Survivng The Winter On The Farm

Now that we've successfully made it through February, I thought a brief retrospective might be in order. Little PeeWee snoozed his way through most of the month:

My bird feeder was a hotbed of wildlife activity, not just with birds but also Cottontail rabbits. My personal bunnies became quite used to both me and the dogs, just keeping an eye on us instead of running away:

The cows continued to eat and poop, eat and poop, eat and poop. It's their life's work:

Clover, Fergus and Daphne slept on my bed. Madeline hopped up and down as the spirit moved her. Seamus and PeeWee slept on the floor:

Bramble got a cold and I treated him with antibiotics left over from PeeWee's eye infection. He in turn treated me to a scratched wrist:

The cows learned that the best protection from frigid westerlies was the east side of the barn:

I broke the tractor's two right tail lights and made arrangements to have them repaired (along with a few other repairs it needed). The work has not yet been done because I can't yet do without that tractor for a single day:

I seldom get all six dogs in one photo, but here they are, out in their fenced yard. I shudder to think of all the dog poop I'm going to have to clean when the snow melts:

The cows began to sense spring was nearing and walked often out in the snowy field to check it out. Apparently they were hoping to find green grass. When they didn't, they returned to the bale feeder. The chickens also sensed the nearing of spring and began laying again:

I wait for a dozen or so eggs to collect and then cook up omelets, complete with seasoning, for the dogs. I divide it up and put it atop their kibble. I don't suppose I need to tell you that makes the pooches very happy - and there has been no quibbling. The downside? Eggs cause Seamus to produce some atomic strength farts:

The chickens seemed happy and content in their coop for the winter. I liked it also because I knew they were safe from cars and predators. Also, they were indoors when I wanted to call it a night. I didn't have to wait for them to go back of their own accord:

And this, my friends, is why it's so difficult to keep the hen's water clean. One bird insists on sitting on top of the waterer, where she poops up a storm. I have been unable to persuade her to sit elsewhere although she jumps off when she sees me coming: