Hannah Belle's Baby Blues

Well, my daughter Hannah Belle was never much in the running for the Mother-of-the-Year honors, except for a couple of weeks last year when she doted rather nauseatingly on little Peanut, nudging him along and making sure nobody stepped on him, and never letting him out of her sight, and washing his little head just about incessantly.

"It's clean already!" I told her several times, but she isn't a big one on heeding the advice of her elders. Or anyone else, for that matter.

But once Peanut was up and running she ditched him and his triplet siblings, and went back to her goating about.

This year she didn't bother doting on anyone, since the whole set of triplets was rather strappingly normal, just got them started with a couple of days of milk then split for greener pastures. It was her own Outward Bound program: if the little tikes could find her, fine, she was happy to give them some milk. But if they couldn't escape from their stall or pasture to track her down, then they could just go without. When it comes to milk, her policy was, you have to want it.

They quickly learned many of her escaping tricks: grab the chain on the gate and rattle it with your teeth until it pops off the hook; run upstairs to the hayloft to help yourself to the better hay; huddle down behind one of the milkers then barge out of the stall with your head down low when she goes to be milked.

And many more tricks, including spin moves, head fakes, the patented milkstand pick, and "bookcase baby" which is too complicated to explain here.

Hannah Belle knows them all: if she wants to go in the house, for example, she knows that she can open the back door by pushing down on the handle with her head.

Anyway I am getting off track as usual, the point is that her parenting skills were, or seemed to be, on the lax side.

But this year for the first time Hannah Belle's babies all went home within a few days. And we could not believe what we saw.

Hannah Belle noticed. Hannah Belle noticed very deeply.

She went on a mission. She scoured the entire farm from top to bottom looking for Cora Belle and Filbert, the last two to leave. She searched for them in every corner; she opened the tack room; she ran up to the hayloft; she squeezed through the pasture gate and came up to the front yard, where they had sometimes scarfed up last year's tired maple leaves. She even looked under the porch.

And all the time she called out to them in an angry chuckle. The joke is over, you kids. Come out.

Well, the farmer always says that the trouble with Nigerians is that they are too smart. This isn't true of the Breezy family, but in general I understand it. And there is one perfect illustration of it: disbudding.

There are quite a few not very pleasant tasks in the goat world, and one of them is disbudding the baby goats. The farmer hates it but it has to be done.

So every year the farmer puts each baby goat in a special box and burns out the horn buds with a special iron, a procedure that only lasts a few seconds but hurts a lot. And every year when the farmer takes the Nubian babies out of the box, the Nubian babies look up with surprise and relief from their bawling, as if to tell the farmer - oh, thanks for getting me out of there, you would not believe what happened, it was horrible, thank God you happened along.

Whereas the Nigerian babies give the farmer a black look and for several days afterward scowl and holler when they see the farmer. As if to say: why did you put me in that box? I am calling my attorney as soon as I can get a cellphone signal, and I will see you in court!!

Because they know what happened.

And now Hannah Belle knows what happened too.

After an entire day of searching, Hannah Belle gave the farmer the blackest goat look you have ever seen, and went and stood by the gate to the down-below pasture, which she normally hates. She stood there with quiet dignity, even though ordinarily she would have just squirmed and wiggled her way in. The farmer came down and opened the gate, and she immediately went in and found her baby from last year, the almost-yearling Boxcar Betty.

She has been sitting with Boxcar Betty ever since. And whenever the farmer comes near, Hannah Belle turns her head so she doesn't have to look at the farmer.

Welcome to the Chronicles of Narnia

Here in our corner of the frozen wasteland that is the Pacific Northwest, it is snowing steadily as the sun rises. Well, sort of rises. Peeks through the curtains and then goes back to bed.

Snow is fine and all but please excuse me: it is almost MAY. Some of us have our coats half shed out and now they are growing back. THIS IS NOT A GOOD LOOK.

ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE WINTER WONDERLAND!!!!!!

Update

Well there has been a lot of news that didn't get into the blog because everything was so busy. Lots of very pretty LaMancha babies have been born, if you like conceited goats with no ears. Their names are Yin (aka Winnie Junior), Yang, Yes I Know (aka Jessie), and You Bugaboo (aka Bugaboo). It is a Y year so all the big babies are getting names that start with Y.

Well, on top of that Peaches the mini-mancha outdid herself and had a set of triplets, all with correct LaMancha ears, which has never happened before. She has only ever had twins, and every year one has nice Lamancha ears and the other has gigantic ten-gallon-Stetson Nigerian ears.

These triplets look very different: one is the usual xerox of Peaches, a big girl with a pretty face and a kind of pinkish-apricot color; the other two are smaller and super-flashy black and white with blue eyes. The pink one is called Hermy, the black and white tiny twins are called Julius and Augustine. I have to say, as far as mini-Manchas go, those two are supermodels.

As reported previously, Big Orange popped out a set of twins, a little orange doe who is currently being called Tangerine (but remember, she will need a Y name sooner or later - we are hoping that Teresa Saum will think of one), and a little black buckling, who is currently being called "the little black one."

After two years of outstanding service, Peaches' charming son Wrusty had his cojones removed yesterday (the largest ones she had ever seen on a goat, the vet reported admiringly) and is recuperating nicely in the barn.

In some upsetting medical news, little Winnie Junior (aka Yin) broke her leg a few days ago and the vet said that it was not healing well in the sub-par splint the farmer made. She will be going down to Olympia tomorrow to get a special splint which we hope very very much will help the leg to heal. Meanwhile Winnie Junior is living in the house with Tangerine and LBO and demonstrating at every opportunity that even a three-legged LaMancha from a family of Goat Mafia kingpins (believe it or not) can sometimes have an adorable personality.

And of course in the most important news of all, my granddaughter Cora Belle and her brother Filbert are going to a new home. It's a good home, so it's okay, but we will surely miss them.

Busy Orange Day

Well it was a busy day with lots of visitors and lots of baby goats leaving for their new homes. Big Orange was supposed to kid in a few days but she started looking starry-eyed late this morning and within a couple of hours, unlike most first fresheners, she popped out a set of twins. One of them is a duplicate of Big Orange, only smaller. Right now we are calling her Little Orange.

But she might need a better name.

The other one is a big strong boy who looks just like his papa (Junior.)

He doesn't have a name either. Maybe Junior, Jr.?

Big Orange was a champ.

Notification of Name Change

Like mother, like daughter.

Hannah Belle's little daughter Blue Belle has had a name change. Her name is now Cora Belle. But why?

Well, she was born on Valentine's Day, and Cora sort of means heart. You know, heart, love, Valentine's Day.

But the real reason is a little different. Hannah Belle as you may know was the world's friendliest baby goat, and as an adult she came to be known as Hannah Belle Lecter because she was so spoiled that she never heard, much less understood, the word "no." And Cora Belle is already showing the family colors. When she sees a person, she comes running. Through the fence, under the gate - she is undeterred by obstacles that would stop an ordinary goat.

She has no respect for boundaries. She wants to be where the action is, and that is with people. And she wants to be fed and coddled and picked up. Boxcar Betty, her almost identical older sister, was not against feeding, but she was never one for kissing and hugging, and would only tolerate it when absolutely necessary.

Not this girl.

So anyway little Blue Belle will now be called Cora Belle. Because some day she almost certainly will be known as Cora Belle the Horrible.

Baby Bert and the Barometer

Well, you have one day, and then you have the next day. And that's how it goes.

On Sunday, one thing is for sure: the barometer dropped. Rain, wind that blew the roof off one of the little sheds, rain, wind, snow, sleet, hail, rain, rain, and rain. Nothing brings on a baby blizzard like the barometer heading south.

After Brandy, Wronny, Bertie and Winnie all decided to have their kids early. Not premature, but just a couple of days ahead of schedule, and one right after the other. Wronny just like last year was a champ and popped out twin does. Winnie, who has never had a doe kid, popped out twin does as well.

They had no trouble doing it, although Winnie as usual gave a few Oscar-worthy screams. But that was for the benefit of the peanut gallery who possibly had not seen last year's performance: she actually stopped in mid-scream to eat a vanilla wafer when one was offered.

When it was Bertie's turn, Bertie got an unmistakable look on her face that was part Nubian (she is Boo's daughter) and part first freshener. It was a stargazing look of amazement and dismay that said: I do not know what is happening, but I think there might be a band of angels coming for me, and my goodness what a beautiful spider web up there in the corner of the stall, who makes those spider webs anyway?

Bertie was in a daze. She had some calcium, and finally she laid down, and she started to push. And she pushed. And she pushed. And she pushed.

And the farmer put on some gloves, which only means one thing. But no, there was no problem: the baby was coming nose and toes, nothing upside down or ass backward about it, Bertie just needed to keep pushing. And so she pushed, and she pushed, and she pushed, and two front feet finally emerged, followed by a nose and mouth with a little pink tongue already sticking out.

And Bertie kept pushing. And finally she looked at the farmer like, why are you just sitting there?

And so the farmer, who doesn't like to pull too much on the first fresheners because they need a chance to dilate, finally took pity and started pulling while Bertie kept pushing.

And my sweet land of Goshen! Finally a ginormous single buck kid popped out. I have had some big kids but I mean to tell you I would not like to have had to push that one out.

Anyway, the farmer was very proud of Bertie, who didn't give up like some does would have. She kept right on, even when she was dead tired.

And Bertie's buck kid turned out to have the sweetest most mellow disposition of about anyone ever born here. We are calling him Baby Bert until we think of a better name. Baby Bert almost never cries, and loves to be cuddled, and in addition he is about the size of a Clydesdale, so the farmer is going to be sure and find a very good home for him: someone who needs a nice pack goat or a cart goat.

If you are looking for a cart goat, or maybe a goat that could pull a sweet chariot, this is the boy for the job. Already he has a lot of experience with pushing and pulling. And he never loses his cool.

Earlene.

Earlene died in her sleep last night. She had a good day yesterday, and went outside to play in the sun for the first time.

We don't know why she died. She looked like she just went to sleep and didn't wake up. Anyway, we hope that's what happened.

She was only here for three days. But we miss her a lot.

Earlene and Her Brother

The farmer went out to the barn on Saturday morning and Brandy was calling for her babies. Her babies were not supposed to be born for over two more weeks, so this wasn't good. The same thing happened last year.

Like last year, it wasn't normal. The farmer worried that she had aborted her kids in the night from the way she was talking - as if they were already born and had gotten separated from her - but there was nothing to be found in any of the stalls or out in the pasture. So the farmer bounced Brandy, and could feel a baby's head bumping around inside.

And within a couple of hours, Brandy laid down to push, and the farmer pulled out a tiny little doe. This one was more advanced than last year's, with plenty of fur, and with a few good smacks and a couple of puffs in the mouth, she started breathing. The farmer bounced Brandy again, and thought there was another head.

Then the farmer rushed the little doeling inside to warm her up, and soon she was settled in front of the woodstove in a rubbermaid tub, and even though she couldn't really walk or stand on her own, she was doing very well. Because it was such a cold morning, and because she was born so early, her name is Early Frost, but she is called Earlene.

The farmer went back to check on Brandy. The farmer bounced Brandy again, and this time didn't feel anything, and a few hours later Brandy passed her placenta. The farmer bounced a few more times, and still felt nothing, and decided not to put the gloves on and go in, because that would be stressful for Brandy if there wasn't another baby in there.

Meanwhile the little baby inside was now able to stand with help, and had taken some colostrum, and looked very good in spite of being small. And Brandy looked pretty good, and was eating a little bit, and had taken some electrolytes and calcium, and appeared to be resting even though she was not quite herself.

So the rest of the day passed, and everything seemed okay, and the farmer put aside the idea, the first idea, that there had been another baby, and everyone went to bed, and little Earlene proved to be a very cooperative baby and slept almost all through the night.

Early Easter morning, when the farmer came out to feed, the first thing the farmer heard again was Brandy's quiet distressed murmurs. The straw in Brandy's stall was all in disarray, showing that Brandy had been pawing and working through it, and in the middle of the stall was Earlene's brother, born in the night.

Brandy had not been able to get him started breathing on her own, and he was dead.

And so the farmer sat with Brandy, and apologized, and patted her until she quieted down, and then took Earlene's brother away.