Little Joe

 I don't think I'm ready to write this... but it needs to be said.
Life on the farm is a very far cry from those golden sunsets, a gentle breeze, a nostalgic cock-a-doodle-doo in the morning, a sweet sparrow's song, happy chickens clucking away that you find on Pinterest. When someone says 'farm,' you immediately go to all these pastoral images from a children's book. Yes, those moments exist, and you relish every one of them. But there are days where life feels more like a Jack London story. Where there is life, there death lies also.

Remember our Star Wars day present? I left you thinking the kids' names were Luke and Leia Skywalker. Well, Mom used her veto power and they were redubbed Little Joe and Rita.

You could described Rita as one of those illegal fireworks - she's quite the little fuzzy ball of energy that cannot be contained. She could be the poster child for a healthy goat. Her brother on the other hand... ever since day one he struggled. He almost acted like a preemie. Actually, I think he was. His sister was ready to come into this world, but he needed some more time in the oven (so to speak). Things looked bad enough that we wouldn't let my sisters out in the barn the morning after he was born since we didn't know if he'd survive the night. He had trouble nursing; he couldn't stay on long enough to get any milk. And he was puny. His sister must have been the favored twin since she practically came jumping out. Well, he survived that first night. And he fought for survival for almost two months.

We did everything we could as different issues came up. We used a syringe to get more milk into the little guy. When his mom started putting them on a regimented schedule, we supplemented even more milk. He had trouble with mucous and milk coming out of his nose; we, ahem, cleaned his nose. As he started trying to add in more solid foods into his diet, that would come up his nose too. Do you know how hard it is to get your fat fingers into his tiny nose to get that stuff out? We used essential oils to help with respiratory issues, but he still had baby gunk in there that he couldn't cough out. We did a round of some antibiotics to see if that helped then we turned right around and gave him probiotics to replenish his intestinal flora. You get the point. He finally started gaining some weight and was starting to bounce around with the others. We thought that he had turned a corner.

Tuesday (June 25th), we noticed that he took a turn for the worse during morning chores. He had a flaming fever and just looked pathetic. We knew that it was pneumonia. He was primed for it... So we called the vet to see if we could get in that day, and they had a slot later that evening.  With the way our existing schedule was, I almost had to be the one to take the little guy in, but things shuffled around that I didn't. I was grateful - I'd rather go see a movie with a friend than spend it wringing my hands at the vet's. By the time I got home, Mom and Em had already left, and Jess and Eli were out in the barn welcoming our latest kids. Those baby goats became a much needed distraction in the next hour. I hadn't been home long when we got the call from Mom at the vet - we had to put him down.

What was going on? He had a congenital defect called 'cleft palate.' This has opened up a whole slew of questions and thoughts and second-guessing our whole dairy goat venture. We're still looking and researching what it's all about and how he ended up with such a horrible case of it. His whole life would be spent coughing and sneezing out whatever he just ate, fighting infection after infection.

No one was prepared for that phone call. We thought, We'll just get some antibiotics and IV fluids to get him back on track. Nope.

Looking back - that could have been me instead of Mom at the vet. I would have been the one staring at those papers debating whether or not to put him down. I would have been to one to have to filter the information, and it would have been me trying to console my sister. I wish I had gone instead of poor Emi...

Guess what color our newest buckling is - yeah. Black. Just like Little Joe. I see God's mercy in that.

Midnight Roundup

Photo courtesy of Becker Productions

The sky was clear and calm, the stars were shimmering, an almost full moon hung in the sky, and a crisp, autumn chill was in the air reminding us that winter is just around the corner. The forecaster said that it was supposed to be pouring rain and windy, but that weather front was no where to be seen. It was just the sort of night that you can get wrapped up in a fleece blanket in front of the fireplace with a knitting project and a cup of tea and be in a state of perfect bliss, except for the thought of getting up and getting into your bed which is chilly since you haven't put on the flannel sheets yet. Oh well.

The movie credits started to roll; everyone headed to bed. The house was silent; you could hear the humming of the fish tank filter on the other end of the house. RING! RING! That's enough to get you to bolt upright with wide eyes. Something's wrong. Dad answered the disturber of the peace.
Hello? Yes, it is. 
The peeping Tom in me listened to every word trying to catch a hint of what is being discussed.
Well, I'll round up the posse, and we'll be right over. 
Gulp. Everyone's in their doorways now.
"Who was it?" "What's going on?"
"The sheriff. The cows are out." Is that a metaphorical term or an actual dilemma that needs to be addressed now?  "Get changed; we need to get over to the neighbor's." Excuse me for a moment while I try to bring my heart rate down from the initial adrenaline rush of the phone ringing.
We quickly changed into our grubbies, threw on our boots, tossed on our coats, and headed to the truck. "Did you get the flashlights?"
"Do we need grain buckets?"
"Don't forget the halters."
We sat in the truck and waited for Mom, "I couldn't find my boots..." (In her defense, our mud room is in a state of chaos since the washing machine went belly up)
"Did you see any cows in the pasture when you were doing the chores?"
"I saw two cows."
"What color were they?"
"Solid brown."
:facepalm: "Those are the other neighbor's cows..."
"How long have they been out?"
"Since about 3 this afternoon."
"There's only one halter..."
"Watch for cows." How often do you hear that?
"I see lights."
"There's the police car."
"That's a good sign."
"Oh, look. There they are..."
Two meat cows standing in the middle of the neighbor's lawn, munching away like they hadn't done anything wrong. The family was all out to witness the sight, the sheriff was there to do his thing, and there was me. With a halter in my hands. Those cows were on to me. Mom kept the one busy with the grain bucket so I could try to slip the halter on. My hands were shaking from the cold. Bam. Done. Phew! One cow down, one to go. We tied her off to the truck to be taken back to her pasture. While they were slowly herding her back home, I was left with the whipper-snapper of a 'wild' beef cow. Me versus the cow. He won. I can't keep a tidy line by myself. He wanted to stampede down the steep hill. Who was I to argue with a cow that big? By all means, I'm not going to stand in your way. At this point, I really wanted a horse and lasso (not that I would know how to use them, but that's beside the point. An ATV would've been nice too.)
The rest of the crew came back.
"Where's the halter?"
Snap. 
So Jake ran back to get the halter while the rest of stood around 'supervising' the renegade bovine. With the halter in hand and flashlights beaming, we, as a group, headed down the uneven terrain. The cow's all the way at the bottom? Wait, is that a trail into the woods? Oh, please no. Well, Nathan got the cow to start coming up the hill; the runaway started trotting along the pasture fence. If only we could make a part of the fence disappear temporarily; this job would be so much easier.

Oh. My. Word.
"Did you see that?!" Nathan shouted.
"Uh-huh."
The cow had slipped through the supposedly electric fence via slightly farther apart wires. I'm starting to believe that cows could jump over the moon as the old nursery rhyme states.
"Why couldn't he have done that earlier?"
"I think we found our escape route."
"Where do we put the cows for tonight? Will they get out again?"
"We can stick them in the upper pasture."
"You young'ins go herd the cows in the upper pasture. We'll take the truck back." Can I take a ride in the truck?
So up the hill we tromped, uttering things about how tasty those cows are going to be and maybe a butcher call is closer than originally anticipated. Oh look. They're at the feeder munching away like nothing happened. I think that their halos were on fire. :cough: We stowed those two into their new pasture and secured the gate behind us. The gate to get out of the pasture was so well locked that we had to hop the gate (in all our muddy glory).
"Are we sure that the fence is working?"
"Shovel."
We tested the fence. Nothing. Drats. We inspected the red snapper box. Still nothing. Double drats. You could grab onto that fence with a death grip and still not get shocked.

An hour. The whole ordeal only took an hour. It could have taken us all night. It could have been a deluge for Noah's second flood. We had the light of a full moon. There wasn't even a wisp of a breeze. Nothing died (the dog that tried defending his territory, well, that's a vet bill...). Of all late night calls to get (from a sheriff!), I guess that a summoning to a midnight roundup is pretty minor. All things considered.

Just another day

If I were to pick a theme song for life right now, it would be 'Just Another Day in Paradise' by Phil Vassar.

...

I'll wait a minute while you pull that up. It's a good song.

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Have you listened to it yet? Okay. You may continue reading.

It usually starts the day before - when you come in at 9 pm from evening chores exhausted. Switch out laundry, finish cleaning the kitchen, get ready for bed, and plop down on the couch just in time for the 10 o'clock news. You can't even stay awake to catch tomorrow's weather.

The alarm clock goes off in the middle of a dream, shattering the creative juices that you had going. Oy. Just 15 more minutes? No, because 15 will turn into 60 really quick, and there's critters waiting on you.

Mom and I head off to the neighbor's to milk the cows, leaving the rest of the posse to tackle the chicken chores, but the crew is still in bed. While Mom and I are gone, chaos apparently ensues. A certain someone ate almost an entire flat of berries on an empty stomach and quickly paid the price (keep in mind, Mom isn't home at this time), leaving a sick kid to be tended by ever sympathetic siblings who can fill any situation with plenty of drama. Another someone didn't eat breakfast in time and suffered from a cliff drop of blood sugar levels (for those of you who don't know what that feels like, you're fortunate to not be dealing with hypoglycemia). 2 down. 2 to go. But the survivors have sickies to take care of and chickens to wrangle. Just after they finished cleaning up the mess from bowl-bowing child #1, Mom and I come home from milking the cows (which took a little longer than normal on this particular morning). We were greeted by my brother saying, "Perfect timing!"

Tappa the mornin' to ya too, laddie!

As we got a vivid, dramatic retelling of the morning's events, Mom and I nibbled on some cashews, sipped a green smoothie, checked on the couch potatoes and headed out to milk the goats. There is one downside to the goats warming up to you - they really warm up to you. As in, they are, quite literally all over you, eating your shirt and jumping on the half finished milking stand. Yes, goats can be compared to Labrador retrievers. Maybe it's time to create some order to the routine because letting all the goats in the area that we're milking isn't working. And I'm beginning to think that Pip should be renamed Tom Sawyer. He's a charmer and a trouble maker. When he knows that you're on to him, he looks at you ever so innocently, cocks his head and rubs up against you. You're a suck-up, you know that?

With that said, we need to head over the other side of town to take the milk machine/vacuum pump thing-y in to be tuned up and fixed. Engines should not sound like that or be spewing a gummy, milky, oily mixture. We all have guesses as to what's going on, we'll see what the verdict is.

And the day's not done yet. ;)

I know it's just a season of life, we're having a huge learning curve with these animals, we've had the perfect storm of animal retention and situations that are out of our control. We're just trying to stay on the ride and enjoy it along the way.

Until next time! I think I need a nap.
~*SG*~