survival.  Just 1 more thing happened...

I knew the intensive care a newborn kitten would need, including feedings every 4 hours around the clock. I looked down at this pitiful creature: eyes closed, swollen belly, no fur--let's just say not remotely cute in any way.  Lack of cuteness factor aside, I knew I had to take her and hurriedly looked around for a kitten bottle and formula, then got her settled into a tiny box with blankets and a heating pad. I also knew she may not survive despite my best efforts and vowed not to get attached to her.

My sick cat was definitely taking a turn for the worse and I got her out of the cage to comfort her.  Her
fever was still high and she bit me then died moments later.  It's not bad enough she died, but biting me just before she died was concerning since we weren't sure what illness she had.

I called my doctor immediately and the nurse urged me to come in NOW to get an injection and major antibiotic.  "Cat bites can be nasty", the nurse said.  Hmmm, I was on my way to plan a funeral, I just took in a day old kitten and I should go right to the doctor's office in the midst of all that?  I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, finished getting ready to go to the funeral home, and stopped by the doctor's office to get my injection and antibiotic.

On to the funeral home, back home to feed the kitten, take the cat to the vet's for a necropsy....seems like a normal life....

Then kitten watching went into full swing: feeding her every 4 hours, making sure she kept warm enough (I woke up continually to check her), cuddling the newborn, etc. It was exhausting, especially during the funeral process, but we got into a rhythym and she thrived, became responsive to me and even a little cute.

I named her Baby, because she was such a little baby and actually began to look forward to her feedings because she would hold the bottle between her miniscule paws and look up at me (through not yet focusing eyes) as though I was the most important thing in the world. Looking back, I guess I really was her world and she was fast becoming an important part of mine. Uh oh, I was getting attached...

On to kitten play and baby meowing and all the silliness (and cuteness) that comes with kittens.  I knew she needed to interact with others her age so found another kitten that was about 6 weeks old.  What a time they had rolling around, trying to climb and just being alive.  I don't know if there's a more joyful creature than a healthy kitten nor is there anything more joyful to watch, at least in my opinion.

When she was about 6 months old Baby became sick and I spent the night with her on the couchbed giving her electrolytes and cuddling her. She would wake up during the night, look up at me with trusting eyes and purr as loudly as a jet engine.  "You can't leave me for a long time, Baby", I said to her as I held her close to me.

Baby and her friend, Cream Puff, lived in the house for quite some time and Baby always preferred my company to that of another cat's or human's.  I was her mom and no one was going to convince her otherwise.  She was my little girl and we just seemed to have a mutual admiration society going for each other.

I eventually moved the 2 girls into a cabin on our property and they loved their little clubhouse (I am allergic to cats and really wasn't supposed to have them in the house--right).  Every day I would open their door and Baby would jump onto my lap and tell me alll about what happened in my absence.  During the day both girls would run and play outside in the grass then wait for me to put them to bed at night. Again, baby would always jump onto my lap and tell me about her day, then go in to her clubhouse for the night.

For years we had our routine and each time Baby would see me outside she'd meow loudly and follow me around. She helped me garden and do chores and everything else I did on a regular basis. 

Until recently when Cream Puff died unexpectedly and Baby seemed lost and stressed.  She quit eating and I once again, began to baby her and spend a lot of time with her.  I even took her to the vet's and got medication to soothe her upset stomach.  Before long she was back to being her old self again and I brought her into the house in the evenings to be with me.  I held her and she purred as loud as a jet engine and looked up at me with trusting eyes filled with love. "You can't leave me for a long time, Baby", I reminderd her.

Last Saturday morning I went about my chores giving one of our latest rescue dogs, Lucy, some time to run on a long cable until my husband could take her for her daily walk.  After breakfast I went out to finish chores and saw that Lucy had broken her collar and was running free.  Lucy is not a big fan of our cats and I was concerned she had gotten ahold of 1 of them.  I put Lucy back in her kennel run and took inventory of my cats--Baby and Pumpkin were missing. 

I called for both of them and figured if Lucy had gotten ahold of a cat she would have brought  it to show us, kind of like our cats do when they catch a mouse. I thought she had likely just scared Baby and Pumpkin and they were in a tree hiding somewhere. I continued to call and look for the 2 cats during the day and into the evening but saw neither one.

Day 4 of calling and looking brought Pumpkin back to me.  As the week had gone by I was growing more and more concerned for Baby because I thought if she were hurt she would at least meow to let me know where she was.  I prayed she would return to me unharmed--she wasn't supposed to leave me for a long time...

Finally this morning I found Baby. Her neck had been broken (most likely by Lucy). She was hidden among the brush close to her clubhouse.  Except for the broken neck, she looked like she was napping as she had done so many times in my lap over the years. 

Baby has left me.  It was inevitable but so brutal and unexpected.  I'd hoped I would have had the honor of being there when Baby left me--many years from now.

We rescued Lucy, who was slated to be euthanized at the pound, and she killed a rescue cat. She killed a cat whose life I had saved. Not just any cat, but Baby.

You may be saying, "It's just a cat, what's the big deal"?  You're right, in the grand scheme of things losing a cat is not on the top of most people's list of difficult life experiences.  And maybe I know that better than most since I have gone through 2 miscarriages and watched my only (full term) child suffer and die from a terminal illness. I'm no stranger to loss.

But there was just something about this cat, Baby, that makes it so difficult.  She loved me and I her.  She trusted me and believed I would always take care of  her--always protect her.  Just like my son, Richie, did (who was also not supposed to leave me for a long time). And maybe, just maybe, that's why the loss of this cat is so difficult. Implicit trust and unwavering love are hard to find and even harder to let go of whether it comes in human or "furry" form. 

With God's help I know I will survive this and any other loss that comes my way until He calls me Home to reunite with those who helped me be a better person--just by their being in my life--no matter how brief the meeting.  For I believe God allows heartache in our lives to make us more loving and kind and compassionate--and for many other reasons. 

If left to myself , I would choose only good things to happen in my life--we all would. But then I think about the old saying, "Better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all".  And, I realize I am happier (and sometimes sadder too) for all the loved ones I have lost but would not change having them in my life for anything in the world. For even though I may not understand why they had to leave me "too soon", I can celebrate the fact I had them in my life at all.

Is the joy of loving worth the pain of losing?  The answer to that, at least in my life, is a resounding YES!



Shepherdess Blog
Jackie Deems
Copyright September 2011

Unexpected Angels

It seemed like a chance meeting, but is any meeting really just by chance...?

I was in the midst of vending at a large Wool Show this past weekend when a stranger and I struck up a conversation about  my rescue animal efforts.  I talked to her about the  2 dogs and 10 cats I'd recently rescued and she told me about her two beloved Labradors, one she had just recently lost at the age of 13.  With tears in her eyes she told me about her beloved companion and asked if any of my rescues were Labs.

I had just recently rescued a Lab/Border Collie Mix and then told her about 10 Black Lab mixes I had been working to place in new homes that were in jeopardy of  being euthanized at the local pound. It seems Big Black Dogs don't easily find homes at this pound. Without hesitation she said, "I'll take one of those dogs". It took me by surprise that this perfect stranger would say something like that but I sensed she truly meant it. I promised to contact the pound when I got home and would get back with her.

I wasn't home 24 hours before I got a phone call from my vet telling me about a stray Black Lab mix that had come into the clinic over the weekend (at the same time I was speaking to the stranger about her dog at the Wool Show). He was a sweet guy, maybe 6 months old, and the vet had taken financial responsibility for him until he found a new home. "Thomas", she told me, had also tested Heartworm Positive. Unfortunately, the treatment for Heartworm Positive Dogs is not presently available from the company that produces it. No one seems to know the reason why, it's just not available. And, the vet also told me if they did not find a home for Thomas by Thursday or Friday he would be euthanized.

It's hard enough to find a home for a rescue dog but almost impossible to find a home for a dog with a health issue for which there may not be a cure.  I told the vet I'd start contacting my rescue connections and get back with her then quickly prayed and asked God to help me find a new home for Thomas.

At that moment I knew I should call the lady I'd met at the Wool Show, the kind lady who said she'd rescue one of the Big Black Dogs at the local pound.  Could I really ask a stranger, ask anyone, to take on this kind of a financial and emotional burden?  Somehow it did not seem odd to ask her.  Somehow I knew Thomas would have a loving home with her.

I had the ladies' work number and left a voice message on her business answering machine. I went to bed that night praying that she would accept Thomas as he was, problems and all.

The next morning I received a call from the lady and told her about Thomas and his medical problems.  Without hesitation she said, "I'll take him". I repeated his medical condition to her and suggested she speak with her vet first. She said again, "I'll take him", but also wanted to check with her husband who told her he would support her decision.

We talked several times throughout the day and she told me about the preliminary research she'd done regarding Heartworm Positive Protocol and how she was sure she could come up with some alternative to the usual treatment.  Even though she hadn't even met him yet, Thomas was already her dog.

Tomorrow I will take Thomas to meet his new family, a family who, even though they don't need the emotional and financial tug at their hearts and purse strings, are the ones who are willingly saving Thomas from being euthanized.

I consider these "strangers" to be Angels.  Unexpected Angels.  And I shouldn't be surprised God sent this Angel my way in the midst of a busy Wool Show.  If I hadn't been paying attention, as is so often the case, I could have missed this opportunity, the chance to save a sweet rescue dog's life.

How often I go about my life at breakneck speed, barely noticing what goes on around me--just getting through the day.  What if I paused for just a moment?  How many unexpected Angels have I already missed?

I need to see past my own daily agenda and lists of things to do so I can be so much more aware of the Unexpected Angels God continually puts in my path.  He puts them there to help make my life easier, my burdens lighter and to show me how much He really cares about what I really care about.  Even when what I care about, at the moment, is a sick little dog with no home.

And, when all is said and done it's still hard for me to understand why the God of the Universe would take time to listen to my heart's cries. But I'm convinced He does. How else can I explain that, beyond all earthly reason, Thomas has a new home?

Some would say it's just coincidence or luck which always reminds me of a bumper sticker I read many years ago, "Luck is what a fool calls it when God gives him a break". 

Believe what you will but I believe there's no such thing as luck, only Divine Intervention sometimes in the form of Unexpected Angels.




UPDATE:  I just returned from taking Thomas to his new mom.  It was love at first sight--for both of them. And, after contacting many vet offices, his new family already found treatment for his heartworm condition.

As I think again about the events leading up to Thomas finding a new home, I realize that even more Unexpected Angels took part in this story than I originally realized: There was the person who brought Thomas to the vet clinic in the first place and also the vet who, instead of refusing Thomas treatment because he had no owner, took on the financial responsibility herself.  Thomas, I, and his new family thank you all!



Jackie Deems
Shepherdess Blog
Copyright September 2011

Bats? In MY Belfrey...

I thought it was bats making those sounds in our attic...

I was in our upstairs computer room when I heard some strange noises coming from the attic. We have a very, very, very old house so I just figured some bats had taken up lodging in the attic.  No big deal as long as I didn't have to go up and live with them or they didn't come down to live with me.

The noises continued for several nights so I thought I'd check the attic during the day when bats slept.  The only problem with our very, very, very old house is that the only way into the attic is up through a very small door in the ceiling of my husband's closet. Who thought of that genius bit of architecture?  Well, to be fair, our house was supposed to have been part of the Underground Railroad before the Civil War. So, having an obscure entrance into the attic--where the slaves were reportedly hidden--made some sense.

Any ways, I decided to get a chair and a flood spotlight then headed for the attic entrance all the way envisioning that Alfred Hitchcock movie "The Birds" or the old Dracula movies I'd grown up with. Scenes of flying bats completely encircling me were giving me second thoughts about my adventure.  I'm not afraid of bats, or spiders, or snakes, I just don't like to get surprised by them.

I cracked the attic door open carefully and slowly then shone the spotlight half expecting to be attacked by bats.  Before I knew it I had half my body up through the door shining the light into the far corners of the attic.  I was almost disappointed when I didn't see any bats because I knew there was something hanging out in our attic making strange noises. I got myself out of the small attic door and went on with my chores for the day.

That night the strange attic noises returned.  Though I wanted to know what was making the noises, I did not want to know badly enough to confront whatever it was while it was making those noises.

The next morning I opened the door to our guest bedroom and it looked like a bear had trashed the room.  My beautiful room was unrecognizable: wallpaper was torn off the walls, the bedspread was shredded, curtains were off the rods, knick knacks were shattered and laying on the floor and the worst part--the whole room had been used for a toilet. Yes, a toilet!

What did this?  It sure wasn't bats. Then I looked up and saw a new entrance into the attic, a large hole in the ceiling. Obvioulsy, a bear had not been living in my attic--I knew I was looking at a raccoon party gone way wrong.

After the shock wore off I called my insurance agent and he said to leave the room as it was until he could get there--in about 2 weeks! Sure, I'll just leave that raccoon "stuff" in the room for 2 weeks undisturbed.  No problem! What kind of insurance agent says that?  Maybe one on Candid Camera.

Next I called an exterminator who live traps raccoons, skunks, etc.  Since I found the raccoon's exit, a huge hole in my window screen, he suggested I go up into the attic and find where they were getting in so I could board it up. Right. I am going up into a raccoon urine soaked hole in my ceiling (that's evidently how the ceiling plaster gave way was from the "wetness") with a flashlight, boards, nails a hammer, etc. to board up the holes in an effort to keep the raccoons out of my attic. 

Of course, my husband was out of state for work as was the norm any time there is a "situation" on the farm.  And it's not something you really want to call a friend or neighbor either to ask them to do: "Hey, could you come over and go up into my attic in the 1,000 degree heat and board up holes in my roof vents.  Oh, did I mention you would first have to travel through a raccoon urine soaked hole in my ceiling to get to the attic?" Not many volunteers for that job.

So I gathered all my supplies,climbed the ladder through the urine soaked hole and found the raccoons had actually taken the roof vent covers off and just walked right into the attic. Wonderful, creative little creatures, raccoons. I shone the floodlight all through the attic to make sure I wasn't boarding up raccoons and did not see even 1 raccoon or, any bats for that matter.

After what seemed like I'd spent days in a dark, cobweb laden sauna that smelled like raccoon pee, I came back down the ladder and covered the ceiling hole with boards.  Mission accomplished. I had won: humans 1, raccoons 0. Hmm...is trashing a room really a 0? It is when I'm keeping score.

I took pictures of the room for the insurance agent, who couldn't get there for 2 weeks, then started the disgusting job of cleaning up the raccoon toilet, once known as my beautiful guest bedroom. I never gagged so much in one day.  I felt filthy even though I wore gloves, a long sleeved shirt and pants in the 1,000 degree heat. After hours and hours of cleaning and sorting and gagging I was as done as I could be. I took a shower for what seemed like hours but never really felt clean. I wondered if I'd ever feel clean again and if my sinuses would be permanently burned with the fumes of the raccoon urine I had inhaled.

That night I sat in my computer room expecting silence from the attic above...but the strange noises I'd heard before were now amplified and frantic. I had trapped the raccoons in the attic! Somehow I had not seen them by the light of the spotlight. They were not only trapped but obviously very, very ticked off. They wanted out but I wasn't about to go up in the attic and let them out. I prayed the boards covering the urine soaked hole in the ceiling would hold for the night. I had just finished cleaning the room that very day, the last thing I wanted to do was have those very, very, very unhappy raccoons get back into that room to trash it again.

I had nightmares about rabid raccoons breaking through the boards then coming to find me in my bedroom. In my dreams I was surrounded by hundreds of raccoons chanting, "Board her up in the attic in the 1,000 degree heat, see how she likes it. Better yet, board us into the attic with her and see who comes out still breathing."

First daylight I went into the raccoon room (what I now called it), climbed the ladder, took the boards off, put the upper part of my body through the you know what hole, and set a live trap in the attic.  I put the boards back covering the hole and went on with my day.

That night the frantic and amplified raccoon noises continued but I was so tired from not sleeping the night before I fell right to sleep. Yay, thank You, Lord, no rabid raccoon dreams...

The next morning I slowly took the boards covering the ceiling hole off, shone my spotlight on the live trap and saw the biggest raccoon in the history of the world caught in the trap. He was a monster, very hungry (the apple I'd set in the trap to attract him hardly curbed his appetite) and not in the least bit amused.

What I hadn't planned for was how I was going to get the raccoon and trap out of the attic and through the ceiling hole without suffering major bodily harm. You see, to get the trap out I had to stand on the ladder and tip the trap towards me within inches of my face, all the while being threatened by a large, hungry, not amused raccoon who, in his mind, was fighting for his life. Visions of a face transplant played too vividly through my mind.

As I tipped the trap towards me, the raccoon started snarling, trying to bite me through the cage and just generally trying to kill me. Stay calm, girl...I prayed very, very, very hard.

I finally got trap and raccoon safely out of the hole, put the snarling creature (and trap) in my car and relocated my big furry friend 20 miles away. Yay! humans 2, raccoons 1 (for being so menacing).

Peace, finally peace! My raccoon ordeal was over.  Until that night--in the computer room--the frantic amplified noises again. Big, angry raccoon wasn't living alone. He had a friend. A hungry very, very, very ticked off not amused friend.

I hadn't reset the live trap after relocating the first raccoon, night time was not the time to do that. So I waited till the next day and reset the trap.  Rabid raccoon nightmares. No sleep again. Lots of praying!

Up the ladder I went the next morning and yes there he/she was, another very angry, very hungry, not amused very large raccoon in the live trap.

Face transplant thoughts, prayers, tip the trap towards my face, snarling, yay he's out, load him up in the car, drive 20 miles, set him free.  Yay, humans 3, menacing raccoons 2-1/2 (maybe)? Hey, I've got to at least feel like I won don't I?

This time I reset the trap.  No amplified noises in the attic that night. No nightmares. No menacing raccoon in the trap the next morning. Yay God!  We did it!

And, when all was said and done, I guess I did end up with an easier access to my attic...

Shepherdess Blog
Copyright 2013  Jackie Deems

Finally Home...

 My name is Buddy and I used to have a home...

I can still remember when I had a real home and was part of a loving family.  I had a bed and a food bowl and was even given special treats sometimes.  My family told me what a good boy I was and I got hugs and kisses and had toys to play with to keep me busy when my family went away.  I took long walks and, at times, even got to run and play until I couldn't run any more. And every night I slept peacefully knowing I was loved.

One day that all changed. I found myself in a cage next to dogs I did not know and was being taken care of by people I had never seen before.  At first I thought I was just going to be in the new place for a little while,  I just knew my family would be back to pick me up.  They wouldn't leave me here, they love me.  I am part of the family...

Every day I looked for them and every time I heard the door of the room I was in open I strained to see if it was them.  But it wasn't.  The only people I ever saw were our caretakers and strangers who looked really sad and I never saw again.

Where is my family?

I never went on long walks or got to run and play until I couldn't run any more. I cried and barked a lot and rarely slept at night.  I did finally make friends with Barney, a dog living in a cage next to me, and at night we'd sleep as close as we could get to each other and that helped me to be less lonely.  He'd been there longer than me and had given up on his family ever coming back for him.  But I still hadn't given up on mine.

Then one day one of our caretakers came to get Barney and she was crying.  Why was she crying?  Barney wagged his tail as he walked away and I barked for him to come back.  He looked at me for a moment then went happily on his way.  I waited all day for Barney to come back and I cried that night as I laid as close to his cage as I could. I knew he wasn't coming back.

Once in a while some nice people would come to take me for a walk in the dog yard. They would talk about me, pet me and tell me what a nice dog I was.  At first I thought my family sent them to bring me back home but they always took me back to my cage and I never saw them again.

I started noticing that one by one, all the dogs that had been brought to live in the cages around the same time I had were leaving and not coming back.  Sometimes they left to go live with a new family but most of the time a caregiver came to take them for a walk somewhere--each time the caregiver was crying--each time the dog never came back. I think their family was waiting in another room to take them home and the caretaker was taking them to meet their family.

And then it happened.  A caregiver was walking towards my cage and she was crying.  As she took me for a walk she told me what a good boy I was.  I was happy, really happy, for the first time since I'd been living in the cage. I was going home, finally going home...

Jackie Deems
Shepherdess Blog Copyright 2011

Bless the beasts and the children
For in this world they have no voice
They have no choice

Bless the beasts and the children
For the world can never be
The world they see

Light their way
When the darkness surrounds them
Give them love
Let it shine all around them

Bless the beasts and the children
Give them shelter from a storm
Keep them safe
Keep them warm

Written by Richard Carpenter & John Bettis



*According to The Humane Society of the United States, "Four million cats and dogs--about one every 8 seconds--are put down in U. S. shelters each year. Often these animals are the offspring of cherished family pets. Spay/neuter is a proven way to reduce pet overpopulation, ensuring  that every pet has a family to love them.

Many cats and dogs who die as a result of pet overpopulation could have made wonderful pets.

A solution is possible and starts with each of us taking one small step: getting our own pets spayed or neutered. To help stop pet overpopulation further, consider adopting your next pet from an animal shelter."

Most communities have reduced or low cost spay/neuter programs.  For more information on these programs contact your local Humane Society or Animal Shelter.

Close Encounters of the Bee Kind

I'm so glad I can provide entertainment and comic relief for my farm animals...

My husband had a long weekend off from work and also had a mile long "to do" list to go with the extra day off.  Friday started off  a little slow and he just kind of "putzed" around (not sure if putzed is a real word in anyone's dictionary but his) until the afternoon.

I noticed midday that there were some bees starting to enter my husband's work shop.  Chuck's a beekeeper and keeps his extra bee boxes and equipment in the front of his shop and a few bees will go in and check out the smell of the bee boxes then leave.  These bees didn't leave. As it was getting dark I asked my husband if the bees shouldn't be getting back to their hives before dark. They should be. Then I noticed there were even more of them trying to get out of closed windows.  He just shut the bees in for the night so they'd be safe.

The next morning he opened the building to let the bees out but they did not want to come out, they seemed to have found a new home.  By noon the bee count went from 50 to hundreds of bees going in and out of the very building he had wanted to work in all of his long weekend.

It seems one of his hives had split--taken their new queen--then found new digs in a bee box in his workshop.  The only way to enter that building now was to wear a bee suit--a hot, heavy bee suit and head gear that makes you look like an astronaut.  If I were a bee I'm thinking a giant white astronaut coming at me in a menacing way would make me pull the bee attack alarm. Nope, it doesn't. They just ignore it and go on their merry bee ways.

Night 2--my husband closes his workshop full of bees to keep them safe.  The next morning is church, then my husband comes home to get into his astronaut suit.  I literally could hear the roar of the bees from my house as soon as he opened his workshop door.  

Cats were running, dogs headed for cover--it was an all out bee frenzy as the very ticked off bees were making their ransom demands known: 1)We want this bee box 2)We want honey to eat (we're too lazy to find nectar) 3)No more astronauts--next one that comes through this door is toast. If our ransom demands are not met, Pumpkin, the only cat still in this building, will become 1 with the bees (in other words, sleep with the fishes).  What can I say? We met their demands.

Little did these little hijackers know, we had a plan too. As soon as it got almost dark (when the bees go in their box for the night) we were going to relocate the very bee box they were so enamored with to its rightful place on the farm.

Chuck donned the astronaut suit. I did not. I was already hot, sweaty, mosquito repellanted to death and was in no mood to put on an even hotter suit of clothes. Besides, the last time I got all suited up to move a hive I never saw even 1 bee.  I was not trying to be "macho"--if a woman can be--I just didn't see the need to put on a bee suit. So, we put the bee box on our farm gator and off we went to the other side of the farm.

All went well as the box was being placed on its stand.  Then the astronaut opened the bee hive entrance and all bee hell broke loose.  Chuck was covered with bees and yelled for me to head for the hills in the gator.  Not that he was going to get hurt with that astronaut suit, gloves, boots, etc--the bees wouldn't be able to touch him. 

I hesitated as I saw the bees all over him--my first instinct was to go towards him to help.  But, something I learned years ago in the beekeeping world--and something you will want to burn into your memory for all time is: If the astronaut is waving his arms at you it does not mean "Hello, glad to see you". It means, loosely translated, "Get the heck out of dodge!"

So I did...

The astronaut walked behind me and, as he did, the bees went back to their hive.  All but 5 or 6 of them.  They wanted the astronaut to die. Remember their ransom demand, "No more astronauts"! They remembered it too.

I, however, was not an astronaut. And all that sweat and bug spray did not make me smell beelike, neither did it make me invisible to bees.  Quite the opposite.  As Chuck walked past me with his 5-6 bee companions clinging mercilessly to his suit, 1 of them decided I should die too. It attacked me with a fury few humans have known, then dove under my shirt and made its, "I may not kill you but I'll die trying" high pitched sound that is unmistakeable to man or beast even if they've never heard it before.

This is where the entertainment of the farm animals began...

I'm not afraid of getting stung. I've been stung before. But there are just certain places I'd rather not be stung.  I vigorously shook my shirt out (all the while telling the bee I was its friend) hoping somehow it would understand my alien murmurings.  It didn't.  The "I want to kill you" sound was at a fever pitch so I upped my game. I did the Watusi, the Mashed Potato, the Jerk--anything I could do to get that bee out of my shirt. Yes, I did...all the while trying not to kill the bee. Remember, I can't kill things even if they want to kill me.

Within seconds the bee was safely removed and all was well.  No one had seen me, thank goodness...

Then I looked up and saw 23 sets of eyes transfixed on me: Sheep, Livestock Guard Dogs and 2 rescue Goats were standing statue still watching mom dance and "sing". 

Chuck had stayed far enough away from me as to not attract any more bees but close enough to see that I was ok.  I had just performed a "So You Think You Can Dance Routine" (that no one else could touch), for their viewing pleasure. And, it seemed to either terrify the animals so much they were afraid to move (after all, they might be the next to be "danced" with) or put them in some sort of paralyzing hypnotic trance.

I'll never know what they were thinking but I 'm pretty sure I heard the goats snickering as I took a much deserved bow and went on my way...



Jackie Deems
Shepherdess Blog
Copyright 2011

Farewell to a Forever Friend

My dear little farm dog, Bear, has just taken her last breath...

I remember the first time I saw her, she was locked in a kennel at the dog pound, huddled in the far corner of  her cage, too afraid to even look at me--just thinking about it caused her to tremble.  "She's really not adoptable since she's so shy and afraid."  The pound worker informed me.  "We can keep her for a week but after that, her time will be up."

I couldn't get that little bundle of white fur out of my mind so I called the pound back the next day to ask about her status.  "Today is her last day, we had a big intake of dogs and she's first on the list to "go" now.

I called my husband at work and pleaded for Bear's life.  He said, "We don't need another dog".  My reply, "Maybe she needs us" met with no further resistance. I went and got that little dog--along with all the adult cats the pound was housing--put them in the back of my van and went straight to the vet's to have everyone neutered.  I hadn't even thought about what I was doing (I was just so glad I had them all out of the pound safely): 1 dog with 9 cats in the back of a van...but Bear just laid quietly and slept the whole trip.

When I brought her home the next day, she followed me everywhere.  She became my chore dog and constant companion--20 pounds of fur and feisty. But she would not come into the house, not even for a moment.  I soon figured out this little girl did not like to be caged, tied, or held back.  She just had to be free.

So, I finally gave in and just allowed her to roam the farm.  Our 1/3 mile long lane seemed to keep her off the road and at any given time of day or night she came immediately when I called her so I knew she remained close at hand.

My husband, I and the farm cats made up her circle of friends and she regularly scratched the farm cats' backs with her teeth (leaving them looking as if they'd been moussed) and allowed them entrance into her doghouse where they slept together. 

She was a character, her normal bark was more of a "Woo-Woo" and, if she barked as a normal dog, it was rapid fire and for a reason.  Like the time a very large dog (at least 3 times Bear's size) came out of nowhere, bearing it's teeth and menacingly coming towards me.  Rapid fire barking was followed by a streak of white fur and Bear's broadside hit on the dog knocked it off its feet. I had saved her from death, she was saving me...

In the last few years of her life, Bear began wandering from our farm.  For her own safety, I began to try and keep her contained.  During that time she dug out of barns, climbed out of enclosures and even chewed her way out of chain link fence like a furry jaws of life. I rescued her back from 2 separate Humane Societies, one she was taken to by a Good Samaritan who had found her on the road, dazed and cold.  She just had to be free...

It was determined she had Doggie Dementia and her new medications seemed to keep her content at times--at other times she would work herself up into a frenzy trying to get out of her welded wire kennel placed on stone slab so she could not dig out.  We spent so many late nights together, her head in my lap, talking about all the sunny days and adventures we'd had on our 12 year journey.

Then she developed a growth on her toe and it was determined she likely had cancer.  She quit eating and so I fed her canned dog food with a spoon.  Her tail quit wagging, her eyes were vacant, but she didn't seem to be in pain. We spent long hours together--just being together.  I did not want to let go--she hung onto life because somehow she knew I needed her to...

Until 2 days ago when she was obviously in pain.  Maybe she was just having a bad day...let's see what tomorrow brings...but the next day was much worse as she cried out in pain...

A long conversation with my dear friend, Mary Ann, and my vet/friend brought me to the best conclusion for my beloved companion, my best furry girlfriend.  She had several problems that were not going to get better and she was 12 years old.  It was time for me to give her one last final gift--loving her enough to let her go.

Even though I could have taken Bear to the vet's office I asked the vet to come to our home--Bear's home--where she wouldn't be as stressed.  I wanted her time to be as loving and comfortable as it could be.  And, as the vet approached Bear to put her to rest, my little furry friend unselfishly gave me one last gift to show her love for me; she laid down in her most comfortable sleeping position as if to say, "I'm ready, don't worry about me, I'll be ok."

She just had to be free--my little Bear is finally free...


                                                                  

                                                                     To my Furry Angel Friend

Many years ago I asked God to send me a special earthly friend, someone I could put my arms around, someone who reflected many of His attributes...

I asked for someone who would ...

Love me unconditionally, even when I wasn't loving or lovable
Forgive me, when I was angry or really made a mess of things
Listen, when no one else wanted to
Try to understand me, even if I did not always return the favor
Keep my deepest secrets and share my heartaches
Sit quietly beside me as we just enjoyed each other's company
Treat me as if I was the most special person on earth--when I was so very, very far from being that

It's not until now, that you're gone from my side, that I realize God answered my prayer the moment He brought you into my life...

I will miss you always, my Furry Angel Friend--my Precious Gift from God. I thought you needed me, but it was I who truly needed you...

Love,
Mom



by Jackie Deems copyright 2011

Murder in the Chicken Yard

Ok, so today was going much too smoothly for me not to be suspicious...

All 130+ animals were on their feet and healthy...it hadn't started raining yet (for the first time in what seems like a decade)...and my breakfast had consisted of more than just a box of Milk Duds and a flat Sprite.  Life was good!

I did morning chores, checked emails, then started working on Shepherdess Bath & Body orders.  Life was still good until...

Buddy, our latest rescue dog (a long-haired Dachshund) decided the floor in the entryway resembled a fire hydrant.  When I picked him up to put him outside he decided I too looked alot like a fire hydrant.  Not usually one to let minor things "dampen" my mood, I washed up, changed clothes then continued working on my orders.

The day went by quickly and quietly and I felt I had accomplished more than usual.  Life was still good until I went out to do chores...

About 100 feet from the house and behind the grain trailer I saw an exorbitant amount of feathers. At first I thought it was the result of a chicken squabble.  Then I started seeing chicken parts.  As the old commercial used to say, "Parts is Parts" but it takes on a whole new meaning when you have a personal relationship with the chicken whose parts you are looking at.  In case you don't already know, I have a hard time killing a bug so killing one of my chickens, or seeing them dead and dismembered is quite a shock to my psyche.

Fluffy Butt had been brutally murdered!  Not just strangled or pecked to death but taken apart piece by piece (all "outer" pieces but 1 foot were missing ).  Molly, our Livestock Guard Dog had no blood on her white fur and she has always been very protective of her birds so, after questioning her, I ruled her out.  It was daylight so there would not typically be marauding raccoons to contend with (and Molly would have killed a raccoon anyways).

I asked the 5 remaining chickens what happened but none of them would make even a peep...

So, who killed Fluffy Butt?  Oh, now don't say the other chickens ganged up on her because of her name.  None of them have names that are stellar either: Flo the Fabulous Fat Chicken, Chicken Pox...need I say more?

The plot further thickens now that 1 of my Guineas, a Pied Hen, is missing this evening--no parts strewn around for all to see though--not even  a stray feather. I suspect Alien Guinea Abduction. I've read about it...

As for Fluffy Butt, I think my next line of questioning will be to the Colonel himself.  Does anyone know the phone number for KFC Headquarters?

P.S. To answer a few questions posed to me about this blog post...
       1)Yes, this really happened
       2)Yes, I am very, very sad it did happen--Fluffy Butt was my favorite chicken girlfriend.
       3)I don't always eat Milk Duds for breakfast, sometimes I eat Malted Milk Balls.
       4)I wrote this in a humorous fashion for a reason, if I didn't laugh, I'd cry...


Jackie Deems
Shepherdess Blog
Copyright 2011

Just A Shepherdess...

Greetings:

I have wanted to write a blog for quite some time but, since I take care of a small (30 acre) farm, a very old house and almost 140 animals--oh I also have an internet business too--time slips away much more quickly than I like.

I raise 2 breeds of miniature wool sheep, hence the name Shepherdess, and also rescue cats, dogs, goats, and whatever comes my way that I can physically and financially handle.  My husband and I started our livestock experience by raising and rescuing Llamas and were involved with Llamas for 12 years.  Llamas are large animals--not as large as horses and cows--but, for one person to handle alone they can become very large animals very quickly.  The mini sheep are a "doable" alternative for me and I can most often handle a 70-90 pound animal alone.

I find myself among the minority in regards to my shepherding "values".  Since I was not raised on a farm and, have been rescuing some sort of animal most of my life, I do not eat my wool sheep or sell them to those who will eat them or have them slaughtered. I understand that many people who raise sheep do so for meat.  It's just not in me to be aligned with the majority when it comes to seeing my sheep as meat.  I see them as friends and they all have names.

So here you have it, my first official blog. 

Shepherdess