Electric fences

For 3, maybe 4, months a year our property borders an electric fence. It is about 8 feet from our chickens and the garden. It is so beautiful to get up and have coffee while watching a newborn calf nurse from his mother. I love it here. My children are growing up in the same house I did and playing in the same yard I did. Hank grew up on a small farm, so this property was a good fit for him.

I slowly feel we are becoming our own small farm. There is always something that needs done. Like yesterday. I took Goldie outside to swing. While we were out I noticed the walnuts on the ground needed to be picked up so Hank could mow the grass. I walked over to get a wheelbarrow to put them in. While getting the wheelbarrow I see that the chickens need water. I take the bucket back to the house. While I'm dunking it in the rain barrel I turn to check on Goldie. She is headed toward the cow pasture. Despite my running and screaming, she beat me to it. By a mile. I felt like I was in a race against the electric current. This time we won. The fence wasn't working. (FYI, they don't deliver a continuous shock, it travels around the fence, which is very long. I've been shocked and it hurts, but it isn't dangerous, kwim?) The neighbor called later to see if everything was ok. She was outside and heard me yelling. I told her Goldie was fine, but I was very sore and would be spending the afternoon on the couch. I'm 29 weeks pg, not a good time to start sprinting.

I really believe inclusion begins at home, but I struggle with including Goldie and keeping my sanity her safe. She usually stands and watches the chickens while I get the water. Hank taught her to pull grass and feed it to them. This is very cute, but she's gotten her fingers pecked already.