This is what my mother called me, when several years ago, she and my sister Eleanor came here for a visit. She may have called me this before then, I don’t remember. This title is most apt. My mother was also the one who, when I was a teenager, said that I’d someday move to Alaska and raise ponies. This is the honest to dog truth.

The Farmer Alys moniker is, at least these days, most fitting. I enjoy tending to all the animals most of the time. Most of the time. When, like tonight, the temperature is dropping and I’ve just finished dinner and it’s warm inside and cold outside, I have to dig down deep in order to get a move on. But once I get going, I become unaware of the discomfort brought about by the colder weather.

Farmer Alys

My days begin and end with my caring for the horses; cleaning up after them, and feeding and watering them. I also take a close look at them, in order to make note of any stiffness or lacerations.

Right now, Tinni is coughing; I hope that this is because he’s been eating leaves. I’m now keeping him in his pen and making sure that I pick up the leaves. I would like for him to get out in the yard – this isn’t such a good idea, so I instead make sure that he gets taken for a daily walk.

Right now, we have a milking goat. When Swampy got here, she kicked when milked. She also has an odd shaped udder and one small teat, which makes hand milking fairly difficult. We ordered a milking machine. She kicked for a bit, but she is now used to it. I also began praising her for not kicking. And after, I made a fuss over her. She’s now much more cooperative. Problem is, the milking machine sometimes doesn’t work, and I then have to milk by hand. I got very used to the machine, and so I throw a fit when it breaks down.

But overall, I enjoy milking. I also enjoy pen cleaning, all animals, the goats included. Pete’s having partially rebuilt the chicken coop and fashioning new gates for the animal area in the upper quadrant has also made my job easier.

Why is it that I enjoy tending to animals? The answer is that it is in my DNA. When we were in Ireland, we headed away from the airport and came to a stone barn – a horse had his head sticking over the wooden stall door. Seeing this sight triggered something deep in me – I thought, in my distant past, I must have cleaned stone stables.

A cousin of mine once told my sister that I had a relative in Australia, a female, who was a well-known and respected horse person. I’d like to find out more about this. And too, I am part Scotch, which could also account for the animal husbandry gene.

Environment might also play a role in my animal husbandry related preferences, but I don’t see it. No one in my family ever encouraged this interest. I guess my love of being around livestock must be genetic.

Next: 269. 9/29/21: Another Conversation with Tyra