Jules T. Jones

The T stands for Trouble, can't you tell? That's her middle name.

The Little Peaches

Let's not forget that Peaches, April's daughter, also had two babies on Friday. They were both girls. Their names are Ginger Jones (aka Jonesy) and Jules Jones. As usual, one has nice LaMancha ears, and the other has full Nigerian ears. Oddly, the Nigerian-looking girl (Ginger, with the blue eyes) is much bigger. That is what always happens.

Gus and April

This is Gus, asking April if she feels better yet.

A Long Story About a Rainy Day in Gorst

And when it rains, it pours. If anyone should know that, we should.

Well, on Friday it was pouring down rain and seven kinds of trouble.

In the morning the farmer got up and April and her daughter Peaches were both starting into labor. The garage up in Gorst, about 45 minutes away, had called the night before to say that the horse trailer was ready after being in the shop for two months with a broken axle, which is another story about seven kinds of trouble but that will have to wait for another rainy day.

Anyway, the farmer really wanted the trailer to go and get some hay and the trailer place is closed all weekend, so the farmer looked at April and Peaches and calculated that there was no way they would kid before noon, and then made what we'll call:

Mistake Number One:
The farmer decided to run up to Gorst and get the trailer as soon as the garage opened and then run back home.

This left Lori home alone babysitting April and Peaches.

The farmer hurried up to Bremerton, paid for the trailer, pulled the truck into the garage parking lot to hook up to the trailer, put the truck in reverse, stepped on the gas, and the truck died. The truck died and remained dead. The farmer looked at Spenny the border collie who was along for the ride as usual and said, "the truck just died."

Spenny the border collie nodded; she knew. Spenny actually had thought something like that might happen but didn't want to say anything.

The truck was dead, stone cold dead, and the only good thing about it was that it was already at a gas station. The garage man said he would be very happy to have one of his mechanics look at it.

ON MONDAY.

The farmer tried and tried to call Lori but Lori was out in the barn and didn't answer the phone. The farmer called a reliable friend who answered from her car. She was on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge (half an hour away) and headed in the opposite direction. She asked if the farmer wanted her to just turn around? Then the farmer made what we'll call:

Mistake Number Two:
"No, that's okay," said the farmer. "I will call my neighbor."

The farmer called a neighbor who is very nice but in retrospect not the most talented navigator. The farmer explained the situation. The neighbor obligingly agreed to go over and tell Lori what was happening and then come and pick the farmer up.

"I'm in Gorst," the farmer said, speaking very clearly. "Do you know where Gorst is? If you take the Belfair Highway up north, it is right where the Belfair Highway meets Highway 16."

"I know where it is," said the neighbor.

Two hours later the farmer was still standing in the rain outside the gas station in Gorst. Something, to point out the obvious, didn't seem right.

The farmer called Lori, who now had her cellphone turned on. "Where are you?" said Lori, sounding very rattled, "are you almost here?"

Peaches was hard in labor by now and having a difficult time. In the next stall over, April's water had broken an hour ago and now nothing was happening. Not a good situation at all.

The neighbor was lost; he thought Gorst was south instead of north and had driven the wrong way on the Belfair Highway, then had to turn around and come back. The 45 minute trip took over two hours, then 45 minutes more to get back home.

The farmer arrived just as Peaches managed to get her second baby on the ground. She and her daughters were tired but doing well.

April was in deep trouble and getting deeper. The farmer scrubbed up and went in and it was a forest of legs, no heads to be found. The farmer tried to get one of the babies out backwards but couldn't get the baby turned around. The other one was upside down and there is no way to deliver a live baby upside down.

The farmer called the first vet on the list. He couldn't come. The farmer called the second vet on the list. He wasn't in the office on Friday. The farmer called the third vet on the list. She was out of the office until 2:30. The farmer scrubbed up again and went back in and tried again; April was breathing hard and shaking and starting to get shocky. No luck.

Lori went inside and called the fourth vet on the list. The fourth vet couldn't fit the farmer in. The third vet's receptionist called back and suggested calling the emergency vet up near Bremerton.

The farmer had never heard of it. "Where is it?" asked the farmer.

"In Gorst," said the receptionist.

Within a few minutes April was loaded in the van and headed for the unknown vet in Gorst. By this time she was shaking and panting with her mouth open. It was a long drive back to Gorst.

When April arrived at the vet she had a temperature of 105 degrees and no color in her gums and by this time certainly the babies were dead. The vet had nice small hands but couldn't get the backwards baby out. But she was young and not conceited, so she asked the vet tech to try.

The vet tech had been raising Alpines for 20 years and within a couple of minutes she had the backwards baby out. He was not only alive he was very feisty; he soon got up and went for a drink of milk.

Now for baby number two. Baby number two would not come out, even with more room to maneuver. He was stuck fast. He had his feet forward and his head tucked into an armpit. Again the vet tried and tried and could not get the head around to pull him out. Again the vet asked the vet tech to try. It wasn't easy but soon she had him out.

He was stunned but alive. After a good slapping (sorry, little man) he sneezed a couple of times.

April was panting and very weak but starting to feel much better. The vet loaded her up on pain meds, and she finally accepted a drink of water and some grain. Her temperature started to come down. Soon the new family was headed home in the van.

April had a rough night then began to perk up. She is doing pretty well now. The farmer thinks she is probably retired from having babies.

The boys are doing well. It has taken a few days for the second baby to get his legs straightened out, he was jammed in so tight. But he gets around pretty well now, and all that oxygen has done his little brain a world of good.

His brother's name is Gus. His name is Come and Get Me I'm Stuck in Gorst and I Can't Get Out.

But we just call him Stuckey.

New Kids on the Block

Eo and her twin boys, born on Thursday afternoon, are enjoying a cozy stay in the barn. From what I can see, the food service is very good up there. Down here we get nothing but hay and a sprinkling of grain, hardly enough to live on.

Anyway, the boys' names are Stetson and Bugsy. Stetson is about 7 seconds older than Bugsy, and bigger. He is calm like his dad. Bugsy is smaller and more mischievous, with a little white cap.

Please welcome Bugsy and Stetson.

Change to the Schedule

There has been a change to the schedule. Eo just had her kids, a pair of little bucklings who look like bunny rabbits with buckskin jackets and big stetson ears. Unlike most little goat boys, they got right with the program: hit the ground, shake it off, stand up, head for the milk bar, fill stomach, go to sleep. All in the space of about ten minutes, which is longer than it takes most of the little boys to just shake it off.

Downstream from Devil's Head

We are not really downstream from Devil's Head, we are upstream. But sometimes you can be downstream without being downstream. And even without any stream.

Devil's Head is at the very southern tip of our little Key Peninsula, which is gradually growing less and less rural. The Key Peninsula is a very beautiful and largely unknown peninsula, full of little bays and coves, and until recently very heavily wooded.

Take for example Devil's Head, which was pristine forest and timberland until the real estate prices soared and developers started moving in. The zoning around here is very whimsical - one set of zoning laws for the regular people, and another set for the rich people.

Devil's Head was always zoned timberland, until a developer bought it and lobbied for the zoning to be changed. The developer had a lot of money, as you might imagine. And the zoning changed, very quickly and very quietly. Imagine the county's secret delight: instead of hundreds of acres of trees, taxed at a rate equal to be about 10% of the rate of the regular residential rate, they soon will have dozens of tax-paying waterfront estates, each valued, no doubt, at a million dollars or more.

With that stroke of the pen, logging crews moved in and clearcut 400 acres for the future waterfront homes of the future soon-to-be-moving-here rich people.

Well, you can cry about that all you want, but I guess it is the way of the world. What can one goat really do. Rich people have to live somewhere.

But so do coyotes. And when they clearcut that 400 acres of Douglas fir forest, one of the last big chunks of woodland around here, all those coyotes had to go somewhere. And where do you think they went?

Downstream. Which, in this case, is upstream.

At night we used to occasionally hear two or three coyotes howling, four or five if it was a big night. And many nights we heard nothing.

Now we hear dozens, and not just at night. They are creeping ever closer to the back pasture: during the big freeze they trotted boldly about during the day, drinking from the creek at the back of our fenceline. Yesterday our neighbor ran outside in the middle of the afternoon, getting two shots off at a pair of coyotes in the back pasture.

We don't like killing wild animals. But we don't like them killing us, either. And it's too bad we have to do it.

After all they used to have a nice waterfront home.

But that's life, downstream from the rich people.

Almost Time...

Usually the kidding season starts around Valentine's Day here. But this year we are not scheduled to start until February 23, which in case you didn't know is this Friday. Right now there are three very big girls in the pre-kidding shed. Eo is first in line, then April, then Peaches.

In case you are wondering how often things go according to the schedule here, the answer is not never. But pretty close to it.

Anyway, here is a picture of Eo and her pal Spenny, back in the days when she was a bottle baby and stood around the woodstove in her pull-ups. Eo liked living in the house but she likes outdoor living better.

Transfer Requested

In this photo, drill team captain Breezy respectfully asks the farmer if Wendell could be reassigned to another drill team, possibly a horse team or even a cat team. Any other team.

Drill Team Dropout

In this photo, Breezy tries to explain to Wendell how the goat drill team is supposed to work.

Wrong Way Wendell

In this photo everyone enjoys a formation frolic in the back pasture. Except Wendell, who has to run in the wrong direction.

Lambs, lambs, lambs

Well obviously baby sheep are not as cute as baby goats. But these come pretty close...