Milk Master Midget

Well the milk test day has come and gone.

Here is what happened.

Coco Plum slept the whole day since she was planning to do that anyway.

Coffee Bean escaped from the barn but since she is part Nubian she did not know she had escaped and she ran back in and was reapprehended. But since she is part Nubian she did not know she was reapprehended so she was just relieved. She would not take a bottle but drank freely from the farmer's elbow. Since she is part Nubian she did not know that there is no milk in the elbow.

Write this down if you are making a chart or something: there are no (zero) mammary glands in the elbow.

Anyway the mind is a powerful organ even in a Nubian and after drinking her fill of elbow milk Coffee was convinced that she needed a nap and she nodded off as usual.

Cubby and Clover guzzled freely from the bottles that were provided. For a while it was feared that Cubby might explode.

Horatio drank sparingly, just enough to get by. Clara Belle drank only a little, but gobbled extra hay.

At 9 a.m. Midget guaranteed that his gallbladder would explode if he were not reunited immediately with his beloved mother. He sang heartbreaking spirituals to himself to keep hope alive. Nobody knew the trouble he had seen. How could they?

At 10 a.m. Midget refused the bottle. "I will never drink from that bottle!" he screamed.

At 11 a.m. Midget refused the bottle.  "Please come and take me!" he beseeched the sky. "My suffering is too great for this world!"

I felt like clapping. It was quite a Passion Play.

At noon Midget refused the bottle. At 2 p.m. Midget refused the bottle.

At 3 p.m. Midget guzzled exhaustively from the bottle with a speed and dexterity not seen since the days when Tangy was a bottle baby. It was feared he might explode. A murmur of awe went up from the gallery.

When you see a Milk Master, a true Milk Master,  you must tip your hat, one professional to another.

Well played, Midget.

The Sorrow and The Pity and the Deaf Ears

The farmer explained to the mothers that they would be going out with the fat ladies today and the babies would not be going with them because the mothers are going on milk test and they need to bag up.

The babies cried. And then the mothers cried.

The mothers went out and joined the scrum at the feeders and it was a beautiful day and the babies stayed in the barn. The mothers gobbled at the feeders, crying together in a low hum, with their mouths full. The farmer started sweeping out the barn.

Clover is the smartest one of the babies and she screamed at the top of her lungs when she saw the farmer. "I HAVE AN IDEA!"

The farmer just kept sweeping.

"CAN YOU COME HERE PLEASE!" screamed Clover. "I HAVE AN IDEA!"

The farmer backed the tractor out to go get the flatbed and hitch it to the truck.

 "I CAN TEST THE MILK FOR YOU!" screamed Clover. "I KNOW HOW TO DO IT! I HAVE BEEN DOING IT MY WHOLE LIFE!"

The farmer hitched the tractor to the flatbed. The mothers finished gobbling and started crying.

 "ALSO I REMEMBER NOW," screamed Clover, "I JUST TESTED THE MILK AND IT IS FINE. I TESTED IT YESTERDAY! IT'S FINE! A+!"

The farmer rolled the fencing off the flatbed and pulled it out to the driveway.

"EXCUSE ME," screamed Clover, "MIDGET IS HAVING AN ANXIETY ATTACK! HE IS A MAMA'S BOY!"

"THAT'S TRUE!" screamed Betty from the other side of the fence.

"AND I THINK HIS GALLBLADDER JUST POPPED!"

"I HEARD IT!" screamed Cubby. 

The farmer went and got the truck and hitched it to the flatbed.

"MIDGET JUST FAINTED!" Clover bellowed. "AND COCO IS HAVING A BRAIN HERNIA!"

The farmer got in the truck and drove away.

"I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY!" screamed Clover. 

"I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY!" screamed the mothers.

The truck disappeared, heading down the road toward Home.

The Most Beautiful Squirrel in the World

Life is full of mistakes. Every time you turn around there is some kind of mistake. Just yesterday I stood next to Betsy at the feeder. That was a mistake.

Years ago there was a mistake made in the Boxcar Betty family. That's because there is a rule of thumb. If you are in the Belle family and you are very special, you are supposed to get a Belle name. Hannah Belle, Cora Belle, Belle Pepper, Million Belles (that's me). But when Betty was born she tumbled out like a little pair of dice, just a black-and-white ball flashing polka dots across the straw, and the farmer said "Boxcars!"

That name stuck and she became Boxcar Betty.

She should have had a Belle name. But she didn't. So that meant none of her kids had Belle names. Because it was a rule of thumb. Duchess should have had a Belle name. And so should Iota.

And when Iota had her kids, they weren't eligible for Belle names, and they didn't seem particularly to need them because they looked like squirrels. So the girl was named Cloud 9 (Cloudy) and that seemed ok for a few weeks. But then she began to grow into herself, shaking off her baby funk. And she began to develop a certain type of personality that has been seen before here, a personality that reminds everyone of a certain someone. And she did not look anything like a squirrel any more, or if she did, she was the most beautiful squirrel in the world.

Luckily our farmer is weak-minded, and hadn't gotten around to sending any papers in, and yesterday the farmer said, hmm, I think you might need a new name.

And so here it is years later and what do you know. The mistake of Betty's name has been fixed. So you see all those mistakes you made don't have to be set in stone. They are only mistakes in your mind. Change your mind and you can fix them.

There's a new Belle in town.


Iota's Daughter

Milk Time!

We Love Our Work from herron hill on Vimeo.

We Aren't Mice

Well today it was a nice day. There was no ice storm. There wasn't any hail. It didn't really even rain. It was cold in the morning, but it was very nice in general.

So that is one nice day we have had this year.

Here's something funny. Betty the new herd queen has a set of triplets. One is Cubby, the friendliest little goat in the world. If he ever sees a person he runs pronging toward them and throws himself into their arms. Then there is Clover, the triplet girl. She is about the same as Cubby, maybe about 18% less enthusiastic, still way up there on the Friendlies Chart.

Then there is the little tiny one that looks just like Betty, only very pinched. His name used to be Midget, but now he is just called The Wart. Short for worrywart. That's all he does.

Worry.Worry worry worry.

If it isn't raining, he worries that it will start raining. If it is raining, he worries it will stop.

"We need rain for our crops." he says. (What crops? Is he talking about the goat berries?)

If it is time to go outside, he worries that there might be intruders outside. That's ridiculous, intruders come inside. That's why they're called intruders. If it is time to come inside, he worries that a cat might be waiting under the feeder in the stall.

"So what?" everyone says. "What is a cat going to do?"

"Cats kill mice," he explains, ominously.

"So what?" everyone says. "We aren't mice."

Today the farmer came to take all the babies outside, all seven of them. Six went pronging cheerfully out the door. Not the Wart.

"I'm not going," he yelled, from under the feeder. "I'm afraid I'll get separated from everybody."

Then when everyone had disappeared from sight, he ran screaming out of the barn.

Who is this kid anyway? His mother is the Queen, his father is totally chill. And he is The Wart.

Little dude, why not forget all that hassle and relax like Cubby and Clover? Like Cloudy and Horatio? Like the two little LaManchas, what are their names anyway? Have some Cherry Trance Milk and just relax.

My Enemy My Friend

Well what about Abby. Abby is Moldy's daughter and she is Pebbles' mother so she tends to get overshadowed between the Beauty Queen and the Crackpot Oregonian. She used to be my enemy but now she is my best friend. This often happens with enemies. It is because she is a lot like me in spite of the fact that she comes from Oregon even though she was born here. I have come to realize now that I am more mature that you can't help coming from Oregon. It is like being struck by lightning. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Anyway people always think she is my twin which she isn't.

Abby is quite pretty and she went to the Fair last year and right before she was going to show Pebbles snuck over and drank just about every last drop of milk so she didn't look that good at showtime which she couldn't give a hoot about but she came in third anyway which was pretty good considering she is from Oregon and so on.

Anyway Abby is bred to Jackie again so we are bracing ourselves for the arrival of more little Pebbles but in the meantime Abby has been growing herself out.

Now that she is a 2-year-old she is much deeper and broader and her dairy character is going through the roof but anyway the farmer looked at her yesterday and said, "she really doesn't look too horrible," which means that she will be going back out on the show circuit this year and she is probably the only goat in the world who will be pleased by that news.

Long Live the Queen

Boxcar Betty used to be mild-mannered and obedient. She even went to one show and walked like a princess and won first place and the judge said: "that is the cutest thing I have ever seen."

Then Betty started hanging around with her mother, Hannah Belle. And Betty vowed never to go to another show.

Hannah Belle always thought that obedience was for losers.

So if someone like Pinky would come down and announce that all the milkers were supposed to go to the milk parlor, Hannah Belle would not even get up, she would just turn her head in a leisurely fashion and pop a fresh cud and drawl: "Says Who?"

Hannah Belle was also a master of the head flip - if you haven't read up in your goat glossary the head flip is very similar to its counterpart in the encyclopedia of human gestures. If a goat gives you the head flip, it is the same as if a person flipped you off.

The meaning is: don't stand near me, don't look at my food, move along and stop blotting out the light, outside under the rain gutter would be a good place for you to stand.  Hannah Belle could keep another goat in the opposite corner of her stall without getting up - why get up? that's so much trouble -  by means of the head flip. Iota to this day really doesn't venture into the nook nearest the door in Hannah Belle's stall. She was head-flipped out of it by a master. That kind of head flip leaves a lasting impression, especially on a small potato like Iota.

Until recently Betty was not much of a flipper.

That's all changed: Betty can hardly stop flipping now.

She flipped Blue, she flipped Belle Pepper, she flipped me, she flipped Izzy, she flipped Moldy (not that Moldy noticed), she flipped all the yearlings. She just flipped.

Now, when she is on the other side of the fence, she even flips Pinky, who by this time weighs about a thousand pounds. But discretion is the better part of flipping, and she doesn't flip Wronny or even Brandy. That's a mark of respect - one world leader to another.

We thought it would be a long time before a Nigerian battled to the top of the ladder.

But just yesterday I heard Sandy asking whether it would be okay to go under the broken fence rail and into the driveway and up the hill to the barn and try to stampede the alfalfa.

And Pebbles gave a stumped look and gazed off into the distance and said, "I guess we better ask Betty."

Long Live the Queen.

Sky Milk

Iota had an attack of knuckleheadedness yesterday and wriggled onto the wrong side of the fence where she spent almost the whole day bawling for her babies. Anyway her optimistic little daughter on the other side of the fence began to look for milk in the sky as the day wore on.

Peanut often did this, just turning his face up to the clouds and assuming the nursing position, so we call it the Peanut-cloud position. I never saw it but there must have been a day when he did find a little white milk cloud, possibly hovering over the honey tree.

Wait a Minute

Well Cherry did it again and it is getting a little ridiculous.

She has already been reprimanded once for kids out of wedlock and this year she didn't get bred because she needed to take some time off  because she milked herself down to skin and bones just like Jimmy.

Just the other day the farmer said to Cherry, "see, Cherry, this vacation is doing you a world of good. You almost look a little bit chubby. Almost."

Well anyway the farmer came out yesterday morning and there was a plaintive meek crying in the background that could only be described as Nubianesque. The farmer showed surprising alertness and within a few minutes said, "wait a minute, that does not sound like Nigerian babies." Nigerian babies are not known for their plaintive meek crying.

Then the farmer went and looked at the five Nigerian babies and they were all asleep in a pile and the plaintive meek crying continued and the farmer said, "wait a minute," and shortly after that was able to discover the two little black doelings that Cherry had just dropped off under the hay feeder in the back stall.

"Wait a minute," said the farmer, and took the two little babies out, and then the farmer said, "wait a minute," because Cherry had very cunningly had them of a perfect size so that they might be little LaManchas or on the other hand they might be big mini-Manchas, so who knew if their father was a Nigerian or a LaMancha. So there was no clue as to their paternal heritage, and then the farmer took them out into the sun to look at them more closely, and although they didn't have wattles or blue eyes it turned out that they weren't really black either but a sort of dark coppery color we haven't seen before that much.

Except of course on Cherry, who is a Big Orange daughter, black with coppery highlights. And on Chaos the Nigerian buck who is so handsome and distinguished. And then they were decidedly on the smallish side, well one was anyway. But their ears were very LaManchaesque.

And in the end the farmer said "I give up." They will be signed up for a DNA test.

Cherry went right back to milking like a fish and when Betty's kids had their horns off yesterday and were feeling blue, two of them gladly gobbled the extra Cherry milk even though they are not bottle babies. Midget, a dyed-in-the-wool Mama's Boy, declined to participate. So he huddled miserably in the corner while Cubby and Clover took a ride on Cherry's Stupefying Milk Train to the Land of Nod.

The Void

No one has mentioned it but there is a void. A big void.

It has been so miserable and rainy and snowy and sleety that we cannot start to fill the void.

The void can only be filled when all of us are together in the sun.

It is very easy when you are in your stall listening to rain drumming on the roof to say to yourself, "I certainly am the only one here with the intelligence and savoir faire to become the next Nigerian leader and once I have assumed  my rightful position I will make sure that certain parties do not hog all the oats and I will also announce a day in my honor where the humble peninsula dwellers may come and worship me bringing small totems of swedish fish."

But then you look around and you can read clearly the thought bubbles hanging in the air and it is apparent that everyone is thinking the same thing, except the ones who do not know fancy phrases like savoir faire, and they are thinking the same thing minus the French.

At this point it is embarrassing if you accidentally make eye contact with someone.

But let's be realistic, who could actually be the next leader?

The obvious choices would be Hannah Belle's sisters, Blue or my mother Belle Pepper.

But Blue has RPD (retiring personality disorder) and she can't even get her own children to come when she calls. And my mother Belle Pepper is too much of a free spirit, and too kindly. Next down the line would be Jammies the candy milker, a 7/8 Nigerian and a Captain January daughter like Blue and Belle Pepper. But Jammies has no stomach for herd politics. Not to mention no ears, which are kind of required for this position.

What about Eo, half Nigerian? Completely anti-social.

Abby or Moldy? Too much Oregon. Me? Too Young. Iota or Terra or the yearlings? Too young, too young, too young.

Well who does that leave then?

Stay tuned, as a new ruler emerges from the shadows....(right now pretend you are hearing a dark burst of duh-duh-duh organ music offstage, something that makes you gasp)

Ride Wanted (Lakebay to Lagos)

The Key Peninsula Expedition; Day 150.

Dear Diary: Now it is sleeting, with iceballs dancing in the feeders and the wind blowing a gale from all directions at once. I fear it is too late to turn back. Also, I do not know how we got here. Oh wait, I was born here. But someone must know the way back to Nigeria, to the ancestral home of the Dwarfs? Is it on I-5 or further east?

Send In the Lion

Every morning when we wake up it is freezing cold. This morning the fields are carpeted with frost. Today they say don't be surprised by scattered snow. Also don't be surprised by miserable rain and endless mud. It is a little bit like the endless winter of Narnia before the lion comes.

And then on tv Cubby* saw people in shorts walking around in Chicago and Minnesota and New York and all kinds of places where no one would mind if it snowed.

Cubby saw pictures of the cherry blossoms in full bloom along the Tidal Basin, sad news for the Cherry Blossom Festival because the blossoms will be gone by the time the festival starts. Cubby saw schnauzers in puppy cuts skipping along Lake Michigan. Places where it ought to be snowing. Places where if it snowed in the middle of March on the day before the first day of spring it wouldn't be on Page One. It would maybe be down near the bottom of Page Three, next to the news about the man dressed as a giant bunny rabbit who interrupted the city council meeting.

 So anyway ok that's enough. We get it. You made your point. Send in the lion.

 *Cubby has turned into a lap goat and he goes inside to to watch the news

Iota and the Squirrels

Ok here is the whole family. Iota has been developing a magnificent topknot, I must say.

Beautiful Screamers

In these photos Lori tries unsuccessfully to explain the farm's strict "No Screaming" policy to the squirrels.

Iota Be in Pictures

Betty's daughter Iota, a first freshener, took a bipolar approach to labor with the set of chubby boy-girl St. Patrick's Day twins she delivered today, alternating between a Zen state of wide-eyed surreal calm (pictured above) and a state of world-ending earsplitting please-don't-wake-the-dead-oh-sorry-I-already-did horror. The farmer is trying to decide what the twins' names will be, so fine if you have a suggestion. FYI, Patrick and Bridget have already been nixed, along with Sure and Begorrah. I think they look like fat squirrels if that is any help.

Sunny Day

Video: The Betty Family enjoys a stroll around the barnyard. Well for some dratted reason this video doesn't work now. Here is the Braille version: triplets hop around, sproing sproing sproing, Betty observes them with satisfaction. Yes, her expression says, these are the best triplets I have seen in a long time. Sproing sproing sproing, drink a little milk, sproing sproing sproing.

Betty's Girl

Yes It's Me

Betty's Boys

Midget at the Milk Bar

Cubby waits his turn

A Formal Feeling

Well it is a known fact that you can't sit around reading Emily Dickinson poems all day long no matter how gloomy you feel because the fence won't fix itself and what about the gate. And what about Betty's triplets, they need names, real names not just Mouseketeer names (one supposedly is going to be called Midget, just because he is tiny and cute.) What about the half-finished feeder, how long is that going to sit in front of the cottage?

Enough is enough.

Anyway finally the farmer noticed that a few thousand things needed doing and trudged around mechanically not getting much done but at least moving.

Penrose caught sight of the farmer and came racing up to the barn, cantering right through the deathly mud patch at the top of the hill so that she came out the other side wearing two pairs of chocolate brown knee socks.

"What do you want Penrose?" the farmer intoned dully when Penrose poked her head over the stall door expectantly.

Penrose did not say anything but wouldn't go away and finally the farmer went and got her some grain and put it in the dish on the milkstand and let Penrose out of the stall.

And Penrose cantered spryly out of the stall and jumped up on the milkstand and began eating ravenously, only looking around occasionally at the farmer as if to say, "come on, let's get started, I don't have all day."

And after a few minutes of sweeping the farmer looked up and saw that Penrose had come into milk and wanted to be milked. Penrose is 9 years old and she hasn't kidded since 2007 and she hasn't settled since 2006 and once again she was back in milk, probably she heard Midget crying in the barn, most likely about the name he has been given, and that caused the milk to begin flowing into her udder because that is all it really takes for a goat like Penrose who comes from 400 years of purebred Swiss Toggenburgs.

Wendell sat nearby, licking his whiskers and quivering in unseemly milk anticipation.

And the farmer actually smiled and sat down and milked Penrose out and even said "I'll be darned."

It was a miracle.

The loaves, the fishes, the milk. Saint Penrose does it again.

Many Thanks

It was a hard, hard, hard day here yesterday, pretty close to the hardest day ever. So there is no easy way to tell it.

Hannah Belle was not progressing in her labor and suddenly started to go downhill fast. The kids had to come out right away. She was rushed into the hospital for a c-section.

The c-section went well, but the kids - beautiful triplet doelings - could not be saved.

Hannah Belle was discharged immediately with an i.v. and a collection of medicines. It was a rough trip home, but we hoped that she would start to improve once she was settled back in her stall with Betty. That did not happen.

Hannah Belle collapsed and died in the farmer's arms about an hour after getting home. That is hard to write, because once it is written down we have no choice but to believe it. And how could something like that, something so completely impossible, be true.

But it is.

Thanks to everyone who kept sending good thoughts to Hannah Belle.

Thanks to Betty's one-day-old son Cubby, who liked to sleep right next to his grandma, and kept her interested in life even when the going was tough.

Thanks to Hannah Belle for all her beautiful kids. Thanks to Hannah Belle for all the joy she brought us for eight years. Thanks to Hannah Belle for being so completely her mother's daughter. Thanks to Hannah Belle for being Hannah Belle. Nobody else could have done it.

Now she is with her mother, and her daughters.

And we are here without her.

Hannah Belle and her Farmer.