Here is what the herd does every morning, my half of the herd anyway.
It sits around waiting for the farmer to come out.
"Where is the food where is the food where is THE FOOD!" Moldy starts wailing as soon as the sun comes up.
Then the farmer finally comes out and the herd mills and grumbles and shoves against the door so the farmer sometimes practically can't even get the door open to let the herd out.
"I need food where is the food I'M STARVING!" wails Moldy.
"That's my FOOT you're standing on MY FOOT!" screams Winjay.
Wronny t-bones Winjay.
"WHERE IS THE FOOD!" screams Moldy.
"MAMA!" screams Chancy.
"MAMA!" screams Moony.
This wakes Pinky up. "What?" mumbles Pinky. "Is it my birthday again?"
The farmer opens the door and the herd pours out into the front pasture like water pouring out of a giant pitcher, a pitcher full of hungry goats, and then the herd runs back and forth among the three different feed stations, each one seeming to have better food than the others until they see it up close and realize that it is just the same, in fact the previous feed station actually had better food, maybe not better tasting but the presentation was better, there was just something about it, so let's go back there away from Winjay instead of staying here, and there is a great swirling of giant terrestrial four-legged locusts as everyone decides where to eat.
Well that is a little ridiculous so I don't do it.
"Please," I say," after you," and I stand aside as the whole herd goes gurgling out into the pasture and then I walk up to the farmer directly and I indicate with my pleasing demeanor that I wouldn't be against a small bowl of cereal if it isn't too much trouble. Just here in the barn aisle is fine, and I don't mind eating out of the bucket, I don't want to make any trouble. Isn't it a lovely day? My goodness, I love the fall colors.
And then when I have finished eating all I want I indicate to the farmer that I don't mind joining the ordinary goats who are still - some of them anyway - running around screaming in the front pasture.
I'm not saying my way is better. But that's just how I do it.
Diary of a Dairy Goat. This blog is the diary of one goat, Baby Belle, a Nigerian Dwarf who lives on a small dairy farm in Western Washington.