crazy dogs, scary rats

My daughter took a picture yesterday of her dog and Iris, lounging in the yard.  Because it's the best picture I've ever seen of Iris, I cut my daughter's dog out of the picture (sorry, Hawkeye) to get this perfect portrait of mine.  
Iris has issues.  I'm fairly certain she could use a dog psychiatrist, but I can't afford one.  She will obsess on some crazy thing and chase it until she's exhausted.  She still attacks dogs, horses, and people fighting one another on television.  For a while she'd chase after birds in the pasture, but I think she finally realized she'd never catch one; so what was once a full-time job for her has become only an occasional, half-hearted effort.  In the house, she chases after reflections and shadows.  Just pick up a flashlight and she's all attention, because she knows once it's turned on there will be a beam of light she can chase.   
It's dark now on the mornings when I milk the cow.  Normally I would feel my way to the barn, then feel my way to the light switch and turn it on.  Now, though, with gigantic rats lurking in the shadows, I don't want to enter the barn in the dark and run the risk of stepping on a half-dead rat.  So I arm myself with a flashlight, and Iris chases the beam of light all the way to the barn.  
Crazy dog.   I wish she'd learn to chase rats.
Friday evening I tossed bar bait and bait packets in places I knew the rats would lurk.  I bought three different kinds of rat poison; if one didn't work, maybe another one would.  Saturday morning, the bait was gone.  Good!  I placed more bait bars in the same spot.
Sunday morning, those were gone.  I put more bait of a different kind there; when Cliff and I went out to go for our walk, I told him, "Let's go see if they've hauled off the bait again."  
While we were looking at the two hunks of poisoned stuff, one moved!  A rat was on the other side of the hole in the tin trying to pull it through.  
Cliff suggested that they might just be hauling the stuff off and stockpiling it, and perhaps I should quit putting out the bait for awhile.  

 Since then, the bait has stopped disappearing.  I'm hoping that means the rats are in the process of dying and are too weak to come back for more.  There were originally two hunks of bait by this rat hole; the remaining one has been gnawed upon.  I think that's good news.   
The only good rat is a dead rat.

Rats and mice

Yes, it's that time of year.  If you live in (or near) the country, you know what I mean:  Mice are trying to find a nice, warm place to spend the winter, and they really prefer living in a house with people; a home where there is dog food just sitting there for the taking, and crumbs dropped here and there to snack on.  
I've strategically placed mouse poison around the house, making sure it's in places where Iris can't find it.  This is an ongoing war, but I always win each battle.  I know how to deal with mice.  
Rats, not so much.  I was pretty sure I saw a big rat out of the corner of my eye last week, and sister-in-law Rena confirmed my suspicions the next day.  She got a good look at a rat whose size, according to her, surpassed that of a German shepherd.  
So Cliff and I had a nice motorcycle ride Friday to look at used tractors that will be auctioned off Monday at Cook Tractor.  That man could look at tractors all day long.  I just enjoy the ride that takes us to see them.  
On the way home, we stopped at a farm store and bought some bar bait, which is rat poison in a solid block that you just toss under and behind things; it works much better for outside use than the small pelleted stuff I use in the house.  
The next day, any bar bait I had tossed around was gone.  Totally.  I guess the rats must have taken it to their burrows to feed their families.  Or maybe that German-shepherd-sized one ate it all at one sitting. 
Because there are unkept yards on either side of our property where these pests can thrive, I imagine we'll always have to watch for them, and watch I shall!  My house is not that far from the barn, and I would freak out if any of those nasty rodents made it into my home.  
I try not to think about the fact that one female rat can easily raise twenty babies in a year.  
*shudder*

Stubborn calf

picture taken this morning

Cattle, like people, have their own personalities.  Last year, Bonnie's calf (Sir Loin) was gentle and cooperative.  If I needed to put him up for the night so I could milk his mother the next morning, I simply opened a sliding door and gently tapped him with the cattle prod; I could guide him as if he were a trained ox:  he'd walk in, and I'd shut the door.  He and his mother would bellow at one another at times while they were separated, but for the most part, they knew the drill and accepted it.  
I don't think cows are intelligent enough to reason things out, but Bonnie acts like she remembers how we took Sir Loin away from her, and therefore is over-protective of Clyde.  They are seldom more than six feet apart.  
I call them up the night before I want to milk Bonnie and shut them in the small lot so they can't run out; then I open the sliding door to the stall.  The first two times I did this, I was able to get Clyde into the stall without too much effort.  The third time, he went inside but ran out before I could get the door shut.  I'm not as fast as I used to be.  
Last night, I chased him around and around the small lot until I finally realized there was no way he was going into the stall.  I finally drove Bonnie in, and he followed.  It was nip and tuck getting her out without him following, though.  If Iris-De-Dog stayed at Clyde's heels a little better, she could possibly help me. But just as I think she's doing things correctly, she'll run in a circle around the calf and chase him in the opposite direction from where I want him to go.  
I have to lock Bonnie out of the small lot this year once the calf is put up, because she has figured out how to slide the door open with her head and let her calf out.  This morning she practically broke down a side door to the barn because I was too slow in getting ready to milk her.  
Maybe this weekend I'll have Cliff help me make a video of a sixty-six-year-old woman chasing a spry young calf around.  I'll bet you folks would get a good laugh out of it.       
On another note, I'm pretty sure I have rats in the barn.  I saw something last night out of the corner of my eye that was much bigger than a mouse.  I can stand an occasional mouse, but rats terrify me.  The war is on.