Sometimes in life you will lose one of your dear friends. And then for a long time you will think of your friend and you will be filled with sadness.
But then a day will come when you think about your friend unexpectedly and you can't help but laugh.
Yesterday the farmer was angry when all the down-below girls, led by Hannah Belle, managed to get the pasture gate open and stampeded the big barn, skipping and hopping and raising Cain with the milkers.
A Sharks-and-Jets brawl broke out, with the big milkers taking offense at the mere presence of Nigerians and minis in their high-and-mighty midst. Eo (Mussolini) and Brandy (Tony Soprano) went head to head, and Breezy and Winnie paired off, and several others banged heads while Hannah Belle and I scouted the area thoroughly for unattended grain or alfalfa.
Well the farmer wasn't in a mood for it and so there was a lot of yelling and hollering and improbable threats and eventually the farmer got everyone back in except Mabel. Now Mabel is a Loony Tune - you can tell by the way her eyeballs spin counterclockwise when she gets what she thinks is an idea.
So everyone was back in except Mabel, who didn't really want to do anything or go anywhere, just wanted to be contrary. Mabel commenced head faking and putting spin moves on the farmer, acting squirrelly as all get out, even actually pretending she was interested in Wendell the pest, who was running a fifty foot circle around the whole production because he always likes to try to draw attention to himself and his foolish doggy activities.
"Look at me," his little bug-eyed expression said, "don't I look like a border collie? Isn't it clever what I'm doing?"
Mabel pretended to be interested, and turned a smaller circle inside Wendell's circle, but kept an eye on the farmer just to see what would happen, and if the farmer would keep trying to catch her.
But the farmer was fed up and said, "Fine, stay out here," and turned to go up to the barn.
Mabel was terribly disappointed and ran to catch up with the farmer, who wasn't looking at her any more, and by the time the farmer got to the upper gate, Mabel was right behind and stuck her nose in the farmer's pocket.
The farmer looked down at Mabel with surprise and all of a sudden started laughing and laughing in spite of having been in an utterly black mood. Anybody else would think the farmer was crazy, which is probably true, but I happen to know that this little trick was a maneuver patented by Crazy Mabel's crazy mother April, who could never be caught if you wanted to catch her, but who couldn't stand not to be caught if you were sincerely ignoring her.
The farmer patted Mabel a few times, still laughing, and then realized that it would be a good idea to put Mabel back in the down-below pasture since she had basically turned herself in, and reached out - yes, just a split second too late - to grab Mabel's collar.
Mabel went pronging and dancing and bucking away, turning sideways to the hill to make her leaps look crazier, and Wendell re-commenced his fifty foot circle which had been interrupted for a panting timeout, and the farmer started laughing again.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Winnie, Jr.
Winnie, Jr. gets her cast off today. We are keeping our fingers crossed that her broken leg will be mended when it comes out of all its grubby wrappings. Not that having a broken leg has stopped her from becoming king of the babies.
Scarborough Fairgoers
Well, here are some photos of Parsley and Sage, Boo's kids born last Thursday. I don't know, I guess they are kind of cute. We thought Rosemary and Thyme might also be aboard the SS Boo, but apparently there was just a lot of extra luggage in the hold. So only Parsley and Sage came down the gangplank in the end.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Skin Deep
Well, after a few years of seeing baby goats born every year you start to notice the family traits. All of my offspring are beautiful and smart, for example. In Brandy's LaMancha kingpin family, many of the kids have the same habit: they like to stand at the door and grab the sliding bolt with their teeth, sliding the bolt back and forth incessantly so that it makes a clacking sound.
Wronny will slide the bolt until the farmer yells at her to stop. You don't even notice the bolt noise any more until you hear the farmer yelling: "Knock it off, Wronny!" The farmer doesn't even look to see who's doing it. When it goes on forever like that, it's always Wronny.
The Nubians are universally puzzled. Their puzzlement spans all the generations.
In the April family, there is never a generation that goes by that at least one kid doesn't get April's beautiful face. First Mabel had it, then Cammy had it, then Biscuit had it, and this year little pink Hermy has it.
And that brings us to the exception that may or may not prove the rule, although we are starting to think there may not be any rules. But anyway: Big Orange.
Big Orange is tall and elegant and orange and shy and retiring and unfailingly sweet. She is a pacifist, above all. She is the Gandhi of goats. Whenever there is any kind of line she runs immediately to the end of it; she would never think of cutting in front of anyone.
This morning, Winnie, who thinks she is all that and likes to swagger around pushing everyone out of her way even when she isn't going anywhere, came up to Big Orange and stood in front of her and for some reason didn't t-bone Big Orange but instead got a sleepy look.
Big Orange kindly began kissing Winnie's head and cleaning the top of it in a cheerful and solicitous manner, even though 99% of the time Winnie only comes up to Big Orange because she is planning to take her lunch money.
Anyway, Big Orange is a saint.
Now Big Orange had a daughter, a little orange daughter that we are calling Tangerine right now while we mull over some of the excellent name suggestions we have received. Tangerine looks just like Big Orange. She is slightly less orange, and has slightly shorter ears, but really those are the only differences. Any person off the street would be able to walk in here and pick out Tangerine as Big Orange's daughter.
But Tangerine is the OPPOSITE of Big Orange. Tangerine is the angriest baby goat in the world. She is like one of those terrifying human babies that people have sometimes where everyone tiptoes around looking ashen and whispering, "don't wake the baby! Please GOD, don't wake the baby!"
When the farmer goes out in the morning with bucket of milk for the big babies, Tangerine - who is the smallest of the big babies - comes like a BAT OUT OF HELL for the bucket, shrieking the whole way like a fire engine and flinging her body against any obstacle, animate or inanimate, that gets in her way.
Almost entirely because of Tangerine, the big babies are now referred to as The Piranhas. When she isn't hungry, or shouldn't be hungry because her belly is like a beach ball, Tangerine still shrieks like a fire engine whenever she sees a human or any other entity she thinks might be capable of milk propulsion. We cannot figure out why, but she seems to think she can somehow stockpile milk for future use, and that screaming is the best way to make powerful friends.
When in the few moments a day she overcomes her milk monomania, she is gregarious to the point of being annoying, chewing hair, lap hogging, prancing and dancing and making a show of herself. Again, the opposite of her mother.
Oh well. What can you do? Sometimes the orange is truly orange and sometimes the orange is only skin deep.
Wronny will slide the bolt until the farmer yells at her to stop. You don't even notice the bolt noise any more until you hear the farmer yelling: "Knock it off, Wronny!" The farmer doesn't even look to see who's doing it. When it goes on forever like that, it's always Wronny.
The Nubians are universally puzzled. Their puzzlement spans all the generations.
In the April family, there is never a generation that goes by that at least one kid doesn't get April's beautiful face. First Mabel had it, then Cammy had it, then Biscuit had it, and this year little pink Hermy has it.
And that brings us to the exception that may or may not prove the rule, although we are starting to think there may not be any rules. But anyway: Big Orange.
Big Orange is tall and elegant and orange and shy and retiring and unfailingly sweet. She is a pacifist, above all. She is the Gandhi of goats. Whenever there is any kind of line she runs immediately to the end of it; she would never think of cutting in front of anyone.
This morning, Winnie, who thinks she is all that and likes to swagger around pushing everyone out of her way even when she isn't going anywhere, came up to Big Orange and stood in front of her and for some reason didn't t-bone Big Orange but instead got a sleepy look.
Big Orange kindly began kissing Winnie's head and cleaning the top of it in a cheerful and solicitous manner, even though 99% of the time Winnie only comes up to Big Orange because she is planning to take her lunch money.
Anyway, Big Orange is a saint.
Now Big Orange had a daughter, a little orange daughter that we are calling Tangerine right now while we mull over some of the excellent name suggestions we have received. Tangerine looks just like Big Orange. She is slightly less orange, and has slightly shorter ears, but really those are the only differences. Any person off the street would be able to walk in here and pick out Tangerine as Big Orange's daughter.
But Tangerine is the OPPOSITE of Big Orange. Tangerine is the angriest baby goat in the world. She is like one of those terrifying human babies that people have sometimes where everyone tiptoes around looking ashen and whispering, "don't wake the baby! Please GOD, don't wake the baby!"
When the farmer goes out in the morning with bucket of milk for the big babies, Tangerine - who is the smallest of the big babies - comes like a BAT OUT OF HELL for the bucket, shrieking the whole way like a fire engine and flinging her body against any obstacle, animate or inanimate, that gets in her way.
Almost entirely because of Tangerine, the big babies are now referred to as The Piranhas. When she isn't hungry, or shouldn't be hungry because her belly is like a beach ball, Tangerine still shrieks like a fire engine whenever she sees a human or any other entity she thinks might be capable of milk propulsion. We cannot figure out why, but she seems to think she can somehow stockpile milk for future use, and that screaming is the best way to make powerful friends.
When in the few moments a day she overcomes her milk monomania, she is gregarious to the point of being annoying, chewing hair, lap hogging, prancing and dancing and making a show of herself. Again, the opposite of her mother.
Oh well. What can you do? Sometimes the orange is truly orange and sometimes the orange is only skin deep.
Friday, April 25, 2008
All Ashore
Well the SS Boo finally limped into harbor last night, late as usual and at the most inconvenient time imaginable. The farmer had surmised from the size of the cargo hold that there might be about 15 kids aboard, but in the end only two "miniature" Nubians toddled ashore.
Both are very pretty, like their mother. Both have frosted ears, like their mother. Both are fat and opinionated, and see if you can finish this sentence.
Anyway in unrelated news there was another Lamancha-Nubian-Nigerian IQ demonstration yesterday. The indoor kids (Winnie, Jr. with the broken leg, Tangerine, Widget, Hermy, Augustine, and Julius) played in their stall, where Winnie, Jr., being the biggest, is the king of the babies, a job she loves. Three of the indoor babies (Win, Tangerine, and Widget) are bottle babies. The other three are dam-raised.
Yesterday the bottle babies made the switch from the tiny pop-bottle nipple to the baby bucket, which has a bigger nipple and doesn't work in quite the same way. So sometimes it takes a while to catch on. Winnie, Jr. of course, being a purebred Lamancha, got it right away. Tangerine, being 7/8ths LaMancha, didn't have too much trouble but had to cry and sputter melodramatically a few times for effect.
Widget, being both a boy and 1/8th Nubian, was rather stumped, and jabbed his head desperately against the bucket, perhaps hoping to knock the milk out. To his credit, unlike a full-blown Nubian, he seemed to know that there was milk in there. He just couldn't figure out how to get it out.
Anyway, that was all about to be expected. What wasn't expected was that the rotund mini-Manchas (half Nigerian, half LaMancha) - Hermy, Augustine, and Julius - would watch for a few minutes, taking some simple mental notes, then scurry over as soon as the nipples were vacated and help themself to extra milk.
Hermy led the way.
Bottle baby, schmottle baby.
Both are very pretty, like their mother. Both have frosted ears, like their mother. Both are fat and opinionated, and see if you can finish this sentence.
Anyway in unrelated news there was another Lamancha-Nubian-Nigerian IQ demonstration yesterday. The indoor kids (Winnie, Jr. with the broken leg, Tangerine, Widget, Hermy, Augustine, and Julius) played in their stall, where Winnie, Jr., being the biggest, is the king of the babies, a job she loves. Three of the indoor babies (Win, Tangerine, and Widget) are bottle babies. The other three are dam-raised.
Yesterday the bottle babies made the switch from the tiny pop-bottle nipple to the baby bucket, which has a bigger nipple and doesn't work in quite the same way. So sometimes it takes a while to catch on. Winnie, Jr. of course, being a purebred Lamancha, got it right away. Tangerine, being 7/8ths LaMancha, didn't have too much trouble but had to cry and sputter melodramatically a few times for effect.
Widget, being both a boy and 1/8th Nubian, was rather stumped, and jabbed his head desperately against the bucket, perhaps hoping to knock the milk out. To his credit, unlike a full-blown Nubian, he seemed to know that there was milk in there. He just couldn't figure out how to get it out.
Anyway, that was all about to be expected. What wasn't expected was that the rotund mini-Manchas (half Nigerian, half LaMancha) - Hermy, Augustine, and Julius - would watch for a few minutes, taking some simple mental notes, then scurry over as soon as the nipples were vacated and help themself to extra milk.
Hermy led the way.
Bottle baby, schmottle baby.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
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.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
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!!!!!!
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!!!!!!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
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.
Monday, March 24, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, March 14, 2008
The Unicorn Hunt
Well, the farmer has started looking for a relief milker, and the way I hear it it would be a lot easier to find a unicorn. At least you would know what you were looking for: a white horse-type animal with a big horn growing out of its forehead.
A relief milker might be white, or might be any color, and might have a horn growing out of his/her head. Or might just as likely have a little hole in the head, where his/her brains fell out, because why else would anyone want to be a relief milker, since it's hard work and the pay is very minimal, and there is the added attraction of dealing with Boo the Winnebago and the Soprano family, although for all their faults the Sopranos do have excellent milk manners.
In fact that's just about all they have going for them. But anyway the hunt is on for a relief milker, so shout out if you find one and the farmer will be over to throw a rope around it and haul it off.
A relief milker might be white, or might be any color, and might have a horn growing out of his/her head. Or might just as likely have a little hole in the head, where his/her brains fell out, because why else would anyone want to be a relief milker, since it's hard work and the pay is very minimal, and there is the added attraction of dealing with Boo the Winnebago and the Soprano family, although for all their faults the Sopranos do have excellent milk manners.
In fact that's just about all they have going for them. But anyway the hunt is on for a relief milker, so shout out if you find one and the farmer will be over to throw a rope around it and haul it off.
Calendar Arrives After All
Well much time has passed since the announcement of the winner of the Kid-of-the-Year contest and many of you have probably completely forgotten about it, but for those who still have one iota of interest, the 2008 Kid Calendar, starring Peanut the GlamourPuss, Big Orange, Boxcar Betty, Belle Pepper, Sammy and Leo, Bugsy and Stetson, and assorted other fun loving kids, is now available. It runs from April 2008 through May 2009.
We think all the bugs are out of it but we make no guarantees, representations, warranties, assertions or avowals in that regard.
So please don't complain if your calendar is printed upside down or something. Just accept our apologies in advance and make the best of it.
We think all the bugs are out of it but we make no guarantees, representations, warranties, assertions or avowals in that regard.
So please don't complain if your calendar is printed upside down or something. Just accept our apologies in advance and make the best of it.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Well it is funny how everything changes. And then nothing changes.
Clipper, aka Mussolini, went to a new home, leaving her sweet retiring twin Eo behind. As soon as Clipper was gone, Eo looked around and said to herself, hey, wait a minute, this pasture needs a new boss. So now Eo is Mussolini Jr., running the down below pasture with an iron fist. Okay, maybe a wooden fist; she could never be as ruthless as Clipper.
And while there is hardly any room at the top, there is always plenty of room at the bottom. Lucy and Xtra Joy the yearlings came down from the big barn to the mini pasture because they simply couldn't compete with the likes of Boo the Winnebago and Brandy and her LaMancha crime family, aka the Sopranos. They were big enough, but they were just too mild-mannered. Their attitude was, please take my food, what would I want it for?
So down they came, and Lucy has risen way up the mini pecking order. But Xtra Joy, who is about the sweetest goat here, only has Jammies to boss around. And even Jammies doesn't really listen to her. So yesterday Joy tried bossing some little babies around, and she didn't get much respect there either.
Even little BlueBelle went up on her hind legs against Xtra Joy. She only weighs about five pounds, but her attitude is a credit to the Baby Belle family.
BRING IT ON, BIG SISTER!
Of course she did run away after that, but discretion is the better part of valor.
But that brings me to the point which I had almost forgotten. Everything always changes but then when you look at it up close it turns out nothing really changed.
Or did it?
Clipper, aka Mussolini, went to a new home, leaving her sweet retiring twin Eo behind. As soon as Clipper was gone, Eo looked around and said to herself, hey, wait a minute, this pasture needs a new boss. So now Eo is Mussolini Jr., running the down below pasture with an iron fist. Okay, maybe a wooden fist; she could never be as ruthless as Clipper.
And while there is hardly any room at the top, there is always plenty of room at the bottom. Lucy and Xtra Joy the yearlings came down from the big barn to the mini pasture because they simply couldn't compete with the likes of Boo the Winnebago and Brandy and her LaMancha crime family, aka the Sopranos. They were big enough, but they were just too mild-mannered. Their attitude was, please take my food, what would I want it for?
So down they came, and Lucy has risen way up the mini pecking order. But Xtra Joy, who is about the sweetest goat here, only has Jammies to boss around. And even Jammies doesn't really listen to her. So yesterday Joy tried bossing some little babies around, and she didn't get much respect there either.
Even little BlueBelle went up on her hind legs against Xtra Joy. She only weighs about five pounds, but her attitude is a credit to the Baby Belle family.
BRING IT ON, BIG SISTER!
Of course she did run away after that, but discretion is the better part of valor.
But that brings me to the point which I had almost forgotten. Everything always changes but then when you look at it up close it turns out nothing really changed.
Or did it?
Saturday, March 08, 2008
The Young and The Witless
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.
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.
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.
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