Between the Barstool and the Floor

Sunbathing in our lambing paddock! Photo by Roger Ingram.

Perhaps a decade ago or more, I had the amazing opportunity to meet folksinger and activist Utah Phillips at Riverhill Farm in Nevada City – owned at that time by my friend Alan Haight. I’d heard Phillips on our local community radio station (KVMR) for years – if you’ve never heard his story Moose Turd Pie, you owe it to yourself to listen – regardless of your politics! It might be the most humorous story about working on a crew ever! It's good (though)!

But back to this story! Somewhere (probably on KVMR), I heard Phillips tell a story about his pacifism. As I recall, the story involved a bar fight in which he was on the losing end. The guy next to him punched him so hard he fell off his barstool. He said, and I paraphrase, “Somewhere between the barstool and the floor, you decide whether you’re really a pacifist.”

I was reminded of this story this week when my Flying Mule Sheep Company partner Roger Ingram sent me a photo of a grey fox, from inside our lambing paddock! Roger is taking the afternoon checks now that we’re done lambing – and he came upon a sunbathing fox inside our 10-acre pasture. The fox trotted off to the brushy ravine that bisects the paddock and -  despite our repeated attempts to flush him out later that evening – was never seen again.

The next morning, when I checked the sheep, both livestock guardian dogs were down in the creek channel when I arrived. Neither was barking, and neither was particularly agitated. The sheep seemed calm – a handful of ewes were calling for recalcitrant lambs, but nobody seemed to be missing a lamb.

As the handful of you who read my blog know, we’ve committed to using nonlethal predator protection tools as much as possible. Our electric fencing and livestock guardian dogs seem to work – we’ve never lost an animal where we were using both. And part of the reason I love raising sheep on rangeland is that it puts me in an environment where I’m likely to see wildlife – including predators.

But I realized this week, after seeing the fox, that I’m probably not a pacifist when it comes to protecting our sheep. We use LGDs and electric fencing as a rational – rather than philosophical – approach to raising sheep. Ultimately, I think I have an ethical responsibility to my sheep as well as to my environment. Our predator protection approach minimizes conflict; our responsibility to the sheep in our care would require more direct action.

Because of the drought, we’re trying to maximize our grazing in every paddock we build. This current paddock has enough forage to last for two more days – which buys us two more days before we need to ship the flock back to irrigated pasture around April 19. We could move – away from the fox and away from the forage – but it would mean moving sheep early or buying expensive hay. And while I’ve realized that I’m probably not a pacifist when it comes to predators, I’ve also realized – somewhere between the barstool and the floor – that I should trust our system (and especially our dogs!)

Elko - a happy guardian!

Watching Other Dogs

As some of you will know, I've had the opportunity to observe a large number of livestock guardian dogs - both in my capacity as a livestock advisor with the University of California Cooperative Extension (UCCE) and in my private capacity as a shepherd (and a student of everything sheep). I've watched our own dogs and learned about the management approaches and behavioral characteristics that result in a dog that fits in our system. I've studied other people's dogs and learned even more about the relationship between dogs, livestock, and people. Over the last several years, I've used geographic position system (GPS) technology and trail cameras to try to learn about the relationship between dogs and predators. And recently, I've had the opportunity to observe dogs and livestock owned by other producers who use management systems different than ours. As the summer 2019 grazing season wraps up, I thought I'd share some of my recent observations.

Last week, I camped near Russell Valley north of Truckee to be able to watch Luis, who works as a sheepherder for Talbott Sheep Company, take his band of ewes (a band is roughly 1000 head of sheep) from their bed grounds (near his camp) out to graze. Last week, Luis' camp was located on the east side of the road that runs from Boca Reservoir north to Stampede Reservoir. Just after sunrise, Luis and his border collies worked the band across the road and down to the meadow adjacent to the Little Truckee River. This group of sheep is guarded by a single guardian dog (a second dog had decided to visit too many campgrounds, so he was relocated to a more remote band of sheep). The dog led the sheep across the road and down to the river to drink. But I use "led" loosely here; the dog was in front of the band, but the ewes seemed more intent on grazing than on following the dog. After they'd grazed for several hours, the sheep decided it was time to head back towards camp. At this point, Luis and his collies went back up the road to keep the ewes grazing in the meadow for another hour or two. The livestock guardian dog followed the sheep this time.

This week, after checking in with both bands of sheep in the Stampede region, I paid a visit to Squaw Valley Ski Resort. My friends Brad and Alana Fowler and Nathan and Kaitlyn Medlar are working with Squaw-Alpine to determine if goats can help the resort manage the height of vegetation on the ski slopes (lower vegetation requires less snow for coverage - meaning an earlier ski season!). Brad Robinson, Squaw-Alpine’s environmental manager, is a graduate of Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. His experience at Cal Poly's Swanton Pacific Ranch convinced him that livestock could be an effective tool.

Brad and Nathan had turned goats out on the slopes on Monday. On Tuesday, I arrived at about the same time as Nathan's wife, Kaitlyn - who had two Big White Dogs in the back seat of her truck. Brad and Nathan reported that the goats had been restless during their first trip up the mountain. While the goats were herded during the day, they were penned in electro-net for the first night. According to Brad and Nathan, neither goats nor herders got much sleep the first night; coyotes on the outside of the night pen kept them up most of the night. After daylight, both Brad and Nathan observed coyotes near the goats. Which is why Kaitlyn was delivering dogs on Tuesday.

We put the dogs in the back of Brad's truck and drove up to the goats on Tuesday afternoon. Nathan and Kaitlyn led the dogs down to the goats and gently pushed the herd upslope. Brad had indicated that the goats had moved uphill rapidly the day before; on Tuesday, with the dogs, they ambled up the mountain, grazing as they went. Both Brad and Nathan reported this morning that the dogs and the goats seemed much more relaxed - both goats and herders got some sleep last night. Brad texted that the dogs chased a coyote out of camp last night; Nathan sent a photo of the dogs and the goats comfortably grazing the ski slope - held in place by high quality forage rather than any fences.

As I thought about these experiences, I think that the livestock were more confident because they with with dogs they knew. The sheep near Stampede continued to graze contentedly even once they spotted an unknown human (me) in close proximity. Their dog knew I was there - and I'm sure the sheep knew that he knew - and so they were confident that they were safe. At Squaw Valley, I could almost see the goats heave a collective sigh of relief when the dogs arrived - and their subsequent grazing behavior suggested that the dogs helped them settle into a new environment.

There is a risk, I realize, in anthropomorphizing these observations. Trust and confidence seem like human emotions. That said, there is scientific literature that supports my observations. Research conducted at the U.S. Sheep Center in Dubois, Idaho, suggests that "that ewes grazing with accompanying LGD will travel greater daily distances compared with ewes grazing without LGD accompaniment. As a result of traveling greater distances, ewes may also be exposed to more and varied foraging opportunities." (Webber et al. 2015). For me, these observations suggest that the bonding process works both ways. I've always focused on bonding our dogs with our sheep; I'm coming to realize that the sheep (or any other livestock) must bond with their dogs, as well.

In the coming weeks, I hope to post some videos of my observations. In the meantime, I hope other producers will share their experiences (good and bad) in using livestock guardian dogs!

Legacies

Yesterday was a difficult day for my family. We had to put down two animals that had been a part of our family for more than a decade. Reno, our oldest (and best) livestock guardian dog was ten or eleven; Woolly, our oldest daughter's first ewe, was fifteen. Both will be missed, but both also left a lasting legacy in our sheep operation.

Reno came to us as a six-month old puppy from a small-scale goat operation east of Nevada City. There were times in that first year when we didn't think he'd work out. We were still new to using guard dogs, and Reno tested our abilities (and our patience). He chased lambs. He chewed on ears (indeed, we had a one-eared ewe for many years who we called Vinnie - for Vincent Van Gogh). Thankfully, Reno outgrew puppyhood and ultimately became our most trusted guardian. Somewhere, I have a photo of lambs climbing on him.

He also had a mischievous side. If he got out of our electric fence (which rarely happened), he'd explore the neighborhood. He enjoyed these excursions even more if he knew we were trying to catch him. As I've written previously, I think Reno would have flipped me the bird if he'd had a middle digit on his front feet. I finally realized that Reno was playing a game when he went on these jaunts. If I ignored him, he'd quickly come back to me so I could put him back with his sheep. He also never turned down a chicken dinner (if he could get it fresh), and he didn't care for cats or raccoons (much to their detriment). A cat-killing dog doesn't do much for relations with one's grazing landlord.

Woolly was a Dorset ewe that we bought for Lara when she was 6 years old. Lara's cousins still tease her about the summer visit when the three of them tried to halter-break Woolly (Hanna was 9 and Sara was 12) - apparently Woolly drug Lara face down around the pen several times. I suspect this was the same summer that Lara and Hanna sneaked off and ate four dozen ears of sweet corn from my market garden one afternoon, so the accuracy of their story can't be entirely trusted. Woolly later gave birth to the first lamb Lara showed at the Gold Country Fair - a sheep-showing career that ultimately earned Lara enough money to buy her first truck. After ten or eleven sets of lambs, we let Woolly retire - she lived out these last years grazing our home pastures.

As anyone who loves animals knows, the departure of an animal leaves a little hole in our lives and in our hearts. Part of our responsibility as animal owners is to prevent pain and suffering - and yesterday we realized that the time had come for us to let both of these animals go. As I've mourned their loss over the last 24 hours, however, I've realized my relationship with these animals is different because they were not pets - they were both an important part of our sheep operation. As such, they both leave important legacies for Flying Mule Sheep Company.

Reno helped me understand how important proper bonding with livestock was for a livestock guardian dog. He taught me to be patient with puppy misbehavior, but also to insist that he outgrow this behavior. And in his later years, he helped me realize the importance of allowing a younger dog to learn from (and be corrected by) an older dog. The video below from last lambing season shows Reno insisting that Bodie keep a respectful distance from a ewe and newborn lamb. I realize that Reno was just protecting his access to this ewe's afterbirth, but this correction was much like Bodie's graduation from puppy to guardian. Bodie is in charge this year as we begin to lamb, and we're fully confident in him.

Woolly gave birth to a number of ewes that are still in our flock. She was an outstanding mother - she usually had twins, and she could always count to two (meaning, she always took care of both of her lambs). Her maternal ability, and her ability to thrive on all kinds of forage, will live on in her daughters and granddaughters that remain in our flock. Her genetic influence lives on in our operation, much to our benefit.

To some, I suppose, my sorrow at losing these two animals may seem mushy - I'm a rancher, after all, and ranchers aren't supposed to be sentimental, right?! And yet I think we are - every rancher I know mourns the loss of their animal partners. And every rancher I know pays attention to the legacy that these animals leave in our operations. A ewe who passes on her maternal traits and ability to thrive in our specific environment is incredibly valuable. A dog who passes on his protective instincts lives on in the dogs he helps us train. I'm not sure I can articulate this, but I feel the loss of Reno and Woolly (and the other canine and ovine working partners I've lost as a rancher) far more profoundly than that I've felt for any pet. I owe them both my gratitude.