Well, the babies have been running amok and having a jamboree in the barn. Hannah Belle of course pays attention to her kids for about five minutes a day when she isn't having her nails done or testing fences and feedroom-door-locks around the farm. So her kids are pretty much latchkey kids anyway.
Scouty is mother of the year, but when the farmer turns her out for a couple of hours of herd time in the morning, she is glad to leave her four hungry kids behind, and they are happy to spend some time in daycare. And Mel's three little black bucks just go with the flow. So that makes ten babies in the jamboree, enough to find some trouble to get into.
It didn't take them long to discover that if they simply ran up the stairs they would find themselves in the hayloft where there are a lot of bales to jump on, assorted dusty furniture to decorate with little hoofprints, a cat to bother, and so on.
So ten of them raced up the stairs and scampered around. Then nine of them raced down and went on to other important projects.
Pretty soon a plaintive squalling issued from the hayloft: little HopScotch, being a boy and half-Nubian, was able to get up the stairs all right but couldn't get down. After a few minutes when he realized all his associates had disappeared, he began screaming to pass the time.
The farmer went up and showed him where the staircase was, but got exasperated when he still wouldn't come down.
Lori would have carried him down, but the farmer just said, "he'll have to figure it out himself," and went to feed the horses while Hoppity resumed his apocalyptic hollering.
All the babies continued playing, unmoved by Hoppity's end-of-the-world siren.
Except Harley.
Harley went to the bottom of the stairs and cocked his head sympathetically, listening to Hoppity. After a minute, he ran upstairs. As clear as day, Harley showed Hoppity how to go down the stairs. Then turned around at the bottom to see if Hoppity was following.
No.
Harley ran back up again - "look, Hoppity," - and then ran back down.
No use.
By this time the farmer was back. The farmer watched Harley do another fruitless stair-descending demonstration. The farmer gave up and went into the hayloft and carried Hoppity down.
Harley was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. They ran off together to play with the other eight.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
Peanut at Last
Well owing to several million snafus and tie-ups, the Peanut calendar was not finished until yesterday. And even now the proof hasn't arrived to be checked. But by this time next week, Peanut should make his debut as cover boy.
Many people of course do not buy calendars until April, why would they when nothing happens in the winter. Anyway, Peanut will be cover boy from April '08 until March '09, when he will be replaced by the next Goat Idol.
In other news, my daughter Hannah Belle has completely abandoned any hope of contending for Mother of the Year honors, reverting to her first freshener ways - dump the babies and off to gallivant around the farm. In fact, it looks like Scouty pretty much has Mother of the Year sewn up, even though there are many does left to kid.
Scouty's quads are fat, happy, confident and adorable. All because of Scouty's astonishing supply of milk and firm but gentle hand on the parental rudder.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Goats in the News
Hmm. This is an interesting story from Texas. Once or twice I have thought about getting married, but a day or so later I usually realize it is a ridiculous idea. Except for the gifts, of course.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
News From the Goat Hospital
Well, it was touch and go, and the farmer thought we might lose Tubster.
But the patients are stirring. First to recover was Big Orange, who is not a big complainer being a Zen Buddhist type of goat. But everyone has limits and Big Orange began murmuring in something like dismay when dinnertime came and went - AGAIN - without any grain.
Next to recover was Xie Xie, who takes to whining a little more naturally. "Where is all the food?" Xie Xie asked Big Orange, as if she would know.
Finally, tiny Spherical Tubster, the hardest hit of the yearlings, emerged from her stupor to begin complaining about the service she was getting in sick bay. Being three-quarters Nigerian, she knows her rights.
Is this all? Grass hay and a few leaves? Some sticks from a tree? Hello? Did you ever hear of death's door, which I am back from, and need some dinner?
HELLO? I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MANAGER!!!!
THE REAL MANAGER, NOT YOU!!!!
But the patients are stirring. First to recover was Big Orange, who is not a big complainer being a Zen Buddhist type of goat. But everyone has limits and Big Orange began murmuring in something like dismay when dinnertime came and went - AGAIN - without any grain.
Next to recover was Xie Xie, who takes to whining a little more naturally. "Where is all the food?" Xie Xie asked Big Orange, as if she would know.
Finally, tiny Spherical Tubster, the hardest hit of the yearlings, emerged from her stupor to begin complaining about the service she was getting in sick bay. Being three-quarters Nigerian, she knows her rights.
Is this all? Grass hay and a few leaves? Some sticks from a tree? Hello? Did you ever hear of death's door, which I am back from, and need some dinner?
HELLO? I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MANAGER!!!!
THE REAL MANAGER, NOT YOU!!!!
Saturday, February 23, 2008
The Other Shoe...
...has Dropped. Now there are three sick yearlings. Xie Xie, Big Orange, and Jules T. Jones (aka Tubster, aka mini-Me) are all quite sick. It appears we may have gotten some bad grain, since we just opened some new bags, but we still don't know for sure what is going on.
We are hoping for the best, and hoping no one else gets sick.
And in the meantime, to add insult to injury, ALL the grain has been taken away from EVERYBODY.
Poor Tubster is the sickest, then Xie Xie. Xie Xie has been barfing everywhere, which the farmer says is good, because it gets the bad things out. Ok, maybe. But it isn't pretty, that's for sure.
We are hoping for the best, and hoping no one else gets sick.
And in the meantime, to add insult to injury, ALL the grain has been taken away from EVERYBODY.
Poor Tubster is the sickest, then Xie Xie. Xie Xie has been barfing everywhere, which the farmer says is good, because it gets the bad things out. Ok, maybe. But it isn't pretty, that's for sure.
Advice for Getting Born
Hello. My name is Hopscotch, aka Wrusty Jr. I have some advice for getting born, if you are planning to do that.
My advice is: it isn't easy, but the best thing you can do is pick out a good mother, keep your head pointed downstream, and then just go with the flow. Don't fight it. And if it doesn't work out, try again next time.
Ok. Good luck.
Harley
This is my grandson Harley (aka Herron Hill's Harlequin Romance.)
The farmer thinks he is very pretty and may let him go as a buck if he goes to a nice farm.
He is BlueBelle and Filbert's big brother.
Cleo
This is one of Scouty's mini-Nubian daughters, lifting her landing flaps into place.
Her name is Cleo and she has a very pretty face.
Considering.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Babysitter Boy
Well believe it or not, Wendell has turned out to be a pretty good babysitter. He loves staring at baby goats and following them around. Once in a while when they get tired of their own company, they will play with him, and that makes his day. Today Filbert showed him how a wheelbarrow should be used.
He was also playing with BlueBelle, whom everyone has taken to calling Betty Jr., since she is the spitting image of Betty only prettier (if that's possible) and with wattles. The farmer says she is the prettiest Nigerian ever born here, which I guess could be true since I wasn't born here.
This year Captain January is paying us back - last year he had thirteen kids and eleven were girls. This year he has had six so far and only one girl. But the farmer says if they are all as pretty as BlueBelle it will be okay. That means there is a whole gang of happy-go-lucky little wethers hopping around the place.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
A New Record
As you know, my family is known for being escape artists. We pride ourselves on living the family motto: if your fence doesn't hold water, it won't hold us.
And I must admit, while I was always very good at getting out of things, including trouble, my daughter Hannah Belle surpassed me to claim the title of Supreme Grand Houdini, once even neatly dismantling a truck canopy when she wanted to get out of solitary F150 confinement. But now there appears to some competition on the horizon.
The farmer has been 'working' somewhere, and gone long days, and during these long days the babies and mothers are supposed to stay in their stalls and not go out, because the babies are too little. Well, that is fine for mini-Nubian babies, they wouldn't think of going anywhere, especially not without their mama, and of course they don't know the first thing about escaping, even if they did want to go somewhere.
And as for the three little priests, they are "good boys" according to the farmer, and that means they have no initiative, and spend their days hopping around like little beans and cozying up with Miss Melly in a cloyingly sweet way like they are waiting for a photo shoot.
But I'm proud to say that when Lori came home yesterday, Hannah Belle was out of her stall (of course) cruising the alfalfa stack in the barn aisle.
And in her wake were my three little grandchildren - Harlequin, Bluebelle and Filbert - fully escaped at the age of five days old. No one knows how they got out.
But it was a new record.
And I must admit, while I was always very good at getting out of things, including trouble, my daughter Hannah Belle surpassed me to claim the title of Supreme Grand Houdini, once even neatly dismantling a truck canopy when she wanted to get out of solitary F150 confinement. But now there appears to some competition on the horizon.
The farmer has been 'working' somewhere, and gone long days, and during these long days the babies and mothers are supposed to stay in their stalls and not go out, because the babies are too little. Well, that is fine for mini-Nubian babies, they wouldn't think of going anywhere, especially not without their mama, and of course they don't know the first thing about escaping, even if they did want to go somewhere.
And as for the three little priests, they are "good boys" according to the farmer, and that means they have no initiative, and spend their days hopping around like little beans and cozying up with Miss Melly in a cloyingly sweet way like they are waiting for a photo shoot.
But I'm proud to say that when Lori came home yesterday, Hannah Belle was out of her stall (of course) cruising the alfalfa stack in the barn aisle.
And in her wake were my three little grandchildren - Harlequin, Bluebelle and Filbert - fully escaped at the age of five days old. No one knows how they got out.
But it was a new record.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Warm Milk, Please, For Here
My three new grandchildren examine the strange environment they find themselves in, seeking clues that will help them deduce which planet they have arrived on, and where the room service button might be concealed, and how best to begin living in the luxurious style to which they have every right to become accustomed, being who they are and all.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Miss Melly and the Holy Fathers
I guess they are KIND of cute. Anyway they seem to have a tiny spark of personality, so things could be worse.
Which Way is Up?
Wrusty Jr. can get his mini-Nubian ear up, but the full Nubian ear just won't cooperate...
....But Not Least
Well, every year somebody is due on or around Valentine's Day. But then every year nobody quite manages to make the delivery deadline. So Cupid had not hit the mark around here, until yesterday.
Once Hannah Belle saw that the deck had been cleared and her opening acts were safely offstage, she dropped out three adorable little boys in prime time. One looks just like Betty from last year, and he also complains extensively, just like Betty. One is brave and stoic like Peanut with an occasional muted peep; the third is very hungry, and also an all-new color scheme for my family.
We will get the pictures up soon.
Happy Valentine's Day, little boys.
Ed. Note: Unfortunately, we have had to let Lori go from her job sexing baby goats. Hannah Belle had two boys and a girl, contrary to what was originally reported. The little boy who looks just like Betty is actually a little girl. Just like Betty. We regret the error.
(For those of you practicing at home, the little boys will be the ones with testicles.)
Once Hannah Belle saw that the deck had been cleared and her opening acts were safely offstage, she dropped out three adorable little boys in prime time. One looks just like Betty from last year, and he also complains extensively, just like Betty. One is brave and stoic like Peanut with an occasional muted peep; the third is very hungry, and also an all-new color scheme for my family.
We will get the pictures up soon.
Happy Valentine's Day, little boys.
Ed. Note: Unfortunately, we have had to let Lori go from her job sexing baby goats. Hannah Belle had two boys and a girl, contrary to what was originally reported. The little boy who looks just like Betty is actually a little girl. Just like Betty. We regret the error.
(For those of you practicing at home, the little boys will be the ones with testicles.)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
And In Second Place...
The Smart Money is crying in its beer again: on Tuesday night Miss Melly popped out triplet bucks, three little black ones again - another set of crybaby priests.
One, I have to say, is roaning out and may end up being cute. The others are xeroxes of last year's models. Black and white xeroxes, not a speck of color anywhere - trouble in triplicate, just like last year. Fine if you like garden variety Nigerians.
Meanwhile Hannah Belle gets bigger and bigger, and causes more and more trouble. She likes to make an entrance; I understand that.
She's my girl.
One, I have to say, is roaning out and may end up being cute. The others are xeroxes of last year's models. Black and white xeroxes, not a speck of color anywhere - trouble in triplicate, just like last year. Fine if you like garden variety Nigerians.
Meanwhile Hannah Belle gets bigger and bigger, and causes more and more trouble. She likes to make an entrance; I understand that.
She's my girl.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The Rites of Spring
A sophisticated goat like myself sometimes gets tired of living in the country. There is no good coffee and no free wi-fi and just try to find a sushi bar or an art museum. Many times in the midst of a cold dreary mud-filled winter I have asked myself why I don't just move to the East Village and get a beret and stop worrying about whether or not the Nubians will find their way in from the rain.
Who can count the times I have stood in the barn, calling "this way, Boo! Go through the thing we call a 'door' and you will be inside! Walk toward the light!"
Never a card or a note of thanks or even an appreciative nod. Nothing.
And this winter was snowier and colder than most, and I was getting bone tired of it. But just when I was good and fed up, everything changed, as it always does. First off it got a lot warmer almost overnight. We went from sub-freezing temperatures every night to days in the 50s and nights in the 40s - ah, balmy!
And as soon as that happened, Scouty, who may be smarter than she looks - well, actually, she MUST be smarter than she looks - popped out her little mini-Nubian quads, the first kids of spring. I'm not a big fan of Nubians, but these have some Nigerian heritage and for some reason - maybe I am getting old - I just think they are cute as the dickens.
And what do you think happened that very night? Down below in the pond - Lost Beaver Lake, as we call it - the frogs started singing their beautiful froggy chorus, which signals the official start of spring.
So now I have started feeling sorry for the poor city people, instead of envying them, as I did all winter long.
How sad it must be to live in the city, with nothing but sushi and capuccino and free wi-fi to keep you from bursting into tears every single day, as you hunt hopelessly for a blade of grass, a frog, a baby goat to call your own.
Forgive me while I dry my eyes.
Who can count the times I have stood in the barn, calling "this way, Boo! Go through the thing we call a 'door' and you will be inside! Walk toward the light!"
Never a card or a note of thanks or even an appreciative nod. Nothing.
And this winter was snowier and colder than most, and I was getting bone tired of it. But just when I was good and fed up, everything changed, as it always does. First off it got a lot warmer almost overnight. We went from sub-freezing temperatures every night to days in the 50s and nights in the 40s - ah, balmy!
And as soon as that happened, Scouty, who may be smarter than she looks - well, actually, she MUST be smarter than she looks - popped out her little mini-Nubian quads, the first kids of spring. I'm not a big fan of Nubians, but these have some Nigerian heritage and for some reason - maybe I am getting old - I just think they are cute as the dickens.
And what do you think happened that very night? Down below in the pond - Lost Beaver Lake, as we call it - the frogs started singing their beautiful froggy chorus, which signals the official start of spring.
So now I have started feeling sorry for the poor city people, instead of envying them, as I did all winter long.
How sad it must be to live in the city, with nothing but sushi and capuccino and free wi-fi to keep you from bursting into tears every single day, as you hunt hopelessly for a blade of grass, a frog, a baby goat to call your own.
Forgive me while I dry my eyes.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
T Minus Nothing
As you know, the kidding countdown started just a couple of days ago, and it was scheduled to run until February 17, the supposed due date of the three competitors, who had all been bred on the same day. The three competitors were Hannah Belle, Miss Melly, and Scouty, with the smart money favoring Hannah Belle (my daughter, aka Hannah Belle Lecter), because she never goes 150 days.
The farmer was worried about Hannah Belle because she was as big as a 747 without any of the aerodynamic advantages, and she had injured one of her feet and was not getting around very well. So Hannah Belle was being cosseted and coddled while everyone else practically had to grow their own hay.
But if you have ever been to the race track, you know that the smart money often sits alone at the bar after the ponies have all gone home, wondering how such a sure thing could go sideways in such a hurry. And as you also know from your kidding handbook, if a doe is going to have a LOT of babies, she isn't going to go 150 days either, even if she isn't Hannah Belle.
143 is plenty.
Scouty, being a professional, had read the handbook, and about two hours ago, while Hannah Belle was being spoonfed tapioca pudding or something like that, she won the pool by popping out a set of quads.
She had the first two up and dressed for school by the time the last two arrived, about five seconds apart. The second two quickly got with the program, and after a thorough all-over tongue scrubbing, followed by three or four small meals for everybody, the entire family is now napping in the honeymoon suite in the barn.
Three girls and a boy.
Martha Stewart could not have done it any better.
Congratulations to Scouty.
The farmer was worried about Hannah Belle because she was as big as a 747 without any of the aerodynamic advantages, and she had injured one of her feet and was not getting around very well. So Hannah Belle was being cosseted and coddled while everyone else practically had to grow their own hay.
But if you have ever been to the race track, you know that the smart money often sits alone at the bar after the ponies have all gone home, wondering how such a sure thing could go sideways in such a hurry. And as you also know from your kidding handbook, if a doe is going to have a LOT of babies, she isn't going to go 150 days either, even if she isn't Hannah Belle.
143 is plenty.
Scouty, being a professional, had read the handbook, and about two hours ago, while Hannah Belle was being spoonfed tapioca pudding or something like that, she won the pool by popping out a set of quads.
She had the first two up and dressed for school by the time the last two arrived, about five seconds apart. The second two quickly got with the program, and after a thorough all-over tongue scrubbing, followed by three or four small meals for everybody, the entire family is now napping in the honeymoon suite in the barn.
Three girls and a boy.
Martha Stewart could not have done it any better.
Congratulations to Scouty.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
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