The first porcupine we ever saw was in October of 2008, according to the nature logbook we keep here on the farm. We were taking an autumn walk in the hayfield, and we were astonished by the porcupine. Such a majestic bristly silvery self! It seemed less impressed by us, as it slowly wandered away.

Years later, we found the second porcupine in the woodchuck trap in our garden. The closer we got, the bigger the porcupine looked, all puffed up in its black and white glory. We opened the trap, and this porcupine waddled away as fast as a porcupine can. Then we picked up the pretty little quills from under the trap and put them on our mantle.

The third porcupine we didn't actually see. We only saw its quills in the muzzle and fetlock of our overly curious draft horse Moon. For some reason that event didn't make it into the logbook, and we can't remember if we got the quills out, or had to call the vet. That time we did not put the pretty little quills on our mantle.

The fourth porcupine appeared this fall, when I was taking an evening walk with our farm pooch through the fields. My, I thought, that is a strange dark pile of horse manure. Then the pile moved and I realized it was a cute little porcupine, nearly all black, and wondering what I was doing in its field.

Happily, the pooch did not spy the porcupine, and we took the long way around. The next evening we took a walk about the same time in about the same place. Apparently porcupines are creatures of habit, just as people and pooches are. There was my prickly little friend again. This time my dog was right nearby, and there was no stopping him.

The pooch bounced and barked in a gleeful ring around the porcupine, who was revolving in slow and ever more bristly circles to keep the dog at bay. Meanwhile, I was issuing every command this dog has ever learned in daily training sessions and eight (yes, eight!) training classes. I used my commands in a friendly fashion, a stern fashion, a desperate fashion. The pooch merrily bounced and barked.

It happened to be a Sunday evening, and my fellow was away, and the next day was a holiday, and I did not want a dog full of quills, no indeed. I was carrying a 15 foot dog lead, which has a small snap on the end, and I swung that snap in the dog's direction. The bonk distracted him for the seconds I needed to get hold of him. Then I marched him away.

The next day I avoided the hayfield altogether, and we did not see the little porcupine. Instead my pooch and I went for a nice walk down the shady lane, where we came upon an enormous porcupine.

Bounce, bounce, bark, bark, said my pooch.

Cut it out, right now, said the porcupine.

Am I glad I have the lead attached to you today, said I, to the dog. I stepped on the end of the lead, the dog stopped, and the porcupine skedaddled away over the stone wall.

But soon enough, on another walk, another evening – a Sunday evening, when we have company – my pooch decides to go up the hill by himself, which is unusual. Hmm, I think, I wonder what that's about.

Bark, bark, bark! I hear. I sigh, and trudge up the hill. The barking stops. Good, I think, the porcupine went under the busted hayloader, and the dog is trying to get under the hayloader too.

Alas, the porcupine is slowly walking away, and my pooch is on the ground, rubbing his muzzle with his paws. Oh, he is a very sad pooch, with a mouthful of quills. Oh, we hope he has learned the Lesson of Porcupine.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Oct 15 - Oct 21, 2025

Dog, dog, dog, dog, dog. This vegetable farmer was amused to realize that the last five out of six sustainable farming columns have been about a certain farm puppy. Not only that, when we had our regular summer visitors, we talked about the farm less than the dog: the dog books we read, the dog documentaries we watch, the dog training classes we attend.

But really, this dog is all about vegetables and farming.

Green beans: the dog loves ‘em. Brussels sprouts: the dog loves ‘em. Carrots, potatoes, tomatoes: loves ‘em.

Kale, winter squash, beets, zucchini. Yes, yes, yes. Also berries, apples, and cider. (Not to mention corn, popcorn, dog food, dog treats, peanut butter, and cheese, none of which we grow.)

The farm pooch also loves to dig holes, especially nearby a farmer digging carrots, or less pleasingly, in a garden pathway, where a farmer has to look sharp or fall in a heap.

The dog loves row cover, too, which the farmers use to protect crops from bugs. However, the farmers like their row cover without holes. The dog has his own designated piece of old holey row cover, which he periodically improves with more holes.

Plus the dog loves grain bags nearly as much as the farm draft horses do, except they like what’s inside and he likes what’s outside. What’s more fun than a noisy flappy empty feed bag to thrash about?

He does not, however, love the draft horses. They’re mighty big, and sometimes he stands three feet in front of one and barks, until a) a farmer gets annoyed and calls the dog away or b) the horse gets annoyed and walks toward the dog. Then the dog runs away, wisely.

The dog does love the farm cat, who does not return the favor, and no wonder, as the dog bounces around the cat, inviting her to play, and occasionally chases her, if a farmer is not quick enough to redirect him.

The pooch also loves the farmers’ market, and waits in the truck for an hour on market mornings, eager to go. (However, as the season went on, he became altogether too eager at the market, what with all the other exciting dogs and people. Bark, bark, bark, he said. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Leap, leap, leap. Alas, he lost his market privileges.

Happily, there was only one market day left, and there is only so much dog sadness I can stand: I took him on an alternate farm excursion to Stonewall Farm, where he invited the goats to play. At least he didn’t bark at them.)

This dog also loves the CSA members who come to our farm, and mostly he behaves when they come. Recently, though, as a CSA member came up the drive, the dog, after a nice initial greeting, jumped on her.

“Off!” I said firmly to the dog, and “Oh, I’m very sorry!” to our CSA member.

“Don’t worry,” she answered, “I love dogs,” which was lucky for us. I hastened to tell her that our pooch hardly ever jumps, and had just passed his canine good citizen test at our Monadnock Humane Society class.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” she answered. “What did he have to do, vote?”

I laughed, thinking: Hmm . . . if a dog could vote, we might have kindness, understanding, good food, good friends, a comfortable bed, a little freedom to run in the fields . . .

Then I explained the ten canine good citizen tasks. On the test, the pooch did beautifully on nine of the tasks. He did need a second chance on the tenth, which was listening to his person instead of leaping delightedly at a new dog.

“Well, I think he’s just perfect,” said our CSA member, scratching the farm pooch's ears.

“Thanks,” I answered. “We go to training classes so he doesn’t jump on CSA members.” Then we both laughed, as the pooch wagged his tail innocently.

Originally published in the Monadock Shopper News, Nov 13-19, 2024

Farm Talk

Kim Peavey