Lisa has Energy; Thumbelina has Scours

Loyal tastes his Auntie Jenn's ear.

When we got home this evening the hour was late. Frost covered all the metal surfaces, making feed bins and fence gates chilly to the touch and slippery in the hand. The dogs had been fed, for which I was grateful; our farm sitter had been engaged through the morning only, but that nice fella from Barns & More construction was on site in the afternoon and promised to dole out hay to the critters who would be interested in it. Thanks, Jeff; you're the best.

Still, I wanted to check the maternity stall. Did the keets have water and food? (Water yes, food no.) Did the kids have access to the heat lamp I'd set up for them? No because as she'd been just before we left, Thumbelina was tucked directly beneath the bulb's heat. Odd. I had moved yesterday evening and set up a blockade, but that had necessarily been removed to open the crate to the keets. So go the days on the farm. After forcibly moving Thumbelina, I replaced the blockade.

Lisa's trying to climb onto Auntie Jenn's back, but she can't quite get up there--yet.

Then I fed the keets goat rations because the turkey starter I'd left in the barn was out, watered the nursing does who had completely emptied their bucket, parceled out a few flakes of hay into the stalls, and grained the nursing does. The littlest kids were sleepy, but Miss Lisa was bucking and bouncing about, playing as if it were noontime instead of nearly midnight. She was having a delightful romp. With Jennifer and Cocoa focused on food, Loyal was attentively tasting his auntie Jenn's coat and ears and horns. Lisa seemed more interested in climbing onto Auntie Jenn, although I did not see her actually succeed.

The maternity stall smelled rank. Someone had developed loose bowels just before we left, and the situation had not abated. The kids appeared clean. Cocoa and Jennifer were eating voraciously and also looked clean. Thumbelina was standing hunched over, nuzzling at the insulating wrap on the dog crate, trying to get into the heat lamp closest to her--inside the dog crate/keet brooder. I lifted her tail: bingo. What a mess.

Lisa, pulling most determinedly on my pant leg.

The poor gal has got the scours in force. I skittered down to the house, rustled up a bucket of warm water laced with goat electrolytes, filled a syringe with Vitamin B complex, replaced the defunct batteries in the ID-chip reader/Bio thermal scanner, grabbed disposable gloves and headed back up to the barn. Of course, I had not used the scanner in some months and was frustrated when I got the unit to turn on, but kept having it shut off without even searching for ID chips. Perhaps I'd left it out in the barn for too long? Whatever the problem, it was not working and I was not about to stick a thermometer anywhere near Thumbelina's filthy backside--so I gave up on the temperature and moved to treatment.

Although she had clearly lost a good deal of fluids over the day we had been gone, Thumbelina was not interested in the warm electrolyte mixture. (Goats usually are eager to accept warm water, so this was not a good sign.) She suffered the Vitamin B complex injection unhappily. I removed the needle from the syringe, rinsed it out, then filled it with the electrolyte mixture. Thumbelina was okay with that arrangement and began accepting the electrolytes in minute doses. When I stepped away to refresh the does' grain, she even snagged a mouthful before Jennifer bullied her away. She stood for a time mouthing the grain, possibly chewing it, then returned to worrying the side of the keet brooder in search of warmth.

Thumbelina gets dressed. Here she is in a thermal undershirt.

Before leaving the barn, then, I dressed the poor little goat in layers--as she had seen me do to the kids in the wintertime. At least the thermal top and pullover sweatshirt should help her feel warmer tonight. I snapped a picture of her beginning to doze off before leaving the animals for the night.

After I got back to the house, I reviewed the instructions for operating the chip-reader and discovered that the unit is working fine; 'twas the operator who'd been confused. Still, I wasn't about to trek back up to the barn again. After all, I may have to undress poor Thumbelina to read her chip. I'll let her rest tonight.

Thumbelina, dressed for winter & down in the dumps.

Please, God, let the little goat get some rest tonight and help her to feel better come daybreak.

Naming Kids

Nigerian Dwarf x Tennessee Fainter crosses: Brad's first kids!

Lisa, Loyal, and Luke. It took close to a week for Cocoa and Thumbelina's kids to get named, but the names fell into place yesterday right after Jennifer's triplets were named.

Lisa is a curious kid. She investigates with the zeal of a good reporter.

Beginning with the doeling, Lisa is named for a fun-loving and highly-accomplished journalist better known to her friends as L.A.  Our little Lisa is dark chocolate brown and white. (We thought of her as black-and-white until Jennifer's Molly came along to show us what black-and-white really looks like.) This little gal very nearly carried the name Melissa, for a character in a novel we like, but when given the opportunity to name her for an actual person, why we couldn't resist calling her Lisa.

Little Loyal with his twin Lisa. Loyal is already emulating his sire with the curled-up lip.

Loyal and Luke share such a strong resemblance, we wanted names with similar sounds. They were named for a real person and a character, respectively.      

Although we'll finish this entry later, Lisa wanted us to squeeze in a message from her:

Lisa says, "Happy Birthday, L.A. Thanks for giving me your name today!"

--Later--

To wrap up, Loyal was named for an arborist who used to trim my mother's French lilacs in return for lemon meringue pies. Uncle to the Kyle for whom this spring's kid Kyle was named, Loyal was not someone who frequented my young world, yet he held an important place in our household and neighborhood.

Luke is the namesake of a character in a novel. A young, energetic sort he likes kids and farm life, so he seemed to be a reasonable choice for Thumbelina's surviving fall kid.

Jennifer's Brood

Nigerian Dwarf doe Jennifer has her hands full with her newest litter. L-R: Logan, Kendall, & Molly.

Way to go, Jennifer! She waited until Thanksgiving morning to deliver a trio of beautiful little doelings. Her kids have the coloring of her other Nigerian Dwarf kids; no Fainter crosses here.

Logan's coloring is reminiscent of her sire's. (Logan is the gray gal in back.)

Their names were obvious to me. The firstborn, largest, and strongest had to be Logan; she's silvery gray like an airplane. Her coloring revealed that the sire of this brood was neither Brad Pitt (no tan-and-white pinto kids), nor the ubiquitous BullyBob. (At least I knew enough to keep BullyBob away from the does last spring.) Although Sting's black and gray patches remind me of a harlequin and Logan's triangles of color are more understated, their coloring is definitely of the same gene pool. We're excited to have Logan joining our Nigerian Dwarf herd.

Newborn Molly (aka MollyToo) is still a bit unsteady on her feet.

The second born doeling, a medium-size gal with Gateway or cow-like black-and-white coloring resembles Jennifer's second born from her last litter--Todd. This little goat, then, is named Molly. Well, since we already have a guardian dog named Molly, the goat kid is surreptitiously called MollyToo. Anyway, MollyToo--who resembles her 3/4ths brother Todd--is the namesake of another Molly, the second born daughter of parents named Jennifer and Todd. Welcome MollyToo!

Kendall settles in for a well-earned nap.

The last born doeling is an attractive brown with coloring similar to her dam's and reminiscent of Jennifer's firstborn from her last litter--Tony. To this day, Tony is probably the prettiest, flashiest kid of the winter/spring 2010 births. This little gal is sharp--if she were human she might be bound for MIT--and somehow the name Kendall just fits.

We are thrilled to have Jennifer's new litter here on the farm! Welcome, kids!

How to Eat an Egg

Biscuit the innocent. "Who me? What egg?"

This afternoon Mr. Biscuit showed me how to thoroughly enjoy eating an egg. It all started when I collected eggs from the barn into a bucket, set the bucket outside on the milking stand, and then forgot about it. Biscuit respected my little collection for some time; I know because I passed the bucket several times and was reminded, "Oh! I've gotta take those down to the house!" but didn't. In time, though, his canine mind considered the issue--I'm sure--decided that food dished out onto the milking stand is usually for animals (if not precisely dogs), and that he thus had a right to it.

"Oh! That egg. Hmmm."

By the time I noticed him carefully guarding a treasure on the hillside below the shop-in-progress, the egg bucket only held one egg--not five. True, the egg he held was intact; however, it had been thoroughly subjected to dog slime and since eggshells are porous...well, you get the idea. I didn't want dog slime with breakfast. So I stopped to watch him.

"This bears investigation."

At first he was cautious, looking from his egg to me to his egg to me to his egg. Was she (I) going to try to take it? Would he be able to keep his prize? After a couple of minutes he relaxed. Yup, that silly woman was just watching--even snapping pictures--and totally missing out on the goodness of egg.

He may be big, but Biscuit knows to be gentle with eggs.

He rolled the egg about between his paws, possibly considering the best angle from which to attack it. Then he picked it up and set it down several times. The rolling, moving, and mouthing was done with care and respect. This egg was decidedly a prize.

Although I expected him to chow it down, Biscuit licked delicately, savoring the flavor.

Finally I noticed that he had begun to lick: he'd pierced the shell and was tasting the runny egg. As big as his tongue was, the job took time: he was savoring the meal. I got bored and turned back to work, only to encounter an intact egg on the driveway. Already coated with dog slime, the egg was now conveniently camouflaged with crushed gravel.  What choice did I have but to put it into his dish?

"Mmm, mmm. Good to the last drop!"

Thumbelina's Surprise

Thumbelina with her brand new kids--a surprise I was not expecting.

This morning after chores, as I was dashing off the farm to begin a very hectic day, a thin cry sounded from the home pasture before I could reach my car. For about two days now, Thumbelina had been standing separate from the herd giving me a studied look that I did not understand. True, she'd been separated from her cohorts--Cocoa and Jennifer--but they'd moved into the maternity suite and I had not detected a full udder or other signs of pregnancy in Thumbelina. My error. Alerted by the cry, I looked up to see Thumbelina flanked by newborn twins who'd unfortunately been delivered in the dusty home pasture.

Kids delivered in the dusty home pasture. What a mess!

Scooping up the kids and grabbing Thumbelina by a horn, I ushered the new family into the maternity suite. After determining that, like Cocoa's litter, the firstborn was a buckling who bore a strong resemblance to Brad Pitt, and the last-born was a doeling. The cream-colored doeling, having been delivered wet onto the dust, was a muddy mess. I would have liked to stay and clean her up, but the job went to Thumbelina because I had to dash.

Being born is hard work! Kids nap to replenish their energy.

Chalk up two litters to Brad this fall. When I noticed Brad and his sidekick Sting actively attending to the pastured does last spring, I hurried to move them; obviously I should have acted sooner. These kids are Nigerian Dwarf x Tennessee Fainter crosses--all with the dwarfs' signature blue eyes. It will be interesting to see how they'll turn out. Will they exhibit myotonic traits any time soon? How large will they grow? Here on the farm, we'll be watching their progress.

Cocoa's Coup

Cocoa with her new kids.

We've been watching two Nigerian Dwarf does, Jennifer and Cocoa, for over a week now--trying to gauge when they'll kid. Yesterday I kept both does indoors, in the maternity stall with doors open to the air, not leaving them to roam. After the recent poultry losses to young dogs, I'm not ready to trust Biscuit with brand-new kids roaming free in the woods anytime soon.

I've been expecting Jennifer to kid first because she's gotten so big, but then again she just kept getting bigger for weeks the last time she kidded. When they were leaving the barn two mornings ago, Cocoa's bag looked full enough to accommodate new kids so I should not have been surprised to find her with kids on the ground last evening.

Cocoa's doeling is less robust than the senior twin.

Although I expected her to deliver a big singleton, as she has done twice before now, she surprised us with twins this time. The firstborn, a little buckling, is a pretty yellowy-tan and white--with wattles and blue eyes. He's strong and sure of himself, and greedy--everything a healthy kid needs to survive. The doeling is black-and-white, considerably smaller and weaker than her big brother. She has blue eyes and wattles, too, but her wattles are placed higher than I've seen before--one of these pieces of "goat jewelry" is actually attached at the base of her ear, much like an earring. The other one is lower down, but still closer to the ear than any I've seen before this.

Doe and her offspring both display "goat jewelry" or wattles.

Names are in the offing; however, we'll wait a day or two to be sure both kids will make it before making any definitive decisions.

Midnight Hank: On the Job

Young Midnight Hank, dwarfed by the hay rack from which he feeds.

Our new buck, now answering to Midnight Hank, takes his duties very seriously. The larger dairy does have an attentive and willing partner to pending insemination sniffing about their heels and tails each evening. During the day when they wander the grounds, Midnight Hank remains pastured with the female alpacas where his presence inspires (teases?) the smaller does just across the fence.

Perhaps one day young Hank will choose to pull his feed from above the rack, but not yet.

What I find amusing, though, is the contrast of Hank's size against the full-grown dairy does. He's little more than a snippet of his future self, prancing around atop a buck's hooves. Even so, he takes his position seriously. He is attentive to "his" does, checking frequently to see if the time is right. Even though he's a little guy, he already knows to reserve his strength for the most opportune moments.

Nature has made animals so much smarter than us humans. They time breeding to coincide with ovulation, no basal temperature thermometers or ovulation predictor kits from Walgreens need apply here.

Let the Punishment Fit the Crime?

Left with the chicken she killed tied around her neck, Kathleen licks her chops.

Recently our younger dogs have acquired a taste for chicken--fresh chicken. Although many of the hens are now safely enclosed with the coop, several still choose to wander about freely. (I prefer to encounter them around the yard, and would allow them to free range indefinitely if I could count on them to dodge the dogs and to lay their eggs safely out of canine reach.)

The Buff Orpington hen, Kimberly, the farm's most dedicated chick-raiser continues to wander about freely. She is fine, of course--I've seen her reprimanding a dog who got too interested in her new chicks; nobody will mess with Kimberly. Of course, now that her most recent brood is older, their range is tangential to Kimberly's; they no longer orbit her as planets might orbit their sun. The drawback to their continued independence is their increased vulnerability without mama hen watching their every step.

Indeed, Kimberly's brood of seven--was it seven?--is down to three. The three adolescent chickens travel together, loosely, and put themselves in peril every time a young dog is in search of entertainment. The day after Midnight Hank arrived, Kathleen was sprung from doggie jail having done the time for her last poultry crimes. Soon after her release, Jeff and his mother-in-law brought a fresh load of hay. While we were moving bales, I tried to point out Midnight Hank to Jeff--only to see Kathleen with a fresh chicken carcass in her mouth.

Doggie jail is located in the very kennel where the roosters are being fattened for the freezer, in the adjoining run.

Back she went to doggie jail. Let her stew beside the nicely-fattening roosters, said I. Jeff (who has a story for every occasion) related the story of an acquaintance who tied the dead bird to the offender's neck and allowed the dog to tote that burden for some days. I figured it was worth a try. The next evening, the dead chicken, one of Kimberly's adolescents, was slipped into a mesh onion bag and trussed tightly to Kathleen's collar. The lower photograph shows the canine prisoner in her personal poultry hell: housed beside unreachable roosters and with a dead chicken trussed about her neck. Without any real confidence that the plan would work, I left her in for the night.

Unfortunately, the following morning's result did not surprise me, although I was a tad disappointed. Kathleen still had the onion bag still tied tightly to her nylon collar; however, all that remained of the chicken were its tightly-trussed orange feet.

Eggs!

First egg collected from hens hatched out in 2010.

Just this past week we collected the first eggs from the hens that hatched this past winter. Most of the young hens have settled nicely into the protected enclosure we built for them, and they've taken to laying their eggs in the new hen house we provided for them. This is good because it means that we get the eggs, the dogs do not get them.

Before we started collecting the young hens' eggs, I actually coughed up 29 cents for a dozen commercial eggs at Aldi's because I had lost track of where the older hens were laying. Since then, though, we discovered that the older hens have been laying in the feed bins in the barn stalls. Of course, the dogs have apparently known this for some time because when they get into the home pasture, they dash into whatever stall they can reach--whereupon they then devour whatever eggs they find. Now we collect those eggs but leave a few for the hens to set upon as they wish.

For breakfast the other day we broke both farm eggs and commercial eggs into a pan to scramble (with tumeric, onions, greens, and goat milk). I was struck by the contrast in color: where the farm eggs had rich orange-yellow yolks, the commercial eggs were pale, washed-out. They looked pitifully weak and it was hard to imagine them having the same nutrition as those from our hens here on the farm.

I could not imagine living again in the vacuum of suburban (or urban) life, without the gifts we harvest daily on our little farm.

Hank Arrives, Ready for Hanky Panky

Foreground, sporting red collar: the seven-month-old Nubian x Boer cross buckling we purchased.

After the onslaught of bucklings this past kidding season, we felt it necessary to procure a meat - dairy cross buck. His genes will allow us to breed for strong milkers with meaty frames. Culled bucklings will go to market to be butchered.

We found Neal Hill Meat Goats in White County where the proprietor has been breeding over the past six years for large-capacity udders ("Many of their teats reach to below their knees!") and meaty frames. Driving the hour to reach the farm was a delightful adventure. Starting just shortly after sunrise, we battled heavy dew on the windshield coupled with low-slanting sunbeams designed to momentarily blind unwary drivers. The road wandered through bucolic countryside settings, hillsides dotted with green pastures, heavy low morning fog patches over wetlands and lakes, a green metal bridge crossing a broad expanse of river and morning sunlight positioned just so as to illuminate the brightest reds and russet colors of autumn.

This is the meat/dairy goat dam of the young buck we purchased.

The portion of the herd that we saw included the buckling we were purchasing along with both his dam and sire. All of the goats were heavily muscled or "meaty," much more so than any of the goats to date on P&CW Farm.

This is the sire of the goat we brought home.

The sire was a fine example of a meat goat buck. Heavily muscled and full of himself, he trotted out to greet the does when his owner flushed him out of a hen house.

With both parents in the 200 lb. range, and the young buck demonstrating a healthy libido, we were happy to bring him back to our herd. Instead of ferrying out dairy does off to another farm for breeding, as we had planned to do previously, now we can manage the animals on our farm. This reduces stress on the animals and lowers the risk of introducing diseases to otherwise healthy herds.

Although I understand that asking the dairy does to deliver Boer-cross kids (with the large heads common to the Boer breed) will require careful monitoring and nourishment designed to ease potentially-troublesome deliveries, we are ready to assume the responsibility for putting our does at greater risk of birthing complications.

The new arrival, a fine young black buck, has been named Hank. We're hoping he'll be engaging in  some hanky panky very soon.

Keets!

Eight newly-arrived Guinea keets cluster at the back of their dog kennel/brooder, basking in the warmth of red heat lamps.

At this month's Master Gardener meeting, held earlier this week, I had the good fortune to sit with a local couple fairly swimming in unwanted Guinea keets. (For some reason the young of Guinea hens are referred to as keets, while those of "regular" chickens are chicks.) Jennifer and Jeff have quite the assortment of chickens at their farm and nursery operation, and the arrival of close to a dozen new keets was unwelcome. Being one to support my fellow Master Gardeners in need, I volunteered to take some of the interlopers off of their hands.

A young Guinea keet, with a still-attractively feathered head.

Most of the lot are expected to be lavender or pearl Guineas. (I'm pretty sure our adult Guinea is considered "lavender" in color.) Still unable to sex chicks, I have no idea how many will grow to be hens, although I do hope for a female majority.

Front: our #1 rooster, PrettyBoy; Rear: our Guinea cock, Lawrence.

The morning after the keets arrived, they could be heard peeping vigorously from the stall in which their brooder is located. (Their brooder is one of the large dog crates rigged with heat lamps; we placed it in the current goat maternity stall where Nigerian Dwarfs Jennifer and Cocoa are expecting kids in the not-too-distant future.) That morning, Lawrence--our sole surviving Guinea from last year--excitedly hovered outside of the barn. He fluttered to fence tops and heralded the newcomers' arrival with his attractive (coff!) "Aaak, aaak, aaak!" alarm call. For some reason he did not enter the stall that I could see, but he was clearly excited to have new Guineas on the farm.

We will be interested to see at what point these cute, fluffy little keets develop the, um, different-looking heads of adult Guineas.

Harry's Comrades

Little goat bucks under the hay storage trailer (L to R: Walter, Graham, Will, Hugh, Harry)

Chilly nights have the goats fluffy with newly-grown winter coats. We moved three similar-sized Nigerian Dwarf bucklings out of the stinky buck holding pen, placing them under the shelter of the hay storage trailer with Harry and Hugh, the little black-and-white fainter bucks. Although Harry occasionally claims first rights to the space, ramming the newcomers away from fresh hay or petting through the fence--putting his cute little horns to good use--the five usually get on well.

We moved Brad to a separate pen beneath that trailer, so he's beside the little guys but unable to throw his weight around against them. His enclosure is made of chain-link that stretches precariously when he rams against it trying to get to the smaller goats. The power behind his attacks is so much greater than what the little bucks can muster that we'll keep them separate for a time while the group assimilates its newest members.

2010 buckling Will P. struts his stuff while 2009 buck Sting--stinky yellow with "cologne"--looks on. (October 2010)

Walter, Will and Graham, winter and spring 2010 bucklings respectively, have come into their own personalities. All three are gentle and personable--gravitating to the fence for a little goat love (e.g., petting, individual attention) when the opportunity presents itself. Although Will and Walter demonstrate early rutting behaviors, they are generally vastly cleaner than the older Nigerian Dwarf bucks and Brad (who is half Nigerian Dwarf and carries BullyBob's dominant male genes prominently).

Placed with the similarly-gentle Hugh and Harry, this little buck group is good-natured and readily approachable. Now the not-so-newcomer Harry has a little gang of ruffians with whom to rock and roll; he has truly become one of the gang.