Wow, do I suck!

So, when I got behind on the blogging, I went out to take pictures to make a little throwaway post about Kelly. (Two posts below this.)

Turns out I made that same post about a year ago. Heh. I suck. I will start blogging for real again now. New Years resolution.

...to be fair, at least I took a new photo....

Junebug

If you've followed the blog for a while, you know about June. June was one of the first kids born on our farm. And June was the first adult goat we ever sold.

June was a silly, sweet clown of a goat, but did not have the best milk production her first year. She made enough milk for a family goat, but not really enough to stay at a dairy. So we found her a wonderful family and we threw in a second goat to keep her company(blog post to come on this story)and said our goodbyes.

We told June's new family, who have become friends of ours, that we would babysit her anytime they needed us. They took us up on it a year ago and June had her kids here at BHF last Chanukah.

And then she exploded with milk. June more than doubled the capacity of her udder in her second year as a milker, and we had some serious seller's remorse. But we were happy for the Hydes, who got a lot of good milk and obviously really loved old Junebug.

This year we babysat June again as her family took a last vacation before the arrival of their third baby. (Human baby, that is.) As the enormity of the prospect of milking goats while caring for a new infant and home schooling the other two kids set in, they began to wonder if they shouldn't re-home June and Emmylou. Long story short, we snapped her up. June has come back to Blue Heron Farm.

We learned a lot of things in the unfolding of this story.

First, it reinforced our idea of how important it is to sell goats to good families. We got to see June a lot in the time she lived with the Hydes and we were so thankful that she went to such a good home. It would be so hard to think of an animal you love in a place where they would not be treated like family. June was and is happy and healthy in both of her homes.

Next, we realized that you can't make decisions about milking potential in the first year. Many goats don't really come into their full production until age three or sometimes even later. This has been true with a number of our goats - they just keep getting better as they get more mature.

This leads to the fact that we can't raise babies. We knew this, but really - this is huge. One and two year olds will eat just as much as three year olds, but give you half the milk? Stupid. We knew this a year ago, but we're hanging on to Binder and Penny Lane anyway. Sigh. That, as you know, is its own story.

The biggest takeaway for me was the realization that I am going to stress any time we sell an adult goat. It is SO much harder than selling the babies you don't really know. We have a couple we have considered selling this year for production reasons, but I just don't know if I can bear to let them go. Even when they go to a great place - as June did - I know how much I will miss them.

We'll see if I can get over this. Because Miranda - while sweet as pie, just had a second mediocre milk season. If she doesn't get it together in year three, she may have to move on. I should probably start screening applicants now. Who knows how long this might take.

Mmmmmmm....foamy

One of our older does, Kelly, developed a really peculiar behavior in the last year or so. It has intensified in the past weeks into something almost cartoon-like.

Kelly foams at the mouth at meal time.

It starts about an hour before dinner. Everyone is usually hanging out, chewing cud, thinking about getting milked and the delicious treats that come with that. And then Kelly starts to salivate.

A lot.

And it's thick, like meringue.

And it gets all over anything she touches. Fence posts. Other goats. Her own ears. The cat.

I've given her a new nickname. Kelli-ccino.


Mmmmmm--foamy.

Seeing Ghosts

Last winter we sold a pair of goats to some farmer friends. Poinsettia was born on Christmas and Daisy was born on New Years Eve Day.

Normally we don't see the goats we sell again, except in photos, but since we have Skeeter the Magnificent here, we offered to take the girls back for breeding. (Not an option when the only male you have is their dad.)

The girls came back a couple weeks ago and are staying for two heat cycles to make sure Skeet gets the job done. While I love having them around, it has been a profoundly bittersweet experience.

In a remarkable coincidence, Poinsettia is Loretta's daughter and looks almost exactly like her. If you don't remember, Loretta was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer and had to be put down in June.

Daisy is Miranda's daughter and she came out looking exactly like her great aunt Patty. ...the other goat we had to euthanize this year.

Seeing these two brings a smile to my face every day and has brought me close to tears on several occasions. It is like having Loretta and Patty's ghosts here reminding us how awesome and yet how hard it is to be a compassionate farmer.

I am glad our goats are living on through their genes and bringing their goofy personalities to a whole new farm.

Daisy


Patty


Poinsettia


Loretta

My papaya is bisexual!!!

I wonder how often that exact combination of words has been used in the history of the English language.

Whatever- it's true and it's good news...I have a teeny, eeeny, tiny papaya starting. Now if we can just keep the plant from freezing until it grows into something edible.

Yay, bisexual plants! You rock!

Eeeeeeeeee!

I am HORRIBLY behind in blogging and will try to catch up in the next couple days. Sorry. But in the meantime,look what I found enjoying my green beans the other night. He was so tiny I thought it was a ladybug at first.



Is that not the cutest little frog you've ever seen???

An oldie but a goodie

A little trivia: I belong to a goat club.

Yes, that's right a goat club. Whatever you are imagining, it is that...plus some. We get together with other goat folks to eat, chit-chat and talk goats. It rocks.

Back in 2007 I was asked, based on writings from my own website, to contribute a regular article to the club's newsletter. I accepted the invitation and went after the task with gusto.

Apparently, too much gusto. My first article was rejected. Too "racy" for a family club.

That rejected article was about our first-ever breeding season and appears below, in its entirety. Some of you may have seen it before. Without being a self-important jerk, I think it only gets funnier to read it again now, years later.

For the rest of you, a couple points: I used to stress about EVERY single thing the goats did or did not do. And I still worked in Houston to make the startup money for the dairy. The combination, well... you'll see. Enjoy.

I am obsessed with sex.

Oh, it’s not what you think….it’s our first breeding season. (OK- maybe that is what you were thinking, and if so—good for you!)
See-- we got into goats a little bit backwards, and so in our first year with goats have already been through the joys of milking and drying off does, watching their ballooning pregnancies, and even kidding. And then more milking. Lots and lots of milking. But this is our first season of goat nookie.

We brought our first little buck onto our farm a couple weeks ago, and ever since I have been obsessively viewing vulva, staring at sheathes and yes, even touching testes. (I just had to see what they felt like. Surely I can’t be the only one. …can I? Hm, maybe I can.)
The poor buck. I am obsessive and relentless, and the longer I go without actually seeing active breeding, the more obsessive I become. What if he’s too young? What if he can’t reach? What if he’s just “not into girls”??? It is just like all of my goat obsessions, which if you have ever read my website, are plentiful and strange. I am a woman possessed.

I find myself standing outside the pen with him and whichever “doe du jour”, gently pleading, then kind of begging and then finally demanding he get it on. Go for it. Come on! Do the deed! …which he never does. Well, not in front of me, at least.
Did I mention I’m obsessed? Last week I had some time off work, and so I headed out to the buck pen with a lawn chair, a book and - of course - my camera (Surely I can’t be the only one. …can I?)

And? ...Nada. Oh, I got a good read, but The Bishop, as we call him, only enjoyed a leisurely two-hour graze while ignoring the overt signs of interest from our very “heaty” herd queen. I even propped him up into position once. He just looked at me like I was a lunatic and kind of fell off. What if he’s too young? What if he can’t reach? What if he’s just “not into girls”???

Of course when I went back to work, he became more active. On one of my 40 or so daily calls home, I found out that “Bishop Don” had chewed his own penis (can I say penis in the Caprine Courier?), urinated on my husband and “styled” his pompadour in a very buck-specific way.

WHY DO I MISS ALL THE GOOD STUFF????!

So that’s where we are now. Those are all good signs, right? I mean, if he wasn’t ready before, surely he is “readier” now. At least he’s “yellower” now. That I can confirm. And he no longer gets kisses on the muzzle from me. I know waaay too much about where that muzzle has been.

So we sit and wait. And we bring the ladies out as they ask us to, and then leave them there overnight in the hopes that Bishop Don Magic Juan perhaps just prefers to work his magic at night.

In these very tense couple of weeks, we have found one doe with a satisfactorily crusty tail and another with a nice plug of white goo. We are very hopeful. And not any less obsessed.

My name is Lisa and I am obsessed with goat sex. Maybe you can relate.

In retrospect, I kinda understand their decision. ;)