So….what day is it ? Days and nights are currently all blending as one, one long round of working with anterior or posterior ends of our equine (horse), bovine (cow) or caprinae (sheep and goat) family. I just learnt those animal “family” names,….just getting too smart ! (smile) As dawn breaks, the mountains of horse poop that has magically piled up through the night ( don’t horses EVER sleep ?) becomes evident. Making that by-product not quite so magically disappear ( as evidenced by the size of our nicely composting manure pile) now fights for priority with milking both Daisy the Dexter cow and Acorn our goat doe who is still determined NOT to be a mom. Whilst Daisy is attached up to the pulsating milking machine, I attentively sit at her head end and watch her feed bucket. Whilst there is food in her bucket all Daisy’s attention is focused on the grain, her hooves don’t kick and her tail doesn’t swish ( incidentally NOT a very pleasant experience !) all that changes when the food runs out….my very important job is to ensure that her food bucket is always charged. Clearly, an eating cow is a happy cow. When Daisy’s milky bar is closed, it’s Acorn’s turn. It has to be said Acorn has no aspirations either to be a good mother… (actually, any kind of mother) or to be a good milk goat but it is early days and we live in hope. The big brown LaMancha doe has been designed to feed milk to the 5,000, her udder is the size of a barrage balloon but sadly Acorn sees her future eating peanuts and munching through the contents of the hay feeder untroubled by any ambitions related to the milk parlour or her two cute little kids. Having sat at Daisy’s head with a grain bucket, my mission with Acorn is unhappily on the less attractive end of the goat. There I sit, twice a day, uneasily perched on a little red plastic bucket at eye level with Acorn’s udder. As Greg attaches the cups to the doe’s engorged teats I have my hands firmly restraining her spindly legs. Acorn, the goat with attitude can and will kick like a mule the instant her head comes out of her empty feed bin.
Thumper and Peanut are nearly a week old now. Feeding time in the goat pen is both a necessary chore and the highlight (s) of our day. From the moment we enter the goat zone with two plastic Pepsi bottles topped with grey rubber teats ( wonder why grey ??) we are pounced on, rubbed on, sat on and chewed. Whilst Acorn and Alicia search pockets for treat morsels, Bonny and Buster bounce from wall to wall, through us and over us. One little kid industriously chews my shoe laces whilst the other investigates the possibilities of making my hair dinner and the abandoned twins suck so hard their plastic bottles implode and satiated they collapse in little brown heaps .
Yes, we have a 15 hour day…every day, 7 days a week, but I know I speak for us both, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Got to go….it’s bedtime. Take care, keep safe, M
Thumper and Peanut are nearly a week old now. Feeding time in the goat pen is both a necessary chore and the highlight (s) of our day. From the moment we enter the goat zone with two plastic Pepsi bottles topped with grey rubber teats ( wonder why grey ??) we are pounced on, rubbed on, sat on and chewed. Whilst Acorn and Alicia search pockets for treat morsels, Bonny and Buster bounce from wall to wall, through us and over us. One little kid industriously chews my shoe laces whilst the other investigates the possibilities of making my hair dinner and the abandoned twins suck so hard their plastic bottles implode and satiated they collapse in little brown heaps .
Yes, we have a 15 hour day…every day, 7 days a week, but I know I speak for us both, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Got to go….it’s bedtime. Take care, keep safe, M
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