Sometimes you can start over just like it was your first day.
That is what is nice about farm living.
It was a long hard winter here as it probably was lots of other places, and it seemed to go on forever with the usual litany of tedious complaints. And it was a bad year for baby goats, and even when things started looking up - like when the pipes were finally almost fixed and Cora Belle won her championship - even then the farmer walked around with a gloomy look and a long face and an expression that said, well, if things are going right today, that probably just means there will be a tornado tomorrow.
And today when Big Orange went into the kidding stall the farmer just didn't like the way she looked. She had a barely perceptible tremor along her neck, and that almost always means milk fever, and she was moving a little too slowly and her eyes were starting to go glassy.
But she took a little calcium, and even though the first kid was a big buckling, he was nose-and-toes, so that wasn't really a problem. The farmer was just getting him dry when all of a sudden there was a lady's voice coming over the stall door, and sure enough the farmer had forgotten that visitors were coming by.
"I'm right here," the farmer called, and the lady looked in over the stall, and so did her kids, a boy and a girl, and just then Big Orange laid down to push again. Right away this didn't look good: one rear hoof, coming upside down.
The farmer ditched the usual pleasantries and ran past the visitors to grab some gloves, and straight back to the stall, because this one was certainly going to need to be rearranged and pulled out quickly.
But before the farmer got back the baby was out, who even knows how.
And before the farmer even got to the stall the visitor lady was saying, "oh dear,"
The farmer took one look at the baby goat and turned to the kids and said, "you know, it's very sad, but the baby goats sometimes are too little to be born, or they aren't in the right position, or something happens as they are growing," as a preamble to telling them that this baby goat, which was twisted and motionless and an awful stillborn putty color, just wasn't going to make it.
That is one of the problems you can have when you think you know what you are doing. You don't always pay attention to the finer details.
Whereas, when you have no idea what you are doing, you see everything, as the little girl did.
"The baby goat is moving," she said politely.
The farmer looked down and sure enough, there was a leg kicking. And the baby bobbed its head. And so, without much hope, the farmer got busy, and cleaned it, and cleared its mouth, and rubbed it warm, and swung it upside down to get the goop out, and finally gave it a puff of air in the mouth to get it started breathing since it didn't seem to want to do that, and lo and behold, within a few minutes the baby goat was breathing on its own, and once that happened the pink came flooding back into it.
"She's a fighter," the farmer said. It was a beautiful little doe kid, Big Orange's first doe kid to have perfect gopher ears.
There was no need to take the little girl and make her a bottle baby. She gobbled milk greedily from Big Orange as soon as she shook off her traveling funk.
Why wouldn't she. It was her first day, and she wanted to get off to a good start.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
It's Been No Bed of Roses, No Pleasure Cruise
CHAPTER ONE
We got five more dollars in pledges for the Tangy fund drive. We already had one dollar, so that makes six. I know six dollars is a lot of money, but still it seems like we have a long way to go. Maybe Oprah or someone will chip in. If you know Oprah, ask her to chip in, we could do a show about it. Oh well. Maybe it's hopeless.
Speaking of hopeless, there was a big goat show yesterday. The farmer had a headache and didn't want to go. A couple of weeks earlier the farmer had clipped Blue Umbrella for the show because she was looking good. As soon as the farmer finished clipping her, Blue stopped making milk, turning her udder into a little shrunken handbag.
"Great," said the farmer, and looked around the barnyard. Boxcar Betty was looking good; her spots were flashing in the sun.
"Betty, come here," said the farmer. Betty ran like a scalded cat as fast as she could, squeaking neatly through the gate into the front pasture. Nice try, Betty, but two farm boys came over later that day and they apprehended and frogmarched Betty back to the barn where the farmer started clipping her.
The farmer had Betty about half clipped when the clippers broke. "Great," said the farmer. The new $150 clippers - not the ones from the tack sale that cost $15. The ones with all the blades that had just been sharpened.
The farmer regarded Betty dubiously: she looked a lot like Carol Brady on the Brady Bunch, with a shag haircut that would send shivers down the spine of anyone who lived through the seventies.
"Great," said the farmer. Oh well, maybe the farmer from Minter Bay wouldn't want to go after all. The farmer from Minter Bay had been naysaying and shillyshallying about any further goat shows that summer.
Just then a terse commanding email completely lacking in pleasantries popped in the inbox: "Meet me at my farm at 6 tomorrow. Showing at 9."
"Great," said the farmer. The farmer's head started pounding. Up at 4:30 to milk and shower, then over to Minter Bay to stuff Cora Belle into the car, then off on a two and half hour drive to Stanwood.
"That's just great," said the farmer gloomily, wondering if any stores would be open to buy Aleve and knowing full well there is no Starbucks near the Fairgrounds in Stanwood and generally feeling very grumpy.
CHAPTER TWO
Cora Belle triumphed and won Reserve Champion in one ring and Grand Champion in the two others against beautiful steep Northwest competition and a mood of incredible jollity and gracious kindness and humility descended, broken only by the unseemly bellowing of the song "We are the Champions" in the car on the way home.
We got five more dollars in pledges for the Tangy fund drive. We already had one dollar, so that makes six. I know six dollars is a lot of money, but still it seems like we have a long way to go. Maybe Oprah or someone will chip in. If you know Oprah, ask her to chip in, we could do a show about it. Oh well. Maybe it's hopeless.
Speaking of hopeless, there was a big goat show yesterday. The farmer had a headache and didn't want to go. A couple of weeks earlier the farmer had clipped Blue Umbrella for the show because she was looking good. As soon as the farmer finished clipping her, Blue stopped making milk, turning her udder into a little shrunken handbag.
"Great," said the farmer, and looked around the barnyard. Boxcar Betty was looking good; her spots were flashing in the sun.
"Betty, come here," said the farmer. Betty ran like a scalded cat as fast as she could, squeaking neatly through the gate into the front pasture. Nice try, Betty, but two farm boys came over later that day and they apprehended and frogmarched Betty back to the barn where the farmer started clipping her.
The farmer had Betty about half clipped when the clippers broke. "Great," said the farmer. The new $150 clippers - not the ones from the tack sale that cost $15. The ones with all the blades that had just been sharpened.
The farmer regarded Betty dubiously: she looked a lot like Carol Brady on the Brady Bunch, with a shag haircut that would send shivers down the spine of anyone who lived through the seventies.
"Great," said the farmer. Oh well, maybe the farmer from Minter Bay wouldn't want to go after all. The farmer from Minter Bay had been naysaying and shillyshallying about any further goat shows that summer.
Just then a terse commanding email completely lacking in pleasantries popped in the inbox: "Meet me at my farm at 6 tomorrow. Showing at 9."
"Great," said the farmer. The farmer's head started pounding. Up at 4:30 to milk and shower, then over to Minter Bay to stuff Cora Belle into the car, then off on a two and half hour drive to Stanwood.
"That's just great," said the farmer gloomily, wondering if any stores would be open to buy Aleve and knowing full well there is no Starbucks near the Fairgrounds in Stanwood and generally feeling very grumpy.
CHAPTER TWO
Cora Belle triumphed and won Reserve Champion in one ring and Grand Champion in the two others against beautiful steep Northwest competition and a mood of incredible jollity and gracious kindness and humility descended, broken only by the unseemly bellowing of the song "We are the Champions" in the car on the way home.
Monday, June 06, 2011
Schooling the Tangerine Whale
The good news is we have already raised $1 for our Tangy Pledge Drive. It only took two days. So at this rate in 3074 more days she will be on her way to her new Kiwi home. That is only eight years and a few months! Vaya con Dios, Tangy!
The bad news is that yesterday some children came over and one of them was quite small and she wanted to ride a goat. When I heard her say, "I want to ride a goat," I discreetly galloped at top speed to the far corner of the pasture, right behind Hannah Belle who was making extremely good time for a goat who is eight months pregnant.
Everyone else with normal intelligence followed us, leaving only the Nubian crosses and Eo up at the barn in catching range. Eo was plotting a government overthrow as usual and not paying attention to the conversation.
The farmer was dubious since none of us had ever been ridden. "I don't know about that," the farmer said, eyeballing the Nubian crosses. "It would have to be a big goat."
We don't have any big wethers since there is a strict rule against them, and they would be the natural choice for goat riding activities. Big Orange and Xie Xie are pregnant, so that got them off the hook. Pinky Jr. is too skinny because she is growing so fast and Pinky is a milker and she will also be the new Sheriff of Crazytown if Maddie ever resigns. She is Crazy with a capital T.
And that left only one goat: the tangerine whale.
"See if Tangy will come out," the farmer told the children.
Tangy lumbered out.
"Okay let's see if we can get the horse halter on her," the farmer said, pretending not to be surprised.
Tangy stood patiently while an upside-down horse halter was put on her for a harness.
"Okay let's put you on her," the farmer said to the little girl. On she went.
"Hold on tight," the farmer told the little girl, and she grabbed the halter. The farmer snapped a lead rope on Tangy.
"Okay let's see if she will walk." Tangy walked off without batting an eye.
"I want to ride her alone," the little girl said. "By myself."
The farmer took the lead rope off.
Tangy and passenger walked off alone. There was no sunset at that time of day or they would have walked into it.
"Hmm," said the farmer. "Who knew."
I wonder if this means Tangy is still going to New Zealand in 2019. I kind of don't think so.
The bad news is that yesterday some children came over and one of them was quite small and she wanted to ride a goat. When I heard her say, "I want to ride a goat," I discreetly galloped at top speed to the far corner of the pasture, right behind Hannah Belle who was making extremely good time for a goat who is eight months pregnant.
Everyone else with normal intelligence followed us, leaving only the Nubian crosses and Eo up at the barn in catching range. Eo was plotting a government overthrow as usual and not paying attention to the conversation.
The farmer was dubious since none of us had ever been ridden. "I don't know about that," the farmer said, eyeballing the Nubian crosses. "It would have to be a big goat."
We don't have any big wethers since there is a strict rule against them, and they would be the natural choice for goat riding activities. Big Orange and Xie Xie are pregnant, so that got them off the hook. Pinky Jr. is too skinny because she is growing so fast and Pinky is a milker and she will also be the new Sheriff of Crazytown if Maddie ever resigns. She is Crazy with a capital T.
And that left only one goat: the tangerine whale.
"See if Tangy will come out," the farmer told the children.
Tangy lumbered out.
"Okay let's see if we can get the horse halter on her," the farmer said, pretending not to be surprised.
Tangy stood patiently while an upside-down horse halter was put on her for a harness.
"Okay let's put you on her," the farmer said to the little girl. On she went.
"Hold on tight," the farmer told the little girl, and she grabbed the halter. The farmer snapped a lead rope on Tangy.
"Okay let's see if she will walk." Tangy walked off without batting an eye.
"I want to ride her alone," the little girl said. "By myself."
The farmer took the lead rope off.
Tangy and passenger walked off alone. There was no sunset at that time of day or they would have walked into it.
"Hmm," said the farmer. "Who knew."
I wonder if this means Tangy is still going to New Zealand in 2019. I kind of don't think so.
Sunday, June 05, 2011
Send Tangy to Kumara Junction
We did not have much luck raising money to send Tangy to Spindale. We raised zero dollars. But that's ok because it looks like there is a better opportunity.
The farmer just read about a lady in New Zealand who has made a special home for a special goat.
Obviously this lady must be extremely patient, so this would be a perfect home for Tangy. And it is even farther away than Spindale.
Unfortunately the ticket to New Zealand is a bit more ($1538) so please give generously. But Tangy would be right in Tasmania so she might meet a nice Devil, and also she would not be here eating all our food. Thank you.
The farmer just read about a lady in New Zealand who has made a special home for a special goat.
Obviously this lady must be extremely patient, so this would be a perfect home for Tangy. And it is even farther away than Spindale.
Unfortunately the ticket to New Zealand is a bit more ($1538) so please give generously. But Tangy would be right in Tasmania so she might meet a nice Devil, and also she would not be here eating all our food. Thank you.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
Be Kind to Your Web-Footed Friends
If you don't care about conformation that probably means you have bad conformation.
And you probably spell it wrong too. "Oh who gives a hoot about CONFIRMATION," that's what you probably say when the subject comes up.
Conformation means do you look good, with all your arrows pointing in the right direction, and do you walk along smooothly like an ice skater on a frozen canal in Amsterdam. Or do you look like a washing machine full of dirty gym socks tumbling down a mountainside when you come running toward the feeder.
Anyway I am in the Baby Belle family so I have excellent conformation except for my chandelier udder which is the only thing saving me from a lifetime of goat shows. Thank God for my chandelier or I would probably have to buy a tour bus to appear at all 50 state fairs.
However certain parties around here have developed a pronounced washing machine style of locomotion and there is two of them and their name is the Moldy Family. That means Moldy and her daughter Abby.
They are fine and all and I have gotten used to them and nobody even bothers giving them a thrashing any more and in fact you hardly notice them until you see them walking and then it becomes apparent that they toe out in the back like a pair of penguins. My goodness it is really something.
For a long time I couldn't figure it out, then I remembered they are from Oregon, and that must be where their duckfoot comes from. Because Oregon is ruled by Ducks.
But anyway I have taken a vow of kindliness and I never even mention anything about it. What would be the point. They must know what they look like by now.
And even a duck may be somebody's mother.
And you probably spell it wrong too. "Oh who gives a hoot about CONFIRMATION," that's what you probably say when the subject comes up.
Conformation means do you look good, with all your arrows pointing in the right direction, and do you walk along smooothly like an ice skater on a frozen canal in Amsterdam. Or do you look like a washing machine full of dirty gym socks tumbling down a mountainside when you come running toward the feeder.
Anyway I am in the Baby Belle family so I have excellent conformation except for my chandelier udder which is the only thing saving me from a lifetime of goat shows. Thank God for my chandelier or I would probably have to buy a tour bus to appear at all 50 state fairs.
However certain parties around here have developed a pronounced washing machine style of locomotion and there is two of them and their name is the Moldy Family. That means Moldy and her daughter Abby.
They are fine and all and I have gotten used to them and nobody even bothers giving them a thrashing any more and in fact you hardly notice them until you see them walking and then it becomes apparent that they toe out in the back like a pair of penguins. My goodness it is really something.
For a long time I couldn't figure it out, then I remembered they are from Oregon, and that must be where their duckfoot comes from. Because Oregon is ruled by Ducks.
But anyway I have taken a vow of kindliness and I never even mention anything about it. What would be the point. They must know what they look like by now.
And even a duck may be somebody's mother.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Terrifying Intruder, Part One
Hello. Today there was a terrifying intruder.
When faced with a terrifying intruder, it is important to pay attention. It is almost impossible to be properly terrified if you are dozing off.
Steps which will aid in focusing the attention:
1. Everyone must face the terrifying intruder, even Pinky.
2. Actually, this is really Step One, but we usually do it second. So we call it Step Two. Step Two: Stop eating. Even Pinky.
3. Try to identify someone nearby who is smarter than you (difficult in my case, but Pinky can just look anywhere, even at a pigeon) and see what they are doing. Do whatever they are doing.
4. Is Hannah Belle anywhere nearby? If so, the intruder isn't really that terrifying. If Hannah Belle has vanished, run for the barn.
Thank you. I hope this has been of some help to those of you who are unsure whether or not to be terrified.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Dreamytown
The farmer went away for a week and when the farmer came back my daughter Pretty Baby had gotten EVEN CUTER. Hard to believe but true.
In less interesting news, Jimmy had had a little buckling, he is also a single like Cherry's daughter Maraschino, and he also has milk stupefaction. He is a mini-mancha with blue eyes and wattles. He can hardly keep his eyes open.
He is always waking up and discovering that the whole herd has gone somewhere else and he is all alone and then he starts crying sleepily and then Jimmy appears with a big bag of milk and tops him off and then back to Dreamytown, see you later, you're getting very sleepy, don't try to talk.
We are thinking of calling him James Dream because all of Jimmy's sons are named Jimmy.
Well, she only had one, but his name was Jimmy Jr.
In less interesting news, Jimmy had had a little buckling, he is also a single like Cherry's daughter Maraschino, and he also has milk stupefaction. He is a mini-mancha with blue eyes and wattles. He can hardly keep his eyes open.
He is always waking up and discovering that the whole herd has gone somewhere else and he is all alone and then he starts crying sleepily and then Jimmy appears with a big bag of milk and tops him off and then back to Dreamytown, see you later, you're getting very sleepy, don't try to talk.
We are thinking of calling him James Dream because all of Jimmy's sons are named Jimmy.
Well, she only had one, but his name was Jimmy Jr.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Hazel
Sometimes one day is a lifetime.
We lost our little nut. So now we can call her Hazel.
5/13/2011 - 5/14/2011.
We lost our little nut. So now we can call her Hazel.
5/13/2011 - 5/14/2011.
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