Maaaa Maaaa

Andy, our newly trained goat milker, went off to Boy Scouts of America camp this summer and these were the thoughts I had as he was gone.  I'm short a milker.  It gives me the chance to be hand to udder, and shoulder to hipbone with Kate and Ebony once again, which isn't a bad way to start the day and end the evening. They talk, and they nibble their goat chow, and we bond. I like goats, it turns out.

Kate Maaaa'ed at me quite vociferously this morning, especially after she saw the delectable weeds I had pulled for her out of our corn rows. The corn was tossed into the garden as an afterthought, and wasn't planted in black plastic like everything else. Hence, it needs weeding, regularly.

Goats are very thoughtful that way, being willing to eat the delicious flavors of weeds, whilst pointing out which ones taste bitter.  Incoming yucky weed..... patooey. They do have a way of picking up the offending weed and tossing it away that is kind of amusing.

I solved the mystery of the barn light coming on too. I knew the goats turned it on, but this time I caught our doeling Miss Heidi with the string pull in her mouth.  Such a precocious child, she turned and gave me a wry little goat smile.  She's one year old now, and will be bred with a registered Nigerian Dwarf  goat this winter to produce Mini-Alpine kids this spring.  The mini-alpine breed might be the most perfect ever to produce just a good amount of milk for a family living in a smaller place than one would presume to have a few dairy goats.