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Don't adjust your screen....
Elmo is standing on the photographer's back 

If you can bear with yet more goat news, I will tell you that 3.5 goats are litter box trained now. I say 3.5 because Oscar only sort of gets it. He puts his front hooves in the litter box, but fails to scoot the back (and most important) half of his body into the box. Come on, Oscar! Even baby Neko gets it.

Each goat got a bath in the mudroom sink today. I think they enjoyed the nice warm water even though they didn't want to admit it. I was expecting loud meltdowns, but only Oscar cried--and it really was just one or two half-hearted m-e-h-h-h-h-hs. I used all-natural lavender shampoo and conditioner for pets. Lavender is a natural insect repellant, so I'm hoping this will be enough. I hate the thought of chemical pet shampoos.

Believe it or not, goats are not the only thing on our minds around here. We visited Moto, who seems to be warming up to the Wrangler. The Wrangler knows the ropes now and can handle the grooming and hand-walking with ease. Moto just received his routine quarterly vaccinations and is scheduled for his annual teeth floating next Monday. It's remarkable to see how much his mood has improved since he was cleared to resume trotting. Moto's trainer says she can tell that he's glad to be "back to work," and I sure can tell the difference, too. He's less impatient and seems more relaxed. His winter weight is coming off, and he is as handsome as ever.

And so things are happy here. I did, however, halt our quest to buy a farm in this area. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it's truly beautiful 'round these parts. The climate is pleasant for animals, and I've met some wonderful people in this little town, people I now call friends. But I can't shake my vision of a charming country cape surrounded by acres and acres of green grass on rolling hills and trees that explode with color in the fall. I see an old barn and spacious fenced paddocks for content goats and sheep and horses and chickens. I smell an approaching thunderstorm, and I hear raindrops falling. I see fireflies light up a summer night. I feel the change in the air as summer fades. I revel in the mere possibility of a snow day. I breath in the crisp air when I throw open all the windows on the first day of spring. In the past year, I've made some real progress toward my dream that is the Rainy Day Ranch....I might as well keep going until I get there.

This Bird Didn't Get the Worm(s)

I've been a helicopter parent to these four goats, watching them like a hawk, marking up goat care books with highlighters and post-it flags, and diligently recording their every move. Just yesterday I was feeling at the top of my game. I was an amaaazing goat mom. And then today I suffered a major blow: the Big Boys have worms.

I was fooled because they were given de-worming medicine the day I brought them home, and they're not due for another routine dose until late June. They look and act healthy. They're energetic and lively. They're growing big and strong. They have good appetites. They have normal poop...or so I thought. It never occurred to me to ask our goat girl what normal goat poop looks like. I knew that goats leave pellets ("berries"). Mine leave tidy little clumps of pellets that are easy to sweep up. I didn't know until I happened to read something on a goat-related website today that clumps mean worms. OH NO!

I can't believe these poor little guys have had worms for at least five weeks and on my watch. As directed, I gave all four goats a pea-sized amount of ivermectin, but I'm worried sick. Of course everything I read on the internet assures me that the goats are probably at death's door. I frantically tried to check their eyeball membranes and gums for a healthy hue. Some articles say these should be red, while others say pink. White, apparently, means call 911 because the animal is dangerously anemic. Checking goat eyeball membranes and gums is much easier said than done. The goats really did not enjoy this extra attention. And I'm still not sure if the membranes and gums are white, pink, or red.

I hope the ivermectin dose was correct. Too much and you kill the goat. Too little and the worms develop resistance to the deworming medication. Something tells me that I'll be obsessing about goat poop for the next few days. If the clumps aren't replaced by loose pellets in a couple days, I guess we are off to the goat vet.

Update: I just read a few articles that say clumpy poop isn't harmful and doesn't mean worms, so long as it is a clump of berries and not clump that looks like dog poop. Clearly, I now am obsessed with goat poop. I am breathing a little easier, but I suspect I won't be completely at ease until I've taken my kids to the livestock vet.

Goats Galore

It's been a week since my last goat update, and I'm happy to report that all is well. Neko's weight fluctuates, but she's more or less about seven pounds. She's more playful now, which is a good sign. She bounces on the little trampoline, plays on the wine barrels, and isn't afraid to get things going with the Big Boys. I've begun weaning Grover, who now is 12 pounds. He's down to just two bottles a day, and next week he will get only one per day. The Big Boys will hit the 20-pound mark this weekend. All four goats sleep in the same doghouse now. When I arrive at the goat pen in the morning, four heads peek out and it's chaos as each goat tries to be the first one to squeeze out of the doghouse.

Their personalities are still developing, but giant Oscar is snuggly and loves attention. Elmo is affectionate as well as dynamic and comes up with the big ideas during playtime. He and Oscar are very athletic and love to chase, leap, jump, and do fancy twists in the air. Grover is feisty. He throws huge fits while he's waiting for his turn to be bottle-fed: he head-butts the Big Boys, stamps his hooves, and bleats up a storm. Neko is just starting to come out of her shell. All of the goats have shed their shyness and enjoy playing with people.

Before I left town last weekend for a short trip to Minneapolis, I typed up a nine-page goat care instruction manual for the Wrangler. He dutifully checked off tasks on the list for Friday but I don't think he consulted the manual at all on Saturday or Sunday. The goats were happy and healthy when I returned, so I guess it's okay that the Wrangler failed to adhere to my hour-by-hour plan or write copious notes in the barn journal. It seems that the Wrangler's style of goat management is a bit more relaxed than mine, but both styles get the job done.

Neko

I weigh tiny Neko everyday to make sure she's growing. It's been a week since I brought her home, and she still was just five pounds when I weighed her this morning. Grover is nearly twice her size and has gained a pound. I texted our wonderful goat girl (who, incidentally, told me that she hated being called the goat girl in school--sorry Breanna!), and she came right over, armed with all kinds of supplies.

She brought a bottle of frozen Boer goat's milk, as well as a huge jug of fresh Boer goat's milk (so fresh it was still warm) mixed with a couple spoonfuls of powered colostrum. She brought some probiotic paste and a syringe loaded with an antibiotic. We took Neko's temperature, which was 101.5 and, thankfully, more or less normal for a goat. Since her temperature was normal, she didn't need the antibiotic. We gave her some of the probiotic paste. Breanna left instructions to give Neko some probiotic paste each day, to add colostrum powder to her bottle, and to increase her bottle feedings from three per day to four.

Neko seemed to enjoy the extra midday feeding, and I was thrilled to see her actually playing in the goat run late this afternoon. She hopped up on the barrel and did a few joyful jumps. When I saw her, I did the same. I'm hoping that the extra 4 oz. of milk, colostrum powder, and probiotic paste will do the trick. I want her to be a happy, healthy, chunky little monkey like Oscar and Elmo.

Popcorn and Hugsie

Breaking news! For our wedding anniversary, the Wrangler has given me two Southdown Babydoll lambs. They are wethers and will be ready to come home the last week of May.

Here's Popcorn sitting in the grass, and that's Hugsie with his mama.

They aren't twin brothers, but they are roughly the same age.

Got Milk?

Neko cried for her mama all day Thursday and Friday, but yesterday she settled down and settled in. She hasn't cried at all today. She's in good spirits, but she doesn't drink much milk. Bottle babies at this age (five weeks old) should drink about 15% of their body weight in milk each day, split among three feedings. That's roughly five ounces for Neko and seven ounces for Grover, three times a day. For the first couple days Neko was drinking only an ounce or two at each feeding. She didn't act like a sick goat, but her posture was hunched and her tail firmly planted--both signs of distress. She is so small for her age and needs to pack on some pounds, pronto. Yesterday morning, near tears, I handed a bottle of warm milk to the Wrangler. Neko had barely touched it when I tried to feed her. Well, surprise, surprise; the Wrangler has the magic touch. Neko drinks double the amount of milk when the Wrangler feeds her. She polished off a full four ounces for him during her mid-afternoon feeding, and I couldn't be happier.

Greedy Grover finishes his bottle in about 30 seconds. He begs for more, but after he drinks his seven ounces his little tummy looks and feels full of milk. I don't want him to get bloat, which is a dangerous condition caused by a number of things including overeating. He's so cute when he drinks. He crouches down, front legs tucked underneath him and rump in the air, in the same position he'd assume if nursing on his mama. Neko prefers to drink her bottle on the Wrangler's comfy lap.

When Grover's and Neko's goat mama got mastitis and couldn't nurse, the breeder began bottle feeding with milk from her full-sized Boer goat. The breeder gave us some of the Boer goat's milk, which I fed to the babies on Thursday and Friday. I need to transition them to commercial (store-bought) goat's milk, but I didn't want to make any dietary changes while they still were stressed from the move. Neko's so tiny that she can't afford to get sick. I suspect that a bout of the scours could be life threatening to a five-pound goat. Consequently, I'm transitioning the babies from the breeder's goat's milk to store-bought goat's milk very, very slowly so as not to upset their tummies.

Pygmy goat's milk is rich and high in butterfat. To create a suitable commercial substitute milk for Pygmy goat kids, the National Pygmy Goat Association recommends mixing one quart pasteurized whole goat's milk with 1/2 cup organic heavy cream. Goats and cows can transfer certain diseases to other goats and cows through raw milk, so it's important to use only pasteurized milk unless you know the milk source is disease-free. 

I just began the transition by feeding the bottle babies a mixture of 3/4 Boer goat's milk and 1/4 store-bought milk. I will gradually increase the amount of store-bought milk until they are on 100% store-bought milk on Wednesday.

The Big Boys

Forgive my absence the past few days, but things are just settling down around here. Although my first night with the bottle babies went well, Thursday and Friday were ca-ray-zy. Remember my sweet, timid little baby goats Oscar and Elmo? They turned into Big Boys overnight. Suddenly they look huge--partly because they really are growing, and partly because they weigh three times as much as the bottle babies. Heavyweight Oscar tips the scales at 17.4 pounds and lumbers over my five pound baby girl Neko. Shy Oscar is not shy at all anymore. I guess the introduction of two new goats to the herd gave him some confidence. He's large and in charge. For two days he tried to head-butt those poor babies to the moon. A baby couldn't walk by without getting checked, hockey-style, into the fence, wall, or water bucket. Poor Grover ran into his doghouse for protection, but Oscar dove in right after him.

Elmo mostly refrained from beating up on the bottle babies, but he'd get in a head-butt once in a while. The goat girl told us that the four kids would work it out and settle down in a few days, so I let them do their thing for the most part. But this required keeping a close and constant eye on the babies and the Big Boys. I did intervene a few times when it looked like a baby was scared. Neko, who is light as a feather and looks like a fur ball, didn't get picked on as much as Grover. She climbed into the hay manger and ignored the scuffles. Today Grover decided he'd had enough. He jumped up on the barrel, stood on his hind legs, did a huge leap with an amazing twist, and went head to head with giant Oscar. By this evening there still were two distinct cliques, but at least the babies were more or less holding their own.

Pygmy Goats: Round Two

The night is young, so perhaps I'm jinxing myself by saying that bringing home the bottle babies was a piece of cake. Maybe it's because I'm an old pro now; maybe it's because the new goats appreciated being plopped down in a goat pen with other goats; maybe it's because bottle babies are more familiar with people and less dependent on their goat mama. At any rate, there were no screams or crying tantrums. With Oscar and Elmo's epic meltdown fresh in our minds, the Wrangler and I had braced ourselves for the worst. But Grover and Neko made the transition pretty well. They definitely were timid and nervous, but they were quiet and didn't mind sitting on our laps.

Equally shocking, I'm handling things much better this time around. I was so worried about Oscar and Elmo those first few days! I didn't sleep a wink and my pulse raced. But goat-induced anxiety attacks are so three weeks ago. I'm fairly calm right now, and I've only peeked at the goat pen twice since tucking them in an hour ago.

At just five weeks old, the bottle babies are tiny. TINY. I'm glad the weather has been warm and there's no need to mess around with a heat lamp. The Wrangler thought that the four goats would end up sharing one doghouse at night, but I suspected it wouldn't work that way. I was right. Oscar and Elmo, while not overly hostile, were not exactly delighted to meet their new herd members. They ignored the babies for the most part, but both Oscar and Elmo raised their hackles. When we tucked the goats in for the night, we did see Elmo give one of the babies a good night headbutt before each set of twins settled into their respective doghouse.

We'll see what tomorrow brings. The refrigerator and freezer are stocked with goat's milk and baby bottles. The first bottle feeding is at 7 AM.

Oscar, the Incredible Flying Pygmy Goat

Bread and Candles and Soap and Goats

My beeswax container, votive, and tea light candles

Goat's milk soap from our goat breeders

Maybe it was the three cups of caffeinated tea that got me moving, but today I bought some supplies for the bottle babies Grover and Neko (who will be here Wednesday), mixed up some bread dough, melted a couple pounds of beeswax and made candles, and discussed soap-making with the goat girl and her mom. They came by with a few bars of their homemade goat's milk soap and shared some of their tips. I am so getting a dairy goat!

Rainy Day with the Goats

It was a cold and rainy day with thunder, lightning, waterspouts over the ocean, flash floods--the whole shebang. Goats do surprisingly well in cold weather, but they hate getting wet. Oscar and Elmo opted to play in the covered patio area and didn't step even one tiny hoof into the yard today.

Our goat girl braved the rain and came over to supervise me as I trimmed the boys' hooves for the first time. I was nervous, but we all made it through unscathed. The goat girl helped me plan for the bottle babies and spent time answering my many questions. I've been texting questions to her every other day for the past two weeks, and let me tell you that I practically have to sit on my hands to keep from texting questions every single day. We also chatted about different goat breeds, keeping milk goats, and the show goat circuit. (I'm this close to being a stage mom...I already have big dreams for Elmo.)

It's humbling to think how much our goat girl (a very nice young woman in her late teens) knows about goats. She started raising them as a little girl in 4-H and now is a successful and respected goat breeder. Even the folks at the local tack and feed store call her when they have a goat to neuter, which she does in exchange for a 45-lb. bag of grain. When I was a little girl I was in 4-H too, but I guess suburban 4-H kids miss out on the good stuff. Instead of raising goats, we did things like put on skits about recycling. Eghh.

The goats went to bed at 6:30 as usual, but I roused them around 9:30 so I could check on their pen. The doghouse was relatively warm, and the pen was dry. I tucked them back in, but I have a long night of spot checks ahead of me if the rain doesn't subside.

Here's a video of the boys playing in the covered area today. Damp weather, yes. Damp spirits? Hardly.

Moto's Morning

I met the vet at Moto's barn bright and early this morning on my way into the office. I arrived just in time for the diagnostic ultrasound on his bowed tendon. Dr. Reese is the ideal vet: confident, competent, and genuinely caring. She is as good with people as she is with horses. She patiently explained the ultrasound images in detail. She didn't seem to mind my barrage of questions, many of which were probably stupid, but she never let on.

Moto is making excellent progress. He's completed his fourth (!) month of stall rest and his recovery is progressing as expected. He now can be ridden at the trot for the next two months. If all goes well, he can be ridden at the canter in June. I expressed my nervousness at moving to this next phase, but Dr. Reese explained that it's not only safe, it's also necessary. The gradual increase in weight on the tendon rebuilds the tissue--walking puts more weight on it than standing; trotting puts more weight on it than walking; cantering puts more weight on it than trotting; and the ultimate weight-bearing exercise is jumping. I don't intend for Moto to resume his show jumping career, so I think we'll be just fine once he is cleared to canter again.

Stay with me now only if you're up for a recap that screams Too Much Information. About once a year, a gelding needs to have his sheath cleaned. It's not the most pleasant thing to do, but it is essential. Smegma (dirt and excretions) builds up in the sheath, creating lumps or "beans" that must be removed. It was time for Moto's cleaning today.

The vet gave Moto a mild sedative to get him to, uh, relax his sheath, and we waited for the drug to kick in. It was kind of funny to be responding to work emails on my Blackberry while constantly glancing over to see if Moto had "let down" his privates. What's that saying--a watched pot never boils? Modest Moto had to be given another sedative to fully relax. It's always sad to see a sedated horse. They sweat, drool, and hang their sleepy heads. The cleaning took much longer than I expected. Although my horse books provide instructions for sheath cleaning, I've decided that I'm very happy to pay the vet to do this particular procedure. I haven't received the bill yet, but I feel certain that the vet earned every cent.

Cleaning complete, I thanked the vet and headed to the office. By 10AM, I'd mucked out a goat pen, witnessed a sheath cleaning, and prepared three documents for filing with the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. Some days are sorta weird.

Bottle Babies on the Way

I got a text from our goat girl today: Would I be interested in raising Grover and Neko as bottle babies? Unfortunately, their mama has mastitis and can no longer nurse the twins. Ideally, they wouldn't have been weaned until the first week of May.

They'll each require a bottle three to four times a day. I wasn't expecting two more goats until May, but I'm up for the challenge. I agreed to take the babies after the weekend; we'll need a couple days to get the goat pen ready.

Zero to four kids in two weeks. Life moves fast on the farm.

Leader of the Pack

Elmo strikes a pose while chewing on some hay.

I tried to get a good photo of Oscar, but he doesn't stand still.

Guess who has stopped following his brother around and has started following me? Oscar! After all these years, I finally have a pet who thinks I'm the leader! Woohoo! It's especially nice because just a week ago, Oscar barely allowed me to pet him. Now, only days later, this little chunky monkey of a goat lets me pick him up without any fuss. He sits quietly on my lap, and he loves to be groomed. He follows me as I do my chores. When I enter the goat pen, he runs up to me and gives me a welcoming "m-e-h-h-h-h-h-h."

It's National Pet Day, whatever that is. At my house, every day is pet day. Here's to you, Moto, Oscar, Fenway, Elmo, and Dash (listed by size).

That's Not a Mess. That's "London Bohemian."

Unless I'm expecting guests, my stacks of books and piles of magazines can be found pretty much everywhere around here. I suppose things would be tidier if I embraced the Nook or Kindle, but that's never going to happen. What the Wrangler doesn't understand is that my stacks and piles are rather organized. It might look like clutter, but I actually know where everything is.

The other night I was flipping though Town & Country magazine (to which I've subscribed since I was in grade school; old habits die hard) and was delighted to read Gully Wells' description of "one of America's most intellectually exciting households." He was referring to the Andrew Cockburn family, whose "style of decor is what you might call London bohemian...endless piles of books, magazines, and newspapers, slightly crooked lampshades--in other words, very English and a long way from the manicured chic of their neighbors. No wonder Mick [Jagger] felt right at home [with the Cockburns]."

Excellent! So there you have it. Endless stacks and piles are not messy; they're a decorating style!

Mow in Peace

Last week after I ran interference and all but tackled the gardener in the courtyard to make him turn off his industrial, 90-decibel weed wacker before he scared the baby goats, I decided to dismiss the gardener from courtyard duties and tend to them myself. My first order of business as the new master of the courtyard was to find a hand-powered (translation: quiet) lawn mower. I expected to pay around $350 for a decent mower but was pleasantly surprised to find one for only $70. As I clicked "submit order" on the web page, I felt nothing but doubt. I've been burned by many an unsuccessful gadgety purchase. But since it was only $70 for a lawn mower, I rolled the dice.

My mower arrived today. Assembly was simply snapping the handle into the mower (30 seconds). I took it for its inaugural whirl around the courtyard and, hey, whaddya know? It works perfectly! (Caveat: this might not be the best option if you have a large area to mow.) I love my swift, silent, hand-powered mower. Interestingly, Fenway does not. Gentle, docile Fenway kept attacking it, and I don't think he was playing. I finally had to put him inside the house so I could mow without risk of slicing his button nose.

Grover and Neko

Despite all the excitement that Oscar and Elmo have brought to our little farm, we can't forget that we will have another set of twin babies ready to leave their mama in a month. We named the wether Grover and the doe Neko. Everything I've read says that goat herds are run by a female, so I guess Elmo (who right now is clearly in charge) will lose his position to Neko. Our goat girl kindly sent some pictures of Grover and Neko getting their first bath today.

McGoat

I'm not trying to promote McDonald's, but this goat is pretty funny (and waaay naughtier than my sweet goats).

The Yuppie Farm

Photo of the Alexandria Coop from the Williams-Sonoma Catalog

The new Williams-Sonoma catalog arrived in the mail today, and I was intrigued to see that even Williams-Sonoma has jumped on the sustainability bandwagon with its new Agrarian product line. The 12-category line includes chicken coops, beekeeping supplies, and Do-It-Yourself kits for items like cheese, vinegar, and sprouts. This latest move has not gone unnoticed. Today a lot of commenters on the homesteading blogs I follow are rather dismayed and disgusted that Madison Avenue is trying to cash in on the back-to-the-land movement. To this I say, "So what?" There's room for everyone here. If you don't want to pay $800 for an attractive, ready-made, Martha Stewart-y chicken coop, then don't. But what's it to you if someone else does?

Here's the thing. Not all of us are handy, own a lot of tools, have a shed filled with scrap wood, and want to devote a month's worth of weekends to going to Home Depot and sawing stuff in the backyard. When I was looking for ideas for goat housing I found only instructions for building one myself. I had to jerry-rig my own version of a goat enclosure, but I gladly would have paid a little extra to buy a Williams-Sonoma version if there were one available. I did laugh, however, at the "chicken coop predator kit" for $59.95. I don't see how it's that much different from the "goat pen predator kit" that I invented last week, which consists of a roll of garden wire from Lowe's for $4.95 and (you guessed it) about 50 zip ties ($2.95 for a pack of 50).

The people protesting the Williams-Sonoma line are probably the same people who have a problem with Pottery Barn. Don't get me wrong; I know that buying mass-produced farmhouse furniture is neither posh nor particularly imaginative. But it's an easy, relatively inexpensive option for people like me who don't like used furniture (I have an abnormal bedbug phobia), don't have an eye for antiques, and don't want a house filled with expensive or one-of-a-kind pieces. Instead of passing out cold if the dog has an accident on an heirloom-quality chair or the Wrangler (who really shouldn't be practicing his short game in the house) accidentally hits a golf ball into a decorative piece from Sotheby's, I can just heave a small sigh, clean up the mess, and reorder the same item--which will arrive in three to five business days from good ole PB.

On the other hand, I will always be partial to things that are homemade. It's especially nice when they look better than my goat pen.

Someone's Got Your Goat

I read in Goats magazine that the expression "someone's got your goat" comes from an Old English tradition of keeping a goat in the barn with dairy cows to keep the cows calm and producing lots of milk. A farmer's enemy would steal the goat, causing the cows to become so agitated that their udders would dry up and leave the farmer without milk.

Alternatively, the expression comes from 19th century horse racing lore. Many racehorses had their own pet goat as a stablemate; the companionship kept the horse happy and calm. Gamblers would try to fix an outcome by sneaking into barns on the night before a big race and abscond with the goat of the projected winner. The distraught horse would run poorly the next day and lose the race.

Although I've owned goats for less than a week, I completely understand the expression. If someone got my goats, I would be devastated. I knew that I'd like having goats, but it turns out that I absolutely love having goats! I'm obsessed. I can't believe I waited this long. I should have gotten goats many years ago. "Would you have dated me if I had goats?" I asked the Wrangler. He said yes, but I wonder. Back in the day, I think we both would have thought that having pet goats was weird.

But how obtuse we were back then. Little did we know that having goats is a joy. I've never been a morning person, but I now look forward to waking at the crack of dawn to let them out. Refilling water buckets and loading up the hay feeders twice a day is peaceful and rewarding. It's hard to explain, but the tasks feel like yoga, a soothing physical ritual. My mind thinks of nothing but the routine. Even mucking out their pen and sweeping up the "nanny berries" (and wow--are there ever a lot of nanny berries!) feel satisfying. Twice a day I get to turn the messy pen into a fresh and tidy little home for my dear four-legged friends. They always are curious and watch me with interest as I complete my chores. I stoop down every now and then to softly scratch their sweet faces.

Each day Oscar and Elmo get more comfortable with me. The loud bleating meltdowns stopped a few days ago, and peace and quiet reigns in the the courtyard now. Elmo loves being petted, scratched, and groomed. Oscar also lets me pet him now, although he still is shy.

Every night at 6:30 they march into their doghouse on their own and tuck themselves in for the night. Adorable!

I've got a five-foot wall, a five-foot fence, a metal 6x8 dog kennel, and video baby monitor in place. Hopefully no one will get my goats....neither literally nor figuratively.