There might not be any crying in farming, but by God, there sure is cussing...

I should have gone out to the barn yesterday when it was still light, but I got a new cell phone, and I was playing around with it. So I didn't get out there until after supper to feed. Mistake. BIG mistake.

I walked into the barn and smelled a horrible smell. Now, my biggest fear has been that I will encounter a skunk either in the barn, or cross paths with one outside. So far I've been fine, but last night I thought my luck had ended. Come to find out it was yet ANOTHER possum, but this one had been "skunked"! He stank to high heavens. He was in a horse stall, but very close to the exit that the cats have fashioned for themselves. So I grabbed a pitchfork and tried to encourage him to leave. No luck. He was angry, biting at the pitchfork and growling.

One thing that is interesting to note is that our animals have "keyhole feeders" which are feeders fashioned so that they can stick their heads outside of the stalls to eat. That keeps the feeders (and water buckets) free of food and poop so that they are less apt to catch worms or other disease. Goats will also (smart as they are) not drink from a bucket that they have soiled. So when I walk into the barn, they all have their heads stuck through the feeders, looking at me.

So last night I am shouting at the possum, wielding my pitchfork like a wildwoman, and suddenly I look and see that everyone, all six of them, have stopped their chorus of baas, and are looking at me intently. Dead silence, just observing the food lady take charge. It was quite amusing, given the amount of bellering that usually occurs. I don't know if they were glad I was getting the possum out, watching me supportively; wondering what the hell I was doing; or scared to death of my carrying on. But it was funny.

So I cornered it, and put a trap near it with some cat food. It was scared, and not going anywhere. In the meantime, I started feeding. I have taken Wolfgang out of Cindi's stall, as it has been a month and we are hoping she is bred. So Ernie is back in with her and Joe Llama. I have had to hold a separate bucket of feed for Joe because Ernie steals his food. Well, last night I held the bucket for him, but Ernie got too close. Joe spit the contents of his mouth straight at Ernie, but Ernie ducked! Guess who got spat at?! From about 18", nearly a point blank range, he spat straight at my face. Grain. Covered in llama saliva. It was in my hair, stuck to my glasses, down my jacket, all over me.

Having finished feeding, and worse for the wear, I went back to dispatching the possum. It was still huddled in this corner, behind a door. I opened the door, to create somewhat of a triangle (hard to explain, but just go with me here), and left the only opening to be directly into the trap. I couldn't get to him, then, as he was behind the door. So I jabbed him with the pitchfork from under the door. He ran out, and directly into the trap. Success!

But then I had this stinking possum to get rid of. I really wanted to just let him out away from the barn, but I knew I would be dealing with his sinky self again if I did that, so I put him in the back of my car and took him to the same place we've taken the others. My car stank to high heavens, and I am hoping that after removing the animal, the trap, and the paper I put under the trap, that my car will smell better this morning.

I have a professional development class today, and I really don't want to come sauntering in smelling like a goat bathed in llama saliva, with skunk overtones.

Off to the barn to see what surprises are in store for me today...

Santa Baby

Yesterday I sent Santa a little hint. He didn't get it, apparently he's never heard the song "Santa Baby." Anyway, I'm not humming Christmas carols just yet, but my Christmas list was made long ago...


Santa baby, slip a new goat under the tree, For me.

I've been an awful good girl,
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa baby, a set of hoof nippers too, Light blue.

I'll wait up for you dear,
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Think of all the hay that I will need,
Alfalfa, oats and black oil sunflower seed,
Next year I could be oh, so good,
If you'd bring me some goats to breed,
Boo doo bee doo.

Santa honey, I wanna big herd,
And really that's not absurd,
I've been an angel all year,
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa cutie, there's one thing on which I’m stuck, a buck.
A sire for my new herd,
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa baby, fill my stocking with a doe, And Oh!
Please could she be bred to Pistolero,
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Come and trim my Christmas tree,
With some tools bought at TSC,
I really do believe in you,
Let's see if you believe in me,
Boo doo bee doo.

Santa baby, forgot to mention one thing more, A Boer.
(I don't mean a dull guy),
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight,
Hurry down the chimney tonight,
Hurry down the chimney tonight

Grocery Shocking

Last weekend we stocked up on supplies before the long winter. A partial list of necessities included:

Latex Gloves
KY Jelly
Enema bottle
Absorbent Pads
Rubber Tubing
Bulb Syringe
Karo Syrup
Dental Floss

No, we didn’t have some kinky sex party, we are preparing for spring kidding! It’s not for a while yet, but we sold our corn at a good price and used the check to stock up on the supplies we’ll need for spring. Some great folks put together a list of necessities. We already had many things on the list, but buying the remaining items cost around $300! This goat business is not a cheap business…

Anyway, it was fun to put those things in the basket at Target and make people wonder

Got Milk?

This is an interesting article about small farmers and raw milk/eggs. It's particularly interesting to me because when we moved here and acquired livestock, I saw all of the catalogs containing all of the medicines and supplements that are available for livestock, and I was shocked. I have always been concerned about the hormones and such in milk and meat, but I guess it was just more "in your face" when I saw the catalogs that sold the stuff. It's easy as a consumer to live with your head in the sand.

When we created our business plan, we were determined to avoid giving any unnecessary supplements to our animals. Totally organic would mean no antibiotics, no deworming, and only organically grown feed. While, in theory, this is an ideal practice, for us just starting out, the potential for loss of animals is too great. Several animals have been treated for something in their time at our farm. Organically grown feed is nearly 3 times as much as the feed we buy.

We do, however, refrain from overuse of antibiotics, we do not use growth hormones or steroids in any way, and we only deworm if we actually find worms. We do not worm on a regular basis, or proactively. We feed hay grown on our farm, which is not sprayed with insecticide or contaminated with feces (fertilized with manure).

Folks who sell organic meat can usually command prices high enough to afford the additional costs and risk of organic practices. However, our land is surrounded by farms on all sides, and because they do not practice organic farming, it makes it difficult to avoid any residual pesticide or runoff, and that would exclude us from organic certification.

Anyway, I'm sort of digressing from my point, which really is that it's a shame that someone who wants to avoid hormones, antibiotics, processing, or other changes/supplements/additions to their food is precluded from the freedom to buy it. If a person wants to buy it, the government should not intervene and say that they cannot. However, if someone should not do the research and become sick because they bought food that was unhealthy, neither should they count on the government to bail them out via litigation. It's a buyer beware situation.

It's just that you can't really go in the store and look at a steak in the stryofoam package and tell if that cow has been fed growth hormones or antibiotics, or has been treated cruelly. It's really limiting the freedom of the consumer to choose.

Stepping off the soapbox...

Good Morning Food Lady!!

I am sick. With strep throat. Ugh...

So when I came into the barn this morning, I was not myself, groggy and sick. I perked up right away when I was greeted by a gaggle of cats plus two goats and a llama. Because I was late this morning, it seems that Major decided to stir up some trouble. He opened up the stall next to his, containing Cindi, Ernie and Joe Llama. It was a free for all in the barn-- hay everywhere, jumping and frolicking in the aisles... Thankfully I have endured enough shennangans to know that one should always keep the grain locked up and goat proof.

Because they were extra hungry, it didn't take much more than a feeder full of grain to entice them back into captivity.

On a related note, I let the horses out and they were alarmed by something. Horses are so funny, they look like weather vanes when they are worried or concerned about something. They face the "threat" all puffed up, all standing in the same direction like sentries defending against said threat. So today I noticed that there was cause for concern. I peeked around the barn to see what they were en guarde against, and lo and behold there was a field full of cattle a couple of pastures away. Horrors!!

However, I did also notice that an old fence was broken and needs to be repaired. I hope they don't consider a jailbreak until I am feeling better

Playing Possum Part Deux

I blogged last time about my possum experience. Well, there is more.

All of this whole business started because of the cats. (You know, all of the good stories start with that line...)

So when we moved into this place, we inherited, along with gobs of junk that needed to be taken to the dump, a cat. Grey and white, and tough as nails. Our house had been vacant for nearly a year, and she survived just fine. She gave us about a 30’ berth, so we had no idea if she was a he or a she. Well, of course, until she brought her kittens around.

We nicknamed her BB, I don’t really know why. But that is her name, and she is still around today. After three years, she and her babies and all of their descendants have graced us with their presence. I don’t know how many cats have come and gone, but currently we have 13 cats—all descended from BB.

Many of those that have come and gone have been truly feral—not only skittish, but really disliking people. BB has come around somewhat, since we do feed her, but we have not been able to even touch her, let along hold her or love on her. Sometimes we don’t see her for a few days, or sometimes she shows up for both the morning and evening meal. It just depends.

When we saw that she was definitely a she, we found out that there is a service provided by the University here that will spay and neuter your barn cats. It’s provided by the vet students, but there is a waiting list. It does cost, but at $15 it is quite economical. They have the setup necessary to sedate a feral cat in a cat carrier or trap. They also lend their traps to catch the cats. However, we had no idea that we would be on the list for a matter of YEARS. We put our name on the list in the summer of 2004, and just received the call on October 21st (of 2006) that our number was up to bring the cats in. We jumped at the chance!

The first go-round they only had space for 5 of our colony. No problem, the last batch of kittens born are very tame, and we found 5 that could travel easily in carriers. When we got up there, we borrowed the traps for the second set (8 cats), which were taken this past Sunday. Here is a picture of the traps, so you can see what they look like:



Saturday L and I went to a goat event, so we were busy. We came home and corralled the tame cats, and set traps for the feral cats. There were 2 feral cats loose, and 2 traps.

That night, MK and J invited us over for some great food, and, as it happened, some great margaritas. Some really great, put-your-ass-under-the-table margaritas. We came home, and I went to the barn. I was standing around in the freezing cold barn without a coat, even, those maragaritas had warmed me right up! I was feeling nothing but happiness! Until I saw that the cat I thought I had trapped was a POSSUM. Yep, Possum #2. Too bad I hadn’t trapped it before going to MK’s house, as I could have brought it as a housewarming gift instead of the jar of applesauce. Instead, since B was the sober one, he had to drive it at 11:00 on a Saturday night, up to the forest preserve and let it out.

The traps were again baited, and we went to bed.

The next morning, we woke up and checked the traps. TWO OPEN TRAPS. Those cats were not about to take the bait, and apparently we had dispatched all of the possums.

We load them up and take them up to the vet.

But let me paint the picture for you: You have just woken from your slumber at 5:15 am, after a late evening involving alcohol containing a worm. You stumble out to the barn to do chores, and collect the cats. The collection process is a royal bitch because you have to sort out the ones that have already been neutered, you are cussing at the ones that have not trapped themselves, but are still underfoot begging for their breakfast, and the ones that have been trapped overnight have already pooped in their traps and stink to high heavens. They are crying and lunging and carrying on, and they are running back and forth from one end of the trap to the other as you try and load them into the car. It’s heavy, stinky, and messy work. The cats provide a chorus for the entire 65 minute drive, and they fill your car with a scent like none other. Of course, we have protection down for the interior of our cars, but the smell while traveling with them is overwhelming. You have not had breakfast, are starving and in dire need of caffeine, but don’t dare stop on the way, as there will be no way you can choke down food with that stench in your car.

Ultimately, all’s well that ends well, as we got the cats back and everyone’s been de-gendered, and they have been released back into the barn. God knows they won’t be so scarred from the event that they will not stick around for the next meal.

A footnote: B went to load some hay into the barn after we came back on Sunday night, and when he came in the house, he said,

“You’re going to be mad.”

Me: Wha?

“I saw another possum in the barn. It ran behind the fridge.”

I set the trap last night, but only caught a kitten. I’m turning into Bill Murray.

Playing (with) Possum

Okay, MK, here is the possum story:

A week or so ago, I came into the barn in the evening, and switched on the light. Usually the “pile” of cats disbands and comes running toward me in a “welcome food lady!” gesture. This particular day, the cats disbanded per usual, but one of them waddled the opposite way of the door. Upon further investigation, it turned out to not be a cat, but to be a possum.

Possums are ugly. They are like rats, relatively bald with patchy, coarse hair, with a nasty bald, pink, somewhat scaly tail. Their faces are not necessarily nasty, but it’s hard to get past the tail.

This possum was about as large as a cat, and strangely, he was not deterred by my presence—even when I grabbed a pitchfork and attempted to “encourage” him to leave the barn.

I have been instructed to kill any possum that shows up on my property, as possums can be carriers of EPM, a debilitating disease of horses. However, I could not bring myself to destroy him—especially with a pitchfork—simply for showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I just wanted him to leave, as the last thing I wanted was for "him" to turn out to be "her" with her babies in tow. I am sure she won't hesitate to use her teeth on me if she feels as though I am threatening her babies...

He finally went behind the refigerator in my barn, and I didn’t see him after that. (That was not what I had planned to happen…)

I thought maybe I had scared him away, and he would leave the barn after I left.

That was not true, and I found that out a few days later when I came into the barn and found a bottle of nutritional supplement knocked to the ground and completely chewed up. I knew it was not a cat!

I happen to have some live traps (long story, another blog post) and decided to set a trap for him. Of course, I knew that as soon as I baited the traps, that cats would be caught in them right and left. So I fed the cats in a large dog carrier, and lured as many of them in as I could. There were three cats left that would not be duped. Fortunately, I had 4 traps. Nearly immediately after baiting the traps, two cats were lured and trapped. That left one cat and two traps.

I came into the barn the next morning, and the one cat was still wise enough not to be trapped. However, both of the remaining traps had been tripped! One was occupied by a stray tom cat that has been quite a nuisance lately, and the other trap contained Mr. Possum! Success!

I contemplated breaking in my new .22 rifle and using Mr. Possum for target practice, but I considered that I would rather have a shooting course first, and dispatch Mr. Possum humanely. So that suggestion was out. I ultimately decided to take him to a nearby county woods park and let him go.

The kids were so funny—they wanted to go with me and see him off, and the whole drive there, they talked to him in their funny baby talk. He was not impressed as he drooled and played dead. He woke right up when we let him go, and he shot out of the trap like a bat out of hell.

All’s well that ends well.

MK: I don’t believe that possums course, per say, unless they are the bait. However, some folks do eat possums.

Roasted Opossum (Possum)

1 opossum

1 chopped onion

1 tablespoon of bacon fat

1/4 teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce

1 cup of bread crumbs

1 hard boiled egg

1 teaspoon of salt

water


Rub opossum with salt and pepper. Brown onion in fat. Add opossum liver and cook until tender. Add bread crumbs, Worcestershire sauce, egg, salt, and water. Mix thoroughly and stuff opossum. Truss like a fowl. Put in a roasting pan with bacon across back and pour one quart of water in pan. Roast uncovered in moderate oven 350ºF. until tender (about 2 1/2 hours).

SILENCE!

My m.o. is basically OUTPUT. I am a loud, busy, (usually) fun and energetic person. I am not typically quiet or shy. I do not spend a lot of time in solitude, or pondering. In fact, I would be willing to bet that it's been said about me that I should spend more time thinking before I speak, rather than during or after my comments. : )

The last couple of weeks, as I recovered from my busy time, I have been spending in quiet. Not necessarily in my relationships with others, though I have been more thoughtful about my interactions with my family, but also in my blogging and my consideration of things. For example, I saw a sunset last night, and really wanted to photograph it, to capture it and share it with the world. But, instead, I chose to take it in-- spend more time and energy keeping it to myself, rather than spitting it back at others. I have had silly thoughts, and funny things to report, but instead, I just chose to laugh to myself or to share them with B.

I don't really know why I am feeling this way, and I don't think it is indicative of any sort of immediate depression or problem. I think it's just a phase. It is healthy for me, though, as I think that while my normal behavior is, well, normal (for me), it consumes a lot of energy and effort. I am tired, lots of things have made me tired lately, and as I try and recover from this busy time, from a very difficult work period (which went off very well, I might add), and a very difficult time with M, being quiet and thoughtful has enabled me to recharge.

I think that I am very close to being "back to my normal" self (whatever that is), but I feel like that panic is just the other side of a bad day. It's also exhausting to be fearful or cognizant of that. I do have some appointments lined up to be sure that it doesn't happen again. Eileen said that I had a panic attack, and if you have never had one of those, consider yourself very lucky. I used to think that people made those things up, or were fragile people, and couldn't deal with life's speed bumps very well. I have struggled with not only the fear of another panic attack, but the feeling that I must now not be as strong as I once was. Logically that's just BS, but emotionally it's hard to convince oneself otherwise.

I read a wonderful article recently (Dooce linked to it). If you have a chance to read it, you should. It describes a man, like myself, who thought depression and panic was for weak people. Not strong people like me. He happened to be smack in the middle of Hurricane Katrina. My "hurricane" was when B was discharged from the AF. That same time, M was diagnosed, and we had no idea where we were going, where the money would be coming from, and I-- a person who was typically in control-- was feeling incredibly out of control. I used to write scenarios on index cards and then write everything that would happen if that scenario came to pass. It was like having a flow chart for my life. If we were discharged with X amount of money, to X part of the country, then we would take action by doing this and this and this. For a different amount of money, or a different part of the country, or for not being discharged, then we would do this. In that situation, given that he was not yet discharged (and not certain of discharge), and we didn't know where we were going, it was difficult not to put the horse before the cart. No job until you have a destination, no destination until you are discharged, no money until you are discharged... A very, helpless, out-of-control situation that rocked my confidence and made me forever second guess my plan in life. I will never allow myself to be controlled to that extent ever again.

So that was my "hurricane." The author of the article was never able to recover from the hurricane because he covered stories of suffering and despair daily. Even when his familiy moved away to stay with family while the worst of it was occurring, he stayed behind to cover those desperate souls still mired in the aftermath. My aftermath was not a result of the Air Force, but rather my daily struggle with M and her emotional issues. It has been 14 years, and it has its ups and downs. Currently, it is down-- she is a teenager, with a severe attitude problem, unable to understand cause and effect, unable to conceptualize her place in relationships. Always angry at me for my role in whatever situation is plaguing her at the moment, from something about her clothes, to something that happened with her friends. She punishes me daily, from the time I wake up until the time I go to bed. Our family dynamic clearly needs help, and I have plans to work on that, but I have to fix me first, as I need the strength to deal with her. Had I not been dealing with that for 14 years already, I think I would have more energy, but she has become fiercest when I find myself at my weakest. So I did not have an adequate chance to recover and renew after my hurricane. Work was a source of strength and stability. Dotting i's and crossing t's is a great way for one to feel in control. I can juggle all the balls necessary at work, even if the balls at home are dropping. It's enough to make me feel in control and effective, just to have the work part humming along smoothly. And frankly, that is a big step for me. Because at my old house, before we moved to the farm, I could not let the house/home stuff lie, either. But now my cleaning standards have relaxed, and I am content with not being supermom. However, when I had four meetings in four weeks (three major meetings), a ball was bound to drop. Instead of rolling with the punches, I was ill equipped. I was unable to roll with the punches. I lost my mind when the ball dropped, as I had lost all control of every aspect of my life (in my warped reality). In REALITY, I have amazing support from B and L. M does provide me with stability in her own way--- I can always depend on her to be consistently angry! I did NOT lose control. But my perception was one of despair, and I became desperate.

So, now as I come back, I am trying to take that respite. I am still bruised from that episode, and I am still very wary of it happening again. And, true to form, I will do what it takes to ensure I never find myself there again. Of course, that comes with its own pressures, but there are some things that one cannot change about themselves. I will not be silent for long!

In the meantime, I am storing up lots to write about. I can't wait to tell you about my possum that is at home in my Hav-A-Hart trap, just waiting for me to get home and figure out what the heck to do with it!!

What a morning...

I have had "one of those mornings." I got up early enough to get to work early. I was happy about that, because I am taking tomorrow and half of Friday off to recuperate from my crazy month. (Like one day will help! But it's a start...) I ended up late for work, since about the time I left, Rocky (our dog) ran away. It makes me so incensed, since Raven would never run away. The emotional side of me thinks that if life is so terrible at our house that he just wants to bolt every time the door opens, then he should just run and leave his miserable existence here. Why should we hold him captive and feed him great food and love on him and give him a nice warm house, if he would rather be on his own? I know that he doesn't really think that logically, but it just makes me angry... So instead of heading for work, I help B find him in the hay field. I am running through the grass in my blazer and skirt. I smashed my hand in the gate, and it is swollen and bruised already. I stepped in dog poo in my new (not work) boots. I left without getting breakfast, and I was already 20 minutes late.

As I typed this blog, I got a call from B that he had run over a kitten.

Ugh, what a day. I just want to go back to bed, and it isn't even 9:00.

On the positive side, I did sell our corn this morning for a very great $2.89 a bushel! Woo hoo! We will be buying "infrastructure" as B calls it-- fence and waterers. Of course, I would like to buy more goats, but that's always my answer!

Where to begin?

It has been an interesting few weeks. I wish I could say they were great, but they have definitely had their ups and downs.

The downs first...

Work is getting exceedingly stressful. I think probably the largest part of it is my inability to settle for anything less than perfection from myself. Definitely a character flaw, and given that I have spent the year (plus) in therapy, you'd think I'd have learned something. I have learned how to meditate, appreciate, vegitate, procrastinate and a hundred other things (that don't end in -ate) to give myself permission to be human. I have learned how to talk myself through tough situations and rationalize that my life doesn't have to be this way.

But it is not enough. While I thought I was making tremendous progress, when it came down to the wire, down to where it really mattered, it was all lip service. Superficial. I was unable to cut the mustard.

I have been doing my job since 1990. I am really, really good at it. I make mistakes, of course, as everyone does, but my clients love me. They just signed another year's contract with my company, for my services, and they have increased their pay to my company by over 33% in the past two years. They spoke the words, "we love her" to my company's CEO.

You would think that hearing and knowing that would be enough. Enough to get me out of bed in the morning, enough to give myself some lattitude to enjoy my job knowing that they love my work and find it worthy of a hefty raise.

Instead, it makes me feel intense pressure. If my client is paying that much more, then they deserve that much more toward perfection. Just typing it makes me feel like I must be insane-- that logic is just nonsense. But it is the way I feel, and the reality.

I had a meeting last week. I can't remember how many meetings I have planned for my work over the years. Scores. Big and small, complicated and simple. This meeting was for my dream client (the ones I mention above). I stressed out so badly last weekend I could hardly keep food down. (That is *SO* not like me!) I woke up every morning at 3:30 am, and even went into work one morning early because I couldn't get back to sleep. Two days before the meeting I had what I can only describe as a panic attack. I was convinced that I could *NOT* go to this meeting. I was thinking of all kinds of things I could do to get out of it-- feign sickness, call in with a made up farm accident, etc. It was completely and totally irrational. And even as I type it, it sounds like the most ridiculous thing one would ever do or think of. But my panic and my fear were completely overwhelming and undermined every ounce of logic and reason that I could even muster.

Fortunately, I am married to my most cherished friend. He picked me up, and while he validated my fears, he told me what I needed to do to get past them and succeed. He told me to breathe, put one foot in front of the other, and not to stop moving. And I did just what he told me to do. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, but I kept hearing him tell me that I could do it. During the meeting, he answered my phone calls, and text messaged me nice things. What an amazing friend.

Needless to say, my life is not the same as it was a year ago. Whatever has a hold of me has really gotten to my core, to the point that I am unable to do what I used to do in the same way. It has attacked my confidence and my experience. However, there is enough left of me to fight. There are things that I want to do, and I am pursuing them (the goats), and of course, for now, the day job is a necessary evil. But I am considering the amount of stress that I have daily, and whether this job is really healthy or not. Eileen has repeatedly told me that my job is not good for my health. I believe her, but I also question whether it will be this way for any job. After all, this is not reality, it is *my* reality, and it will be the same everywhere I go. It is not going to get any better until I fix the problem with me.

This runs in my family, it is deeper than logic, more real than you can ever imagine. I have seen it paralyze those who are heroes to me, render them helpless and hopeless. Fortunately, I think, because I have seen both sides of it, I know there is hope, and while it will not be an easy journey, I have what it takes. I have creative outlets, I have financial stability, I have the insight of experience with mental health issues, and above all, I have the dearest friend in the entire world for my life partner. I can't fail.

While all of that sounds like it would be all-consuming, life does go on, and there is plenty to be thankful for and from which to derive hope. Autumn is here, and I am determined to be excited about it. I am finding beauty today in the crisp wind, the whirlwinds of yellow and orange maple leaves swirling at my feet as the kids and I rush to get the last green tomatoes in for the season. It is going to be very cold the next few days, highs in the 40's and lows in the 20's. We will bring the tomatoes in the house, and hope they will ripen so we can can them. I can't wait to steam up the windows on the house, like a container of warm goodness in the cold air. Coming back in from the barn, you open the door to a steamy, savory smell that makes you ravenous, even if you just ate. I can't wait to bake pies and throw snowballs. This winter is going to be colder and more wintry than usual, or so they say. (Who ARE they??) We will get through it, hunker down and snuggle up, and get through it.

I came home from my meeting, and a good portion of the apples from the tree had fallen on the ground. So we shook the others loose and canned 14 quarts of applesauce this weekend. YUM!

The animals are doing well. Wolfgang and Cindi are bunking together, and you never know what might happen when you're not looking! We are hoping for some March kids from her. They will be so cute, and so cheeky! L has already asked for all of the babies. I don't think so! I get something for buying all of the feed, and doing most of the work! He will be working on a meat goat project for 4H, in addition to showing Cindi again this year.

Speaking of L, he is doing well in football. We are proud of him! His team has not had one touchdown, nor have they won one game (of course). It is sad to see them not do well, but we are proud of his effort and his sportsmanship. He plays left tackle. He has taken up the clarinet, and Rocky (the dog) enjoys singing his little duets. I can't figure out how that boy can play with the dog howling like he does...

M is going through her usual fall crises, too. We are getting through them better than ever this year, though. Currently we are planning for the big 14th birthday party, which involves renting a hotel room (Sheraton Points are a job perk, thank God) and inviting 4 girls to go swimming and have pizza. I hope I will be cool enough, but I'm sure I will fail miserably. I recently took her to a salon to have her hair cut, and I took a photo of how I wanted it cut. (Think Jennifer Anniston's haircut, but a little younger style.) You should have seen how she came out of there! Even B couldn't believe how different the photo was from her hair. This week is picture week, and I decided to get out the scissors myself. I must say, her hair looks stunning. I can't believe how cute it looks, and not frizzy at all. I should have done it in the first place-- it would have saved some money and several weeks of complaints. She is not happy with the length, I cut 2-3" off of it to get the dead ends off, and you'd have thought I removed an arm. Some days I'd like to take her tongue.

B and I are hooked on watching "The Office." Well, let me qualify that by saying that we don't watch it on TV, since we don't watch hardly any TV at all. We rent Netflix, and have watched the first couple of seasons on DVD. Actually, the finale of last season was so good that we may have to start watching it on TV, even though we hate that, and we have already missed the first few. It's one of those shows that is like a train wreck-- Michael Scott makes you cringe-- but you can't stop watching.

Well, think good thoughts for me this week. I am trying very hard to make things right.

A sensory time of year...

I am extremely stressed this time of year, it's the annual time when I have too much to do and not enough of me to go around. It makes me sick to my stomach, makes my head pound, I catch every sickness going around, and I am sure it takes years off my life. I am working on changing that, but change is not always fast enough for me. My first meeting came and went, and it went off without the tiniest hitch. A great way to start this "season" for me. The second meeting will be a week from Wednesday, and so far it is going well. Great attendance on all accounts, and my i's are dotted and my t's are crossed. The last meeting is a bit of an uncertainty for me, as it seems that the committee I am working with is setting me up to fail. I am working on turning things around so that despite their best efforts, the meeting succeeds, but obviously this is causing me to expend much effort, and certainly much stress. That meeting ends on the 20th of October. So, in about a month, I will be going on my annual 2-week drinking and sleeping bender. : ) Want to come with me?

For now, I am enjoying the farm and all of the sensory input it gives me:

I see the leaves turning as fall starts to creep in.

I smell Wolfgang's stinky ass as he is in rut now! About a month from now, he and Cindy will have a little rendezvous, and we'll have spring babies!

I hear the sound of the tractor in the north pasture and east field. Not only is the corn coming out tomorrow (cross your fingers that it's a good year for corn-- ethanol!), but we are actually getting a SECOND CUTTING of hay! That is exciting, as that field used to be crappy. We pay 70 cents a bale to our man who cuts and rakes it. He drives the bale and we (and our wonderful friends) stack it on the rack and then put it up in the shed. The 70 cents saves us a fortune over the winter when we are looking at paying $4.00 a bale from the farm store.

I taste the YUMNESS of the apples on our apple tree! The first year we moved in, our tree was either struck by lightning or had some sort of wind damage, but half of it had fallen off over the driveway. The following fall there were hardly any apples. Last fall there were a few more, but not many. THIS year we are having a bumper crop of red delicious apples! They are so good, so much better than the store apples with their wax and preservatives. I have made a batch of apple butter, and hopefully will make applesauce some time this week.

I feel the crisp cool mornings when I go out to feed. It's been nippy here, down into the 40's. B told me last night that the only time he missed our old (new) house was when he came to bed and it was freezing in our bedroom. I told him that having no heat in your bedroom gives you bragging rights. Or at least the people you work with can talk about your stupidity behind your back! We gave the kids the rooms with heat, so we are without. At least he's guaranteed not to have to sleep on the couch all winter-- I need his warmth.

Back to work-- I've been at it all weekend. So much else to tell-- L's football success, the goats' bout with pinkeye, Luna's continual, EXHAUSTING bout with bloat... ugh... after the bender, I'll tell you all about it.

My Blog-o-Versary

Today is the second anniversary of my blog! I started September 13, 2004. How far I have come...

Also, B and I are celebrating the 19th anniversary of our first date. Yippee! : )

We met when we were 19, so now we have been together longer than we have not.

Happy day! I wonder if the goats will throw us a suprise party.

There’s No Crying in Farming (aka: a fatal collision of nerves, work stress, PMS, bad luck, inexperience and a full moon)

(caution: talk about guts will ensue, not for the squeamish)

Last week at the show I did not blog the entire story. Mostly because I was a bit in denial, but some because I just didn’t want to think about it and hoped it would go away (isn’t that denial?).

When you practice leading a goat for a show, unless you’ve started with them from day one that they are a tiny bottle baby, they don’t like it. They pull and drag around until you get the hang of it. Most animals don’t take very long to get used to it, and don’t mind it at all.

Most.

Aurora was not in the category of “most.” She was in the category of, “I might have gotten the hang of it the last time we practiced, but this time I don’t like it, and I really don’t recall what we did last time anyway.” We struggled and pulled and dragged and coughed and sweated and didn’t get too far. She acted like this was something new every time we did it. We practiced every day for about 10 days. Some people start later than that. They say you don’t want them too docile or they start dozing or they just look too calm and without that wide-eyed spirited look. I am not sure who “they” are, though. And I’m not sure if I agree with “them.” But, my point is, 10 days in advance was not putting it off until the last minute, according to “them.”

So, during all of this struggling and wrassling, L said to me, “Ewww, what’s with her butt?” Okay, if you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that poop and the poop area of the body is not something that is a tee-hee for us. It’s way beyond that. It’s about health, money, and work around here. So asking me about her butt was a very weird thing for him to do. I looked at her butt, and said that it looked fine to me, and that I was surprised that after all this time he thought goat poop was offensive. He just shrugged, and I didn’t think anything of it.

Fast forward to last week’s show. I already said that we struggled and dragged just before the show, and that I finally took her to the ring to wait because it was such a struggle to get her anywhere. Well, on the way, a boy was following behind and asked me what was wrong with her, and if it was a prolapse. Prolapse to me (until now) was defined as the uterus coming “inside out” during kidding. Well, Aurora is 5 months old, and is not even ready to be bred, let alone kidding and able to have a prolapse. So I just gave him a weird look, and then looked at her butt. Well, boy howdy was I in for a shock! Part of her intestine was out of her body—it was like a giant hemhorroid. But then it went right back in.

I debated what to do, and ultimately decided to go into the ring and not jerk her around any more. I did that, it worked okay, and then we won. And all was well.

All was well until she came home with a sniffle and a cough. That in and of itself is not a huge deal, it’s like a person getting a cold. We watched her, and as the week went on it seemed to get a little better. I gave her some Vitamin B and extra enzymes, and she seemed to perk up. However, she had a cough. And the cough strained her bum, which caused her to prolapse even more. The deal I made with myself was that I could show her Saturday, but I could not practice leading with her for the whole week, and I would have to take my chances in the ring with a goat who had not been led in a week (and before that was obstinant).

By Thursday the prolapse was worse, and was not going in right away. I was really on the fence. I don’t think it was hurting her so that it would be cruel to take her, but that’s not something you want people to see in your goats. So I was racking my brain about the pros and cons. I put her up on the fitting stand, and it popped out again, worse than ever. I decided that I would not take her.

Thursday was also the day that Luna got bloat. I don’t know why, it’s usually from eating lots of grass or too much grain, and we are careful about the amount of grain and pasture they get. So we don’t know why, but she got it. And that involves force feeding her corn oil and baking soda and massaging her stomach until she burps and the giant kettle drum that is her stomach is smaller. I came out of that stall covered in oil and white powder, hair and smelling like a goat. Oh, and she hated me even more.

Not ten minutes later, Wolfgang jumped up on the gate and stuck his head between the bars on the gate, getting his head stuck. He would have suffocated had B not climbed over the stall, pushed his head forward and then, togtehr with me, turned it so he could get it out.

At that point, I just sat down on a bale and cried. This is not easy. It’s tons of hard work, tons of money, tons of worrying. And after you’ve invested all of that, there is still no guarantee. Other jobs are virtually guaranteed that if you do XYZ and you do it well, you will be successful. You can do your farming job well, follow the directions to a T, have spectacular animals, then get a disease off of a visitor’s shoe, and have your entire herd wiped out. It is overwhelming.

I am not quitting, though those words passed my lips on Thursday. It is just an immense responsibility, and I am such a perfectionist with myself, that nothing less than 100% is good enough. The problem here is that it is way out of my control—something that a control freak like myself finds it hard to handle. I mean, it’s healthy for me, and I need to keep doing this—and I want to keep doing this. But it’s very, very hard. So I just had a good cry, and threatened to quit.

The next day, I came home and was ready to load Wolfie up for the show. Wouldn’t you know that Aurora looked fantastic? I took her out—no prolapse. I bathed her—no prolapse, and then I decided to take her.

She did have a bit of a proplapse while we were there, but not while we showed. Come to find out, the “old timers” knew all about them, and said that it was because she was carrying extra weight, and that if we trimmed her down it would go away. They said it would not be a fault if it happened in the ring, and not to worry because it likely would not happen in the ring. It was happening in her pen on the rare occasion that she was headbutting her neighbors in the next pen.

So I took her out there, with me trembling the whole way. I was beside myself with fear and the anticipation of the crowd being mortified as my goat’s ass falls out in the ring. I was sick to my stomach, and my knees were probably visibly knocking.

The judge looked at Aurora a little longer as we walked around. I was thinking that she must have thought she was really pretty, as she was holding her head up and walking along very nicely. I knew her prolapse was not showing because she hadn’t coughed or yanked on the chain, etc. We stopped, and I posed her beautifully, and the judge came by to check the requisite disqualifying areas on a Boer goat: the tail, the teats and the teeth. The tail has to have dark pigment on the underside, as in the warm sunny climates they are prone to skin cancer. The teats have to be four or fewer, and can’t be fused, etc. The teeth have to line up with the top pad in their mouth.

She checked Aurora and moved along to the other goats in the class. Then she came back to check Aurora again. And asked me to look at her teeth—I was shocked to see that her top and bottom jaw did not meet! Now, I had checked her when we bought her, and I had checked her through the months we have had her on occasion. Never did I see such a gap. And she had been checked the week before at the previous show, without any problem! (and won grand champion)

I have no idea if it could change that suddenly, if the judge the week before just missed it, or what happened. But it was completely unexpected and mortifying. Aurora was disqualified, and I had to leave the ring and not be judged. I did find out who my friends are, as a group of them crowded around to ask what happened and to comfort me and give me advice. Bless them, it was much easier to be comforted by them then to walk to her pen alone and put her away with people staring at me from the bleachers. The judge was gracious and pleasant and absolutely right to do what she did. I am just mortified that I brought an animal that was incorrect according to the breed standard. What a newbie…

And so the prolapse was not even a concern, but something actually much worse was. I am second guessing myself up and down—and probably I will never know what happened.

Wolfgang went on to do quite well, he ended up taking second place in Fullblood Buck Kid 9-12 months. I was especially happy because he was the youngest buck in the class, yet he stood up to them just fine. The judge did give me some ideas on where he can improve, too, so we’ll get ready for the 2007 show season.

And so we packed our bongos and came home. It was exhausting just to show the two, I can’t imagine if I had 20 or 25 like some of the larger farms. That is a lot of entry money, but it’s all about advertising. However, I can’t fit them all in the dog carriers in the back of our car!

Speaking of showing them, and thinking about next year, there is a “herdsmanship” award. If you have ever been to a fair or a show and noticed the extensive stall decorations that some of the exhibitors bring—some bring tables with literature, business cards, signs, banners, some even have carpeting and plants! There is an actual award for the nicest “bank” of stalls and the best farm presentation. You are judged on your clean animals, whether they are well-cared for, if they have food and water, if you have signs, and coordinating buckets and business cards etc. I was a judge this time, given that I am a newly-elected board member of our state organization. It was quite eye-opening.

So we really have some work to do this winter if we are going to show in the spring!! Maybe I will look forward to a long winter, with lots of days so we can get a lot accomplished…

Politics

I used to be a competitive baton twirler in junior high and high school. I also dabbled in beauty pageants. Yeah, I know, hard for most people to believe, but it's true. I have the photos to prove it (those are for another day, however).

I think it was because I was such a tomboy when I was younger, I felt I had something to prove when I got a little older. I rememember having these huge scars on my knees from falling down and getting so many scabs as a young child. When I decided to try out for cheerleading, I actually shaved the scars off (no blood was involved, it wasn't gross! But it was damn desperate, don't you agree?). I was so embarassed about my tom-boy-ish-ness. Now I just don't care.

Okay, I was digressing, but you have to have expected that.

Having been involved in these things, I know that politics run rampant. Who do you know? Who should you not admit knowing? Who helped you get here?

So, when we talked about showing goats, the politics were the first thing that came up in discussion, other than the money. It was not like this was a surprise.

Of course, this being our first show, I guess I had hoped that it woudln't rear its ugly head until later in the process. Of course I couldnt' be so lucky!

I raved about this judge well before the show, you can read back in my posts that I give him a lot of credit and I have learned a lot from him outside of the show context. He is very humble and gives back a lot to the "goat community," especially the kids. He really wants the industry to succeed.

I thought he did an outstanding job judging, and not just because we did well. He took time to discuss the pros and cons of each goat, as well as general information. You couldn't really argue with him when he explained his reasons for ranking the goats as he did.

Or so I thought.

You know, there is always one in every crowd. There was a man who happened to have his pens just outside of our pens, with his table and marketing "booth" (illegal) set up as well. That was fine, not worth haggling over. After the show we had a pizza party, and he felt free to bash the judge because he was "only giving grand champion to folks with the last name of xxxx." He said that the judge contradicted himself many times, and that he wasn't the only one who thought so. He said that he brought the same doe last year, and the judge raved about her, but hated her this year (I believe he got a blue ribbon out of her this year, so I wasn't sure about the "hate" comment). He then moved into discussing the association of which I am a member (and I am on the ballot for board election-- the results remain to be seen). He bashed the current leadership, one of the folks happens to be our "mentors" who are partnering with on the does. I defended them the best I could without getting into a fight.

It really makes me mad when I deal with people like that. Who do they think they are, just spewing venom like I am going to agree with everything they say? I hate discussing politics of any sort. People just feel free to spew their opinons to us, and either they don't care what we think and hope we'll not respond (or change our minds to agree with them), or they want to fight. It always seems as though I am the one to smile and nod and try to be diplomatic. Why is it me who is always disengaging, and it seems like others always feel free to bash what I think?

Aside from that, he was trying to sell me any number of four wethers. What in the world do I need with a wether? Everyone needs that one, the one that just hangs around for whatever sentimental reason (ours is Ernie), but aside from that, to spend money on yet another one is just dumb. He then moved into saying that we couldn't take him home because he "seen that you brought them goats over in dog kennels." Um yeah, you "seen" it right, and if you are going to try and mock me about that, than you can f-off because I don't really care what you think about how I get my goats here.

Hell, if I rode them there, it wouldn't matter. They WON. And they beat yours.

It's not gloating, it's a fact.

I'm still sore that he discredited a great judge, because by slamming him, he slammed me indirectly-- it seems like the judge didn't know what he was talking about when he was judging my (or anyone's) animals.

The politics will be even heavier this weekend. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out.

The Grand Champion

Photos of L and Cindi at the GC Fair

If you can't see the slideshow, click here.

SCORE!

This year, you may remember, I did not get L's forms turned in on time so he could show Cindi at our county fair. (We were sick that day-- though we could have turned it in earlier, and did not- nobody's fault but mine.) In any case, we went to the fair to see the show, to support his friends and to see what it would be like for him to show in future years. We were saddened to see that the judge was subpar, he was a dairy cattle judge, called in to judge animals he had no knowledge of. He didn't know the breeds, and especially disconcerting was that he docked the Boer goats for having four teats. The rules say that milk goats have 2 teats, meat goats can have four, but he did not know that.

However, while we were at the fair, I met up with an acquaintance who said that she was superintendant of her county fair's goat show, and that they were having a good judge. I know the judge, he is an excellent judge. He can judge dairy cattle, and goats, and has recently gone to school and been certified to judge meat goats. He was at the State Fair Show, and was assisting the judge there. He holds fitting and showing clinics for kids, and is just an amazing guy, who is really in this for bettering the industry.

In any case, I was excited to have our animals judged by him. I knew that if we got 3rd, we'd deserve 3rd, and we would get a lengthy explanation why, and how we could improve, if that was possible. I look at our goats and think they're beautiful, but how do you know until you put them against another animal before a judge?

So we entered my friend's county fair open show (where you don't have to be in 4H to show).

We went over on Thursday to take the goats, B and I. (L had football practice, so it was just the two of us.) I think we just must look so awkward driving up in our sports car and SUV. We have to take the sports car in addition to the SUV, because the dog kennels in which we haul the goats are the only thing that will fit into the SUV-- we need the sports scar to haul the hay, buckets and other supplies. So it's quite the production. Most people have their pickup trucks which pull their goat trailers. Not us, we look like Laurel and Hardy hauling goats. But we try to be quiet and discreet-- we don't want to make a big production of our comical comings and goings.

On Thursday night we noticed that many people there were bathing their goats, almost immediately upon arrival. Now L and I had bathed our goats earlier in the week. We bought the fitting stand last weekend, and spent the week clipping everyone and bathing them, and working with them to lead. So we felt like they were pretty clean, and we didn't bring our fitting stand, or think we should bathe them. I mean, we figured that all of that stuff should be done at home, ahead of time, when you're not pressed for time and really nervous. But what do we know, we had never done this before. So that fact kind of made us nervous.

That intensified on Friday. L had school, and the show began at 2:00. B and I took the day off, went over early in the morning and fed the girls, and then went and got some breakfast and some "show sheen." It's stuff you put on your animals to make their coats soft and shiny. The increased doting on the competitions' goats made us think we should be doing something constructive, so we spent $12 on a bottle of show sheen. What else could we do?? The girls were clean, chilling out in their stall, chewing their cuds, all was well. But everyone else was buzzing like bees in a hive. We picked L up at school at noon and headed over. 20 minutes before the show began, we were buying boots at a nearby fair stand, as L did not have properly fitting boots. Everyone else was scrubbing and clipping, and we felt inept and ill-prepared. Should we have brought the fitting stand? Should we haul them out to the washrack? We didn't want them to get a chill, and we have no blow dryer. The girls just lied there, hanging out, chewing their cuds like it was another day in paradise. Neither of us could think of anything we should have been doing, so we did nothing.

The show began, and we saw some amazing animals. We watched the 4H show closely, trying to see what the judge liked, and sizing up our competition (the 4H kids can also enter the open show).

Finally, at 5:00, the open show began. L was up relatively quickly, as dairy was first. Cindi led into the ring like a dream--- unlike all of the times we practiced. The judge LOVED her. The competition was not stiff in the ring for her, but the judge praised that goat up and down! He liked her straight back, her feminine appearance, her conditioning (I thought she was fat), her feet and legs (I thought they were bad), her udder attachment-- there was not a thing about her he did not like (apparently I know nothing!). In other classes he had awarded the blue to a less-than-perfect animal, but he was careful to note that "if he could change her, he would add this or subtract that." So he was not obligated to praise her up and down just because she was better than the competition in her class. So she took 1st place in the 12-24 months junior dairy doe class. Then it was back for the Grand Champion Dairy Doe run. There were 5 does in the run, all first place entries from their respective classes. He said that he rarely gives a dry doe preference over a milking doe. That would make sense, because you judge a dairy animal on its udder and ability to give milk and have babies. You can judge that on an animal who has done that already, but on a doe like Cindi, you can only project what she might do. But he gave Cindi the Grand Champion! He said that she was just the best doe there, and again, praised all of her physical attributes! L was STUNNED to say the least. Even in the first class, when he was up against only one other, he had no idea. I really suspected he'd get first, having seen the competition, but I am not the judge, so I didn't know for certain. L was stunned then, and really thrilled. But when he went back and got GC, he looked like the winner in a beauty contest. He said, "ME?" when the judge pointed at him, his jaw dropped, and he nearly forgot to shake the judge's hand. After everyone left the ring, he just stood there staring at his big purple ribbon and I had to call him out of the ring. I was proud, because he was really a humble winner (at first). I had to rein him in when he told his goat that they "beat the pants off" everyone there... but it was a good line anyway. : )

So then it was my turn. Aurora, true to her stubborn self, seemed to "forget" that we had practiced this leading business quite often in the past couple of weeks. We led (read: dragged) around the barn a bit, which did not go well, and by the time we finished, we were both exhausted. I was drenched in sweat, both from nerves and from exertion. I thought maybe I should take her into the show ring and have a seat just outside and wait for the show. That turned out to be the most sensible thing-- she was very calm, watching the other animals come and go. She actually relaxed and chewed her cud, just watching the other animals go by.

When it was my turn, I was disappointed that I was the only fullblood doe that entered in the show. However, I was happy to hear that the judge loved her. He actually said that he wished she had more competition, because she could have beaten it. He said that she had a lovely, straight back, a beautiful head and neck, very feminine, was very sound, tracked nicely as she walked, and was very three-dimensional for a doe her age (she's 5 months old). I was beaming like a proud parent! Again, he had not hesitated to award the blue to a less-than-perfect animal if they were still better than the others or the only animal in the class, but he always pointed out the areas that could be improved, or traits that made them less than perfect. So I know he was being straight. Again, when we went back into the ring for the Grand Champion run, we were the only ones, and easily awarded the ribbon. However, he said that he wished she had more competition, as she could definitely stand up to it.

Those comments and the judge's critical eye are what really made the experience. The ribbons are great for marketing-- my website already has up that we were champs at the fair. We tacked on a few dollars to the imaginary prices of our yet-to-be-born babies. So the ribbons and titles make some difference. But as I said, I trust this judge's critical eye, and I had seen earlier that he was fair and did not hesitate to point out both good and bad points in an animal, regardless of place (there were some third place animals that he praised, too, because they were worthy of praise-- it wasn't just the first places that were noted). I wanted him to look at our goats and tell us what he thought about their conformation, their character and their physical health. Of course, he told us exactly what we were hoping to hear, that we have beautiful animals, and that we're doing it right.

I am so proud of L, and I am so thankful for B. I should mention, that after all that hard work, B had to leave the show and take M to a birthday party on the other side of the metro. He was there with us all day, helping to prep, feed, and do the dirty work, but did not get to see either of us win. He was very bummed about that, and we were sad that he could not be there to win with us. So that was a low point. But he was glad to see the hardware we brought home.

So, we have another show next weekend. L will not show his dairy goat, it is a Boer Goat show, and it's an ABGA sanctioned show. In fact, the judge we had yesterday will be showing his own goats next weekend. The next judge is from Texas. This will be playing with the big boys, and we'll have to see if we have what it takes. I'll be showing Aurora and Wolfgang Buck (by the way, working with Wolfie is going very well, he is a big pussycat, but I'll write more about that later).

I'm glad we have this show to boost our confidence next weekend. We know we won't get laughed out of the ring!

Happy happy joy joy!

Burning the Candle at Both Ends

It is another one of those weeks. We are just swamped with things to do, since we are showing our goats this weekend. I am so nervous about it! I think I clipped Aurora too short, and Cindi is too wild and bossy, and oh, well, we'll just have to see. I have a shopping list a mile long, and have to stop for something on the way home every day after work.

Work? What's that? Something I try to ditch as often as possible, but for some reason they just don't seem to understand when I don't get my stuff done...

I will definitely take pictures this weekend, hopefully we'll have a ribbon or two to show for it. In any case, and I totally mean this, we will have a most excellent judge. It's a small town, county fair, non-ABGA sanctioned show. But the judge is an ABGA sanctioned judge, who really wants people to succeed. He has given impromptu clinics following shows before, so I am hoping for a lot of good insight to help me with the show on September 9th. L will show his goat, and I am just as excited and nervous for him as I am for me.

I am also working on a new business website for our farm. My mom brought me some gorgeous, really high quality business cards, and I have been handing them out. So I want a webpage that really looks slick to go along with the professional image we're trying to present. I'm enjoying it, but it is way time-consuming. I'm composing it in Joomla, which is something I know *nothing* about. Although I know a little now... : )

Happy Monday.

Burning the Candle at Both Ends

It is another one of those weeks. We are just swamped with things to do, since we are showing our goats this weekend. I am so nervous about it! I think I clipped Aurora too short, and Cindi is too wild and bossy, and oh, well, we'll just have to see. I have a shopping list a mile long, and have to stop for something on the way home every day after work.

Work? What's that? Something I try to ditch as often as possible, but for some reason they just don't seem to understand when I don't get my stuff done...

I will definitely take pictures this weekend, hopefully we'll have a ribbon or two to show for it. In any case, and I totally mean this, we will have a most excellent judge. It's a small town, county fair, non-ABGA sanctioned show. But the judge is an ABGA sanctioned judge, who really wants people to succeed. He has given impromptu clinics following shows before, so I am hoping for a lot of good insight to help me with the show on September 9th. L will show his goat, and I am just as excited and nervous for him as I am for me.

I am also working on a new business website for our farm. My mom brought me some gorgeous, really high quality business cards, and I have been handing them out. So I want a webpage that really looks slick to go along with the professional image we're trying to present. I'm enjoying it, but it is way time-consuming. I'm composing it in Joomla, which is something I know *nothing* about. Although I know a little now... : )

Happy Monday.

It’s a Pizzle, fo’ shizzle

Yep, this post will not be for the squeamish or prudish. Because if we can talk about poop, we can talk about male anatomy.

It’s just a curious thing, as a relatively new livestock owner, to see how these animals behave.

First it was the stallion. Of course, he is “ready and willing” at a moment’s notice, and that was to be expected. We could both handle that. And that he was so, um, aptly equipped, was also something that was not a shock—he IS a horse, and there is some truth to that age-old expression… But I digress.

One day we were wondering what on earth he was doing, as he was standing in the corner of the pasture, just chilling out with his head down, and his, um, “Little Major” very much awake. After a few minutes, it was apparent: self-gratification. But, mind you, he can’t REACH it. So the whole thing was over with in a few moments, with him just moving it strategically. B was quite impressed, and I think his actual quote was, “WOW. No hands. That.Is.Some.Skill.”

But I digress again, as this discussion is about goats. Isn’t it always about goats?

So wethers are just like girls, for the most part, in their behavior. They all do try and mount each other for pecking order, but that is no big deal. Our kids have coined the term “doing the victory dance.” Which is quite appropriate. Who will be victorious as the one in charge?

But bucks. Well, bucks are a different animal altogether. They are known for their rude sexual behavior. I remember studying about satyrs in art history, and they are half goat and half man, and are symbolic of sexual prowess (and “drunken revelry” as McGraw Hill defines it). So the goat image is appropriate.

While goats can reproduce all year, they do have a mating season which begins, funnily enough, right about now. Bucks go into rut, and they stink to high heavens. Frankly, I don’t think Wolfgang stinks all that badly right now, though I am told to expect much worse. I think I can handle it if it doesn’t get too much worse. To me it doesn’t really stink, it smells a lot like a dairy smell, like a cow barn. But right now it’s not too intense.

Another of their attractions to the female is that they constantly pee on everything, mostly themselves. They have an “attachment” called a pizzle, and it helps them, notsomuch aim, but actually create a fine mist of spray that covers everything around it. They have a knack for successfully aiming for their beards. Why goat chicks find that impressive, I don’t know. But they do.

So why do I feel compelled to discuss this? Well, I am preparing Wolfie for an upcoming show in September, and I am trying to work the rudeness out of him. After a few days, he is really cleaning up nicely (behavior-wise). I will get a fitting stand tomorrow and will clip him and bathe him and see what else we need to do to get him tip-top before the show. But yesterday I recall *twice* thinking that he was amazingly calm as I coached him to stand with his head on my knee and pose for the (imaginary) judge. And both times, I looked down to find him spraying all over my shoes and ankles.

Let me just state for the record, that if you pee on me, I reserve the right to blog about your anatomy.

The Rollercoaster

The year's four seasons, for me, are like a rollercoaster. Winter is somewhat at the low point. There are such good things about it, it's cozy, I love the snow, and the scenes are always magical. I love sledding and snow days and Christmas, and all of the fun things that come with it. I hate the dark days, with sunrise coming so late and sunset here before you know it. I hate breaking ice buckets in the barn, and worrying about the animals being so cold. I hate the bare trees, except when they are snow-covered, and I despise the bitterly cold days when it is subzero.

Spring is starting up the hill, rich with anticipation, looking forward to the thrill of being at the top. It's such a change from the winter, not just in that it's green vs. brown, but in the significance of that. Out of death and hibernation comes new life, and all the promise that it holds. Spring at our house is crisp air with warm sun, and lots of dew in the morning. It smells like damp hay and freshly cut grass, and horsehide. I appreciate it for what it is, but to my fault, I also appreciate it very much for what it signifies: Summer is coming.

For me, summer is the thrill. I think it stems from childhood, because some of the things that I *say* make me happy are really not true. For example, I say that summer is lazy and worry free. Umm, No. Not at my house now. Summer is crammed with plans, alternating with boring days that the kids spend at home (making me worry about what they will get into). Summer is desperation in finding a perfect childcare solution, it's extra money for daycare and more trips to the grocery store. It's a huge shift in schedule that is stressful on everyone. The days I remember as being warm and sunny are often oppressive and sticky. The animals are plagued with flies, and the manure can sometimes smell. Stalls should be cleaned daily to remove what attracts flies, and that work is always sweaty and dirty. Summer is starry nights and hammocking, and cookouts and staying up late. Not if you get up at 5:30 to work in the barn and then go to work. (But obviously, I like to pretend.)

Coming down the big thrilling hill is fall. I am still loving the weather and the routine, since the kids are back in school, but the peak is over, and the low point is ahead, which always makes me a little sad. The crisp nights discourage the flies, and in the mornings you can see your breath. The changing leaves are a sign of what is to come, and they always inspire me to take walks, lately with my camera in hand. Fall means Thanksgiving, my second favorite holiday, and football, and baking, and cozy kitchens, and canning and good smells. It means winterproofing and "battening down the hatches" and settling into the routines. And I love all of that.

For me, sadly, the craziest month of my year at work is October. So I am very busy, and unable to enjoy most of those things about fall. But this year, I think I am going to try and mentally adjust the peak. Maybe it should be right about now...

The kids are back in school, the days aren't quite as hot, but there are still plenty of warm days to get work done. The routines are back, and with the fall schedule comes some semblance of sanity. Fewer worries when the kids are at school, and reasonable expectations all around.

Soon it will be breeding time! Cindi will go on a date with Wolfgang, and we'll have even more spring babies. We are hoping for twins from the three does that will be bred (Cindi and the two does coming from our friends).

I am really going to try and love the winter for the break it provides, and the rest that it gives. We certainly need that-- and should look forward to it.

Oh, guess what I did... I went and entered my first show! It's September 9th, so start crossing your fingers now. I will show Wolfgang and Aurora. Luna is too tiny and fragile (arrgh) at this point, to show. She needs to beef up a little (or is that "goat up a little"?). We are also showing at a nearby county fair next Friday-- that's just 9 days away. Yikes!! L is showing his dairy goat, and I will show Aurora. No buck classes there, so Wolfie will stay home. B and I (and L) are frantically coming up with stall decorations and trying to put together all the supplies we'll need.

I'm getting old

I know that I am getting old because:

First, I would make a mistake, and not learn from it.

Then, I would make a mistake, but make a note of the lesson and do my best not to do it again.

Now, I try to learn from others' mistakes. I do make plenty of new ones on my own, but I still try to avoid those that others have made, if they share them with me.

At this point, however, I am doing things like I am elderly. A few weeks ago, our neighbor offered to sell us his horse very cheap, because he was moving. Now, I had fed the horse in the past, and I had spent a little time with him. I knew he was a nice horse, and had a nice, easygoing disposition. Our neighbor is our feed guy, so I knew the horse was well cared-for, and as neighbors, we had discussed things in passing, so I knew that the horse had regular vet and hoof care. The horse wasn't trained, though, so that was a big negative, but he was offering it very cheaply to us because he said that he knew the horse would get excellent care and attention (that was a nice compliment, even without the discount).

Now, I have always been horse crazy. My father attests to this day that he has seen horse crazy, and I am miles beyond that, approaching on "horse psycho." I asked for horses for every holiday, every birthday, every christmas. Every wish I made on a star, when I blew out the birthday candles, when I pulled the wishbone-- ALL were that I could have a horse. We lived in town, so that was pretty much out of the question. I did have riding lessons, and I did other activities that would allow me to be around horses as often as possible, but I wanted my own.

It subsided a bit later in life-- or should I say that it was overshadowed. I am not quite sure it ever subsided. But now that I am out where I can have horse(s), I just need the money, and B's blessing, to buy them and they are mine. No logistics to stop me.

And we *have* horses, but they are not mine. Technically they are everything *but* mine-- M doesn't check up on them, I ride when the spirit moves me, we care for them as our own. But they are *NOT* mine. And it is a big difference, at least to me.

So, my heart jumped at the chance to own my own horse, when our neighbor offered him to us at such a low price.

For about five seconds...

Okay, seriously, it was a few days. But in the end, we logically decided that it would be better to put that money into a goat. Even though the price was rock bottom, that was the better part of a goat purchase, and if that is our farm's business focus right now, we need to move forward with that. So, with a smidge of reluctance, I told our neighbor no thank you.

Fast foward a month...

We are caring for our neighbor's horses while he moves. I think they will be here a few more weeks or so, but it should not be long-term (famous last words). Since this horse moved in, the horse that was almost mine, I have been SO GLAD that I did not agree to buy him! He is dumber than a box of rocks! In his defense, I think that it is a combination of my high expectations after working with a beautifully trained animal, and his lack of understanding of my high expectations. But it has not gone well. I was nearly trampled a couple of days ago, and this morning he just could not figure out that I wanted him to go into the paddock to eat. This has been the routine every morning, so it's not new.

But I guess when you're young, everything's new.

I am SOOO glad that I said no to buying him. I would be tearing my hair out right about now.

Things I Learned at the State Fair

1. Battered, deep fried snickers bars are really not that good-- they are just one of those things that are so over the top. You know, like something that someone would use to (unsuccessfully) try to impress someone else.

2. If you are wearing a shirt that says, "I'm an Asshole" I'm likely to believe you.

3. If you are showing a lot of skin, people are going to look at you. And it may not be the kind of looks you are soliciting.

4. In that same vein, the more skin you have, the less you should show.

5. Large hair, that which might be used to smuggle familes across borders, is not in style. In fact, it has been out since the 1980's. However, some people are unwilling to accept this fact.

The fair was a great learning experience.

Oh, and our "mentor" (of sorts) won a gazillion classes at the show today. They were premier breeder (they bred the most winning goats, regardless of who owns them now), and they won premier exhibitor, meaning that they won the most awards. Their goat prices just went up! Woo hoo! We'll have three of their babies when it's all said and done.

Call me weird, but...

Maybe it's because I'm a transplant, or maybe it's because I am just strange. But each year our state fair tries to top the last year for something shocking "on a stick." Everything there is on a stick, the joke is that at some point they will figure out how to put soup on a stick. First there were some good ideas-- they have this giant turkey leg (it looks deep fried), but that's kind of on a stick. Then they put a pork chop on a stick. That's a good idea, too. Of course, we have corn dogs, and they have invented a chili dog that has the chili inside the cornbread, so you can have a chili dog on a stick. Okay great.

But then, there is always someone that take it a little too far. Someone who ruins it for those who are innocent. That happened when they started battering and deep fat frying things like twinkies and snickers bars. Yep, they stick a snickers in some corn bread batter, put it on a stick, deep fat fry it, dunk it in some sort of sugar water mixture, throw a little powdered sugar on it, and for $3.00 you can have a heart attack on a stick! Each year they try to top the last year, and so far I know of (and maybe there are more) a battered and fried twinkie on a stick, hostess cupcake, snickers, milky way and reeses peanut butter cup.

I had not had any of this, but yesterday I went to the fair with a friend, who told me that this was the equivalent of manna, and that I must have it. I admit, I had been curious, but really was not sure. So I went for it and got the snickers.

It was way overrated. It was roughly on the order of a s'more-- melted chocolate with a breaded crust. But it was way too much, and after I ate it I felt gross. I will not be trying any other varieties, but I would consider the pork chop, as it is not breaded or deep fat fried. And I understand that it has been voted the favorite fair food!

Today I am going to the meat goat show. We'll see how that goes! I saw a lot of goats yesterday, and am encouraged-- Aurora could easily compete with them. I may show her in a couple of weeks at a different show.

Today is the last day of the fair, and we got to go four times. We're down a little from last year. : ) But hey, it rained all week.

Luna's Recovery

You know, all the knocking on wood that is done around here is about as fruitful as banging your head against the wall. As I type this, I am taking frequent breaks to knock on wood...

Luna has recovered from her tummy troubles. She is back on her feed, and I no longer have to work from home while bottle feeding her. I frequently refer to the goats as toddlers with horns, and I was proven correct again as I had to wrassle her and chase her around to catch her to stuff the bottle's nipple in her mouth. She pursed her lips tightly so I could not get it in, she let most of the (expensive) colostrum dribble down her face, and she would often jerk her head back quickly so she could hit me with her horns. She chewed one ($4.00) nipple beyond servicibility, and just when I resigned myself to using a second one, and had cut the hole and put it on the bottle, she decided to eat solid food.

But I am thankful that she is healthy again. I was worried about her!

Biting the Hand That Feeds You

Something like that isn't a good idea.

The horses that we are caring for on a very limited basis live outside most of the time. They are not as friendly (as a rule) as the other horses that we care for. Certainly not as friendly or needing as much human interaction as Major. There is one, Waco, that does like people, but he has personal space issues.

Waco is only 2 and is still growing. His owner asked if we could feed him twice a day. That is no problem, we feed 2x a day anyway. But we don't feed the horses, since in the summer we have a pasture full of tasty grass. Nobody needs grain in the summer unless they are working hard or not an easy keeper. Neither is the case with those that we care for. Except Waco.

Typically I take the grain outside in a bucket, and Waco knows the drill-- he runs into the paddock, where I close the gate and let him eat in peace, before everyone else tries to push him away. Waco is the low guy on the totem pole, so he loses the battle every time.

Yesterday Major was already in the paddock, so Waco didn't have anywhere to go. I was trying to yell at Major to get out, but Waco was trying to get at the bucket in my hand. It got more intense, until Waco was slamming his body against me, trying to get the grain. The situation was worsened by the immense amount of mud that was in our pasture (just outside the barn door), so I was afraid of being pushed down in the mud and trampled. I smacked Waco with the bucket, and he had the nerve to turn his butt around at me and kick at me with two back feet!! If I would have had some good footing, I would have beat the daylights out of him. But I was scared of falling.

So I did what I don't like to do. I went inside and got a big old whip. And I cracked it. And I liked it.

And I was instantly in charge.

incommunicado

Well, not completely. I have the internet, thank God! But something is wrong with our telephone, and our cell phones are useless at our house (we live in a big limestone valley).

Initially, I checked out the phone junction box outside, and determined that the wiring the previous owners used to run from the box to the house was, in fact, interior wiring. The jack coming out the wall leaves some to be desired, as well, since it isn't connected to the wall and just hangs from the wiring. So, for $2.50, I bought 50 feet of exterior phone cable and for another $2.50 a new jack. Easy and cheap fix.

Well, a cheap and easy fix if you are not Mrs. Murphy, and your family's law always applies...

BUT, I have been Mrs. Murphy for many years now, and I know full well that the law always applies, so before going to all of the trouble to pull the wiring and install the jack, I decided to take a short length outside, install the jack, and see if it worked. It did NOT! It was so crackly, I could hardly hear the dial tone.

So I called the phone company, and the repairman just left. Turns out that the cable between the box and our house has to be replaced. At leat I didn't run that cable for nothing! I will do it, it needs to be replaced, but sometime when I'm less booked up.

Sign in the local Hardware Hank: Husbands choosing paint colors require a signed note from their wife.

Hey, remember me?

I can’t believe it has been so long since I blogged. But how many entries did I start out that way?

I have so much updating to do, where should I start? You’d better go grab a drink and a snack, cuz this will be a while.

Work, schmurk. I am sick of being away from home. I am really investigating the Tomboy Tools option to see if it will be a lucrative part-time venture while I try to build up my goat herd. B really wants me to quit, my therapist is screaming about how detrimental the job is to my mental health. And I agree. But what can you do? Nothing will happen quickly, just because I am wiser in my old age, and won’t just up and quit.

It’s coming up to my busy time, so we’ll see how that goes. Hopefully I can maintain some semblance of sanity.

So enough about work.

It’s State Fair time! We have gone only once this year, so far anyway. I expect that we’ll go tomorrow through the weekend. I was disappointed to learn that the draft horse show that we have loved for the past few years is no longer one long day (which seemed like minutes for us). They are breaking it up to a few different classes each day. So when we went a couple of days ago we saw them lining up to go into the pavilion and took some photos. If you have never been close to a draft horse, they are immense. Often the back of a horse is taller than 6’ so a typical man can’t even see over the back. Their feet are as large as dinner plates, and that is not an exaggeration. They make Major look like a toy horse. I took a photo of a man bathing his Percheron, so you can see how tall the horse is in relation to the man. The man was not a small man.





I did also have a chance to look through the photography salon at the fair. As you may know, none of my photos were selected. I did have a vindicating moment a week or so ago when a professional photographer looked at my photos and said that she thought they were outstanding. We had a lengthy discussion about the placement and what made them look good. These were hard copies that she looked at, so I felt good—they all look good on the internet! At the fair, they had just over 1000 photos on display, those that were selected to exhibit. They had 200 that actually won ribbons, everything from champion to honorable mention. There were nearly 4000 photos that were submitted. They selected about 30% for exhibition. One thing I noticed was that the colors were really intense. I don’t mess with the colors in my photos much, but it was obvious that they wanted bright, bold colors. There were photos that took my breath away, and there were photos that I thought were fine, and then there were those that I thought mine superceded. So at least I feel that I have a chance at being selected to exhibit next year. I’ll definitey try again. And each year they have one class that deviates from the usuals: still life, people, black and whites, etc.. This year the theme was one-room school houses. Next year it’s winter wonderland. Now THAT I can do!!

The family is great. It’s nearly back to school time, and we couldn’t be more ready. Fortunately, it’s still warm, so unlike when I was a kid growing up in WI (and starting school a few weeks later), we don’t need to go out and buy jeans and sweaters. We do have all the school supplies bought and packed up for next week. L starts football practice on Monday, and today we check out all of his equipment.

This past weekend B and I canned a bunch of produce from our garden. We did buy other produce and canned it, too. We made bread & butter pickles, stewed tomatoes, salsa, peach sauce and strawberry sauce. We didn't do much of each, but we did end up with quite a stash. We will have an abundance of tomatoes, so now that we have the hang of it, we will get busy canning! Here is a photo of some of the fruits of our labor:



Last weekend we went to my 20th high school reunion. It was quite the trip, let me tell you. I was part of the planning team, so it was nervewracking for me. I think I shocked most of them when I told them that I was a goat farmer. Of course, I prefaced it all with discussion about my “day job” but I did bring photos of the goats!

And speaking of the goats, they are mostly great. MK was so awesome to feed them while we were out of town last weekend, and they all (including MK) survived just fine. I missed them terribly, though!

However, this past Friday, Luna (the newest baby), developed scours (diarrhea). That can be problematic, or it can be something she ate—too much grass, too much grain, just a tummyache, etc. So I gave her some probiotics. That encourages the natural flora in the animal’s rumen, and can sometimes stave off an intestinal issue. By the next day she was not any better, so I immediately started treatement for coccidiosis. There are always coccidia present in the gut, but an abundance of them can be detrimental. It can be deadly for kids. So I started the treatement, and she responded immediately. Again, those antibiotics can upset the natural balance of bacteria in the rumen, so I continued with the probiotics. All was fine. Until yesterday, when she stopped eating! I gave her a shot of B complex yesterday (to encourage appetite), but no luck. She had been off feed for 24 hours today when I finally called the vet. I took a sick day from work, and I am now feeding her calf colostrum every 2 hours by bottle. Ugh, what us goatmoms don’t do for our babies. I hope she perks up.



I have found instructions on the internet on how to do my own fecal tests. Goats are extremely susceptible to worms, and those worms are very commonly immune to some of the more popular wormers. With horses, for example, you worm every few months for a particular kind of parasite, and it’s a preventive if the animal doesn’t have a parasite load. However, with goats, you want to find out if your goat is infected, and if so, exactly what type of worm it has, and then treat only for that type of parasite. You run a much lower risk of the worms becoming immune to the poison. And that word, poison, is also the reason that you don’t worm preventively in animals that you eat. We raise these animals so carefully, so that we don’t have hormones or too many antibiotics, etc. It only makes sense that we carefully choose which medicines they take, and avoid giving anything unnecessarily. So, I will be doing a fecal test on Luna today. I have a microscope and everything. We shall see!!


The other goats are great. Wolfie is great, growing his beard and turning into quite a young buck. He is making all of his girlfriend-attracting noises and doing the gross things that girl goats are attracted to. So all is well with him.



Cindi is doing fine, we are hoping that L will show her in a nearby county’s fair just before Labor Day. I am possibly going to show Aurora also. I am so nervous about that prospect!!



Aurora is doing well, gaining weight and looking great. I am really, really pleased with our purchase of her. She is sassy, healthy, vocal, and if she is a good mom, she will be the total package of near perfection. I can’t wait to see how she does.



Ernie is Ernie. Silly, fun, always talking, and just a great guy. Especially since he is now dehorned.



I had some amazing and exciting news the other day, which was confirmed last night. My “mentor” in this goat operation approached me about a “partnership.” I was hesitant at first, since we have put out mucho cash so far and are staying put with our herd for the time being. But they have too many goats, and what they proposed is that they will bring us does that are bred. We care for the does all winter, and when they kid in the spring, they will get the pick of the litter, typically a twin. If there are triplets, or an odd amount, then a price will be fixed for the offspring. We get the other kid. Basically, they come to the table with the bred doe, and we come to the table with the space to keep them and the feed all winter. It is totally a win/win situation. I trust these people so implicitly, they have such an interest in the market and the industry, and are just genuinely good people. They have an impeccable reputation in the state, and can not keep their sale goats around long. They always have customers. I am honored that they would ask me to partner with them, and can’t wait to get the does. That would be a way to increase our herd by two or more goats by spring. Let’s just hope for girls!!!

So all is well in the barn.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that our neighbor, our feed guy, has taken a job out of state. He has left, sadly, and has no place for his horses at the moment. During his move we have agreed to horse sit for them, so they are here keeping Major company. I think it will just be for a few weeks until he is settled, but we don’t mind the company. They stay outside all of the time anyway, though if they stay for any length of time during the winter, we will have to figure out a solution. They need some shelter, which they don’t have much of (just trees) outside.



So, that’s that! I hope to be around more from now on. Hope you enjoy the photos.


American Gothic for the New Millennium:

Could I be a tomboy?

OMG, check this out:

Apparently it's been around for a while, but I haven't seen it until now. Say goodbye to selling Tupperware, Mary Kay, Avon, Pampered Chef and all that. Hello TOMBOY TOOLS. Wow, this could be my calling when I leave the executive job behind and become a full-time goat farmer...

Socking this stuff away for a rainy day.