Sticks, No Stones

My boy, Craig, has always had a fascination with certain things.  When he was quite small--maybe two--he liked to wad up things as diverse as duct tape, Scotch tape, Reese's Peanut Butter cup papers, bits of fabric or thread and then hold these objects in his closed, fisted hand.  At a certain point, when he was about 7, he discovered the likeness that certain sticks had to guns.  This made them instantly desirable, in spite of the fact that I disapproved of toy guns (you should take guns seriously, not as toys).  In spite of tussles over this, he won out with his treasured possession of a small stick shaped exactly like a derringer.  He had that thing for years and I know that he fired it at people he didn't like.  I know he did.  Naughty boy!  Eventually, Mother's lectures about guns began to take effect and the obsession transferred itself to sticks.  Not just any sticks.  They had to have a certain quality to them, whether shape, size, texture.

When we moved to from Maryland to our brief sojourn in Florida two sticks made the trip with us.  This is one:

It may not look like much, but it is smooth and soft like a babies behind.  A discreet stick, easily concealed when it needed to be transformed into a weapon of Mass Destruction of Those Who Met With Craig's Disapproval.  You know who you are.

Florida was a poor state for sticks.  All the trees are dried and shriveled and not worth a plug nickel.  Only one stick in the whole state was selected as being worthy of accompanying us as we moved to our new home in Virginia.  Virginia held much more promise.  Too much perhaps.  Witness the growth of the collection which started out as one lonely little pistol stick:

Sticks by the bed, just in case.  The paddles are just extra.

 Sticks by the back door have a specific function.  They are "Chicken Sticks" and they are used to herd the poultry when Craig puts them to bed or otherwise feels the need to round them all up.  There's nothing like a good Chicken Stick to give you a sense of power and authority.  No wonder the old kings all had scepters.

And just when you thought you were safe, someone finds out about Craig's collection and adds to it.  This is a lovely stick from Appomattox, taken from a beaver dam, with beaver teeth marks on the end, and Craig's name burnt on it for the sake of posterity.

I suppose it could have been worse.  He could have collected stones.  But those he just liked to roll down the hill at the neighbors house.  *snort*  I'm sorry to say we weren't very good neighbors.  I guess we'll be content to stick with sticks and just know it's part of what makes Craig who he is.

False Alarm

Did you know that a goat can lose her mucus plug for up to a month before she gives birth?  Neither did I.  Did you know that you may think you know what loose ligaments are, but then when you look at a picture from Fiasco Farm you realize you didn't have a clue?  Neither did I.  Did you know that many people confuse what is just a normal part of goat pregnancy with goat Labor?  I know that now.  :( 

I'm afraid I drove my goat to the hospital to have her admitted to maternity and they told me to relax, go home and be patient.  Have a glass of wine.  Twiddle your thumbs.  Stop checking her udder everyday.  The Goat Maternity Nurses rolled their eyes at me and gave knowing looks to each other.  "First timer," they whispered.


Nutmeg was very forgiving, I must admit. She confessed to not knowing what she was doing either.  She's gotten very nice with all her pregnancy hormones at full tilt, you know.  And Echo is a very supportive Birthing Partner.  I just checked on them and they are snuggled up in the shed like two puzzle pieces making a perfect fit. 

So, we'll put the kettle on the back burner for now.  We'll store the ripped sheets in a box for the time being.  We'll drink tea and read Vaccination Schedules, Worming Discussions, Milking Your Dwarf Goat tutorials...
We'll read about all the horrible things that can happen in a Kid Delivery Gone Wrong and pray that none of that happens to us.  *sigh* 

We'll sit in our rocker and knit little goat booties just to pass the time.  Knit one, pearl two...

Boil the Water and Tear the Sheets

We have no pictures tonight, folks.  But we do have a very pregnant doe who is oozing a little from her hinter regions.  We are assuming that is mucus plug.  Both the goats were moved into the other half of the chicken house into a clean bed of straw and some wood shavings underneath.  A slightly higher wattage of bulb was put in the lamp to enhance the heated atmosphere in case we have a birth occur overnight.  I'm checking every few hours just to be safe.  I would hate for something bad to happen that required intervention and be unaware.  Here's hoping all goes well and we have a kid or two in the next day or so. 

I'm thinking of carrying on the family tradition by giving the new goatling(s) Spice name(s) as well:  Cinnamon, Clove, Cayenne, Paprika, Salt, Pepper, ....I'll have to go check my spice rack and see what I can find. 

Snowy Sunday Morning

At 8:15 AM we got the phone call we had been expecting:  The meeting was canceled on account of snow.  So the morning unfolded at a different pace, featuring different scenes.  Instead of showering and dressing, Ronny took advantage of the extra time to sleep.

Craig took advantage of the time to watch more recorded episodes of "The Upside Down Show." 

See.  In his familiar seat on the couch, remote in hand.  How does he see through those smudgy lenses?

 And since snow makes me feel special, I made tea for two and Cinnamon Raisin Toast for one. 

Enjoy your day, wherever you are. 

Apologies In Advance

Let me get it off my chest:  Is that a rabbit in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?  It is, in fact, a rabbit in my pocket.  One of the second litter who tried to hide behind the gallon waterer when I checked on them this evening.  It's a girl.  And she is so silly.  The second you put her face in the pocket she thinks she's hidden even though her entire body is sticking out!  She is too cute. 

 Hard to get a picture of a hand held bunny with all that twitching going on!  *twitch*  Notice the professional holding technique:  Hand on the bottom, rear legs raised to form a ball.  Stops all the struggling to get free. 

And this is where she went back out to when all was done.  It was Happy Family Day out in the pen.  Everyone was out soaking up some snow and clouds.  Some older kits got frisky about 5 PM and ran around in circles chasing each other.  It may be a case of overcrowding so that they got on each other's nerves.  Well, we'll be taking care of that as soon as I get the axe sharpened.  (Steady, girl, steady!) 

Tales of the Rabbit

The Japanese have a traditional tale of rabbits living on the moon who pound rice to make cakes.  The Chinese, however, believe that the Moon Rabbit is making herbal medicines.  While I applaud the purposefulness of the above endeavors, I believe my rabbits to be much happier living here on the earth, eating the occasional carrot or apple slice, cozied up to their bunny family in their crazy colony. 

The rabbits are living up to their reputation, breeding wise, and have pleasantly surprised me in their affection and attentiveness toward each other.  They all like to groom each other, and there doesn't seem to be any sibling rivalry, although one of the bunnies is particularly fond on Mom and Dad and will be found with them most of the time.

Information of the mysteries of rabbit colony life is hard to come by, so I was pleased to find some fellow colonizers today at  Palazzo Rospo.  I have hopes that they may have a better grasp of how to deal with some of the challenges of raising rabbits this way.  My first question I would like help with:  "How do you catch a rabbit when he can just run down the hole?"  I'm sure greater minds than mine have asked and answered this question.  I hope. 

For the past few days I have taken on an uncanny resemblance to Mrs. Tiggy-winkle.  Not for doing prodigious amounts of laundry, although there has been that.  Not for mending, although there has been that.  I'm afraid it is in her Prickliness.   Things which would normally not bother me set my teeth on edge and tied my stomach in knots of stress.

Today I was doing three loads of laundry, washing dishes and making lunch for Ronny (simultaneously) and he came up to the stove and said, "Where is that water dripping from?"

Grit my teeth:  "I just washed that cup that I hung up.  It's dripping because it's still wet." 

"Oh.  Look at stove there.  That's really greasy looking.  Take care of that will you?" 

"Certainly."  I'm astonished that my teeth neither broke nor did flame come out my nostrils. 

Everyone survived the day unscathed, but obviously a medication adjustment is in order.  Ronny told me once that it's only normal for people to feel stress, or be sad sometimes.  I'm sure it is.  But we're not talking other people here.  I go from normal to "You have to die because you are annoying me" in a second.  And then I don't come back.  I live there because I don't have a button that says "Relax."  So, to safeguard the human race I will increase my daily dose of sanity by 1/4.  Then I can find a more pleasant creature to resemble than a hedgehog. 

Although I do like her blouse and her apron. 

Browner Pastures

Having picked through their fenced area and eaten every acorn and "decent" leaf to be had, Nutmeg and Echo took a stroll today in search of new, tempting delicacies. 

 Echo is demonstrating the proper way to eat a small pine tree.  You start at the bottom, you see...

And work your way up. 

The smell of Goat and Pine is intoxicating!

Feast Your Eyes on This Rural Beauty!

I was Infected from birth with the genetic disorder of  "Please, don't take my picture!  I'm insert derogatory term!"  Working hard to overcome this,  I have allowed less than complimentary pictures of myself to appear in this blog.  Today, after we had just finished some rearranging of the feed storage shed, added a couple of bales of straw and taken Nutmeg and Echo out for a walk to browse in "browner" pastures, the camera was employed by Craig to take a spontaneous picture of Moi.   It is with shock and amazement that I we unveil said photo (which I actually like) of Moi, outside with the animals, In All My Glory, as taken by Craig with his mittens on. 

And this is Craig, with his mittens on. 

 Aren't we just the height of rural fashion?

Explain: Breed Like Rabbits

Explain:  Breed Like Rabbits
Define:  Hard Headed
Image:  Stupidity
Example:  Day Late and A Dollar Short

If you look closely you will see in the background in the right upper corner, a new little bundle of fluff siting at the edge of the log.  You cannot see him to distinguish him, but there is another one of these under the hutch snuggled up to his brother/sister.  

Wait, you can see him now, I bet.  And right behind the log up in the right hand upper corner, do you see that little head peeping out?  On the left edge of the picture, in the center, Mrs. Bunny had one cozied up to her, and right at the rear of her one is in motion checking out the world for the first time. 

So, can anyone tell me the origin of the expression "Breeding Like Rabbits?"  Anyone?  Ron, Hubby Dear, perhaps you can explain? 

Udderly Fascinating

           Can Anyone tell me how close we are to giving birth here at Good Enough? 

                                This was the first udder picture from December 6th. 

                                    This is today, December 21st.  Any thoughts? 

Is Stress Day a Day of the Week?

I know I'm more tightly wound than other people.  Like a violin.  Ting!  Ting!  Today the world was plucking my strings.  I accidentally pushed the wrong touch sensitive part of the face of my digital thermostat that heats my house.  MY LORD, HAVE MERCY!  I needed to call Geordi LaForge to fix it for me because it programmed itself to not run.  After finding the owner's manual online, and then figuring out how to print it's inconveniently sized pages 4 to one normal page, I got it printed out and fixed it.  Hallelujah!

I mailed some actual handwritten letters to family and friends, delivered some eggs to a friends house, picked up two straw bales at Long Mountain Store, bought Craig some batteries for his circa 1985 Tape Recorder only to find that the thing had finally died, drove all the way to the massively stinky Lynchburg Regional Facility for Waste Disposal in an effort to responsibly dispose of used automotive oil only to be told that they won't be collecting any until March when they do their Hazardous Waste Drive.  Did they know where else I could dispose of it?  No.  Only the Internet holds that knowledge, apparently, and I was finally able to find a VA State Government List of all places which accept used motor oil, used filters, etc. 

I have no Kava for to soothe my soul.  I don't drink.  I had a cup of tea and I can still hear the faint plucking of high notes in my ears.  Maybe a liberal application of Chocolate Cherry Cordials will do the trick.

image: http://www.stockvault.net/download_file2.php?pid=16048

"In Showing Honor to One Another Take the Lead."

Today we studied an article based on Romans 12:10: "In brotherly love have tender affection for one another.  In showing honor to one another take the lead."  Several points appealed to me.  

• First, respect is how we view our brother, but honor is how we treat our brother.  
• Second, Jehovah has adorned humans with a measure of dignity and honor.  We know this from Psalms 8 which states:  "You also proceeded to make him a little less than godlike ones, and with glory and splendor (or Honor in the KJV) you then crowned him."  So in dignifying or honoring others we acknowledge Jehovah as Creator and God.  
• Third, the congregation should be like a warm, close knit family.  Unfortunately, most of us come from dysfunctional families, so we may need to work harder at this, but it can be done through obedience.  "Now that you have purified your souls by your obedience to the truth with unhypocritical brotherly affection as the result, love one another intensely from the heart."  (1 Peter 1:22)
• Fourth, honor others through giving them our time and full attention.  

As we were discussing these points, I realized how sad it is that we must be taught these things as if they were new.  I believe that most of these things would have been drummed into a younger generation.  They would have learned courtesy, politeness, honor toward elders.  I do remember as a child that my mother had close friends who we children were taught to refer to as "Miss Mary" and "Mr. Frank". But that never carried through to any other adults we knew, so it was not a lesson well learned.  I didn't learn to say "Sir" or "Ma'am" until I was an adult working with the elderly.  It suddenly seemed fitting to say it.  Now I say it often:  to cashiers, householders, just about anybody.  It bestows honor and dignity, I think.  But to take my whole life to learn such a lesson! 

Thankfully, God is patient with me and gives me gentle reminders, even new instruction, so that I can make progress in growing and strengthening my walk in Christ's footsteps. 

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

We have arrived at the time of year when I will have cold hands and cold feet until the advent of spring.  This is true no matter what I am wearing:  gloves, double socks, thermal underwear.  The only thing that seems to stop it is to wrap myself up in a fluffy comforter fully clothed.  After about half an hour I will have warm hands and my toes may become so warm I need to remove my socks.  Unfortunately it is difficult to function wearing a comforter, so I must just accept my fate. 

Does anyone know of any homeopathic/herbal/natural remedy for this affliction?
 
I ask for Nutmeg's sake.  She really hates when I touch her udder because my hands are so cold. 

Forensic Kitchen

So, I made chicken soup the other day.  I boiled the bones and skin of the bird and then fished out all such carcass related parts and put them into a colander in the sink.  About a half an hour later, Craig came by and saw the skeletal remains. 

"Who was it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Was it one of the biddy hens?"
"Oh,no.  It was a store hen."
"Oh."

I love the fact that that question was even asked.  That the food in my house has a good likelihood of having had a name and a face that we knew and loved before it made it's way to our plates.  That it would have been harvested humanely, plucked by hand, cleaned gently and carefully and prepared with love. 

Isn't that the way it should be?

On My Mind

Our perception of the world around us is often filtered by our own experiences.  For example, pregnant women perceive the world through the eyes of a woman preparing for a new life.  People contemplating buying a particular car suddenly notice just that car everywhere they go.  Really, nothing changed except the filter with which you observe the world.  This same thing has happened to me since I began Good Enough Farm.  It is mainly an auditory thing, but there are visual manifestations as well. 

Craig and I were watching a movie and in a scene there were chickens in the background.  I totally zoned out on the actor's dialogue and focused on the fact that a chicken was singing her egg laying song.  We had to turn off the sound for me to make sure it was not one of my hens. 

I can be anywhere- at the Kingdom Hall, a crowded store-and some sound off in the distance will catch my ear:  "Craig, do you hear that?  Is that a chicken?"  You never know.  Chickens like to shop, too. 

But the latest occurrence was today while looking at the Info for a movie coming on.  The box read "while working on their goals."  You can guess, however, that I read "goats".  I got all excited for a minute before it penetrated my brain that there were no goats involved in the making of this movie. (For your information, I deleted a huge side gripe about the movie "Artois the Goat" because I know I am the only one who obsesses about the inaccurate depiction of goats in Hollywood.) 

Truthfully, I cannot imagine living in a world where my ear is not tuned for the enchanting vocalizations of poultry, the heart melting plaintive music of goats, even the soft scuffling of rabbits through the dried oak leaves that litter the ground.  That is the soundtrack of my life now, and I wouldn't change a thing. 

Awesome

Whilst surfing the internet, I found the most astonishing images.  Jehovah has made beautiful, delicate, intricate creatures, and they are captured for us in poetry and grace at Aliens on Earth.  Please take a minute and see for yourself that Jehovah is God. 

In case the link is not working, paste into your address bar: 
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/earth/earthpicturegalleries/8186237/Aliens-on-Earth-macro-photographs-of-insects-by-Igor-Siwanowicz.html

Eggs On Ice

Eggs On Ice Are Oh, So Nice
They never spoil or smell
But to get the chickens to lay on the stuff
Is an idea I'm unable to sell.
Mrs. Duck doesn't mind,
but her butt is too big
to fit in the bucket out there.
The chickens think they are above such a thing,
It's a notion for which they don't care. 
So I guess I'll have to give up the idea
Though it sings of such genius and style,
Just wait til I hatch up another brain wave!
It should take just a smidge of a while. 
 

Snow Goats

No matter where you go, teenagers all have a local hangout.  It may be as public as the local grocery store's parking lot or as private as a secret place in the woods.  Here on Good Enough Farm it is the Goat House.  It's where all the cool kids want to be.  From chickens to ducks, even the occasional runaway rabbit, anybody who is anybody can be found somewhere in the vicinity.

Under the stairs....

Inside, where the big kids rule...

Out front, where even the nerdy kids will be tolerated....

As long as no one breaks out any booze everything should be okay.

Doh!

I was hoping to get to Friday before I had to buy any feed, but the chickens ran out today and the goats have just enough for tomorrow morning. So I motored over to Carson's and picked up 50 pounds of layer ration and 50 pounds of sweet feed. He was out of regular goat feed, but we had an informative conversation about how I could mix the sweet feed with the layer ration if I was concerned over feeding them too much sweet stuff and it would be fine. Another thing learned. But I feel better feeding sweet feed right now, especially in what is probably Nutmeg's last gestational month, as I am worried about Ketosis and Toxemia now that I read about them. (That's the problem with reading too much--it's just more stuff to worry about. )

Here's the thing, though. I got home from Carson's and checked the mailbox and there was a coupon in there from TSC for Buy 3 bags of feed, get one free! Doh! Oh well, I've developed a loyalty to Carson's and it would feel traitorous now to go to Tractor Supply. Anybody want a coupon?

Pie and More Pie

You may recall I recently

• did battle with a pumpkin,

• killed it,

• dismembered it,

• cooked it,

• scraped out it's guts,

• and then put the whole thing in the refrigerator.
  

Finally ready to completely obliterate my foe, I took a hand mixer to the mess of stringy fibers and produced an astonishingly lovely puree.

I followed my recipe (mostly) and added evaporated milk, sugar, eggs, a dash of salt, a little Cinnamon (I don't like a heavy spice taste) and voila!


I baked it for Forever. I did 15 minutes at 450, reduced the temperature to 350, baked it for 45 minutes, checked it, baked for 20 minutes, checked it, baked for another 20 minutes. Seriously. I think this is because I only followed the recipe Mostly. After it cooled I gave a test piece to Craig to see if he vomited or died. He seemed fine, so after dinner we all had a generous slice of Pie. I have frozen the second pie, keeping it for a future day when life demands the comfort and succor of Pie. I'm thinking the half a pie left in the refrigerator is not long for this world. Poor pie.

In The Mail

There is Hope! Look what I got in the mail yesterday!

Take Two Goats Add Freezing Wind, Mix Vigorously

I shall not weary you with my thoughts on the weather. I will not complain in a high pitched voice that it is not even MID DECEMBER yet we are slated to have a low of 14 degrees tonight. I will not whine that this is the South, after all, and what in the world is going on?! I will not.

Instead I will tell you that the goats have lovely winter coats. I would have complete confidence in their ability to stay warm except that I am worried about Nutmeg's unborn babe(s). I was worried. I fretted. I stewed. I geared up and looked in the crawlspace (yuck!) for a super sized canvas we have. Upon finding it, I unrolled a portion of it, slid that part under the lower bar of the railing so it hung like a curtain over the Goats Quarters, and then made sure the remained rolled section was secure. The goats immediately embraced the plan and went inside their weather protected enclosure.

I feel better now. I hope the Goats do as well.

Legal Maneuverings

This morning I found the following correspondence shoved under my front door:

To The Lady Who Brings Us Food and Water:

We are bringing a joint lawsuit against you for alienation of affection. Your callous and heartless actions on Sunday afternoon in removing Myself, Mr. Bunny, from the warmth and protection of his home and the company of his wife and family, and casting him aside into what are clearly inferior living conditions of a humiliating nature cannot be tolerated. We have brought the case before the Lagomorph High Court and the decision will be handed down today. Until that time an order of shared custody of the minor children has been issued effective immediately.

Sincerely,
Mr. and Mrs. Bunny

Needless to say I was shocked! I saw however that joint custody was in effect as two of Mr. Bunny's children were with him in his Bachelor Quarters. I am afraid I attempted to circumvent the orders of the court, but this resulted in a Hullaballoo during which the High Court Issued a Stay of Separation, and all the parties were reunited in their Original Domicile.

I had no idea that rabbits were so litigious. Obviously, I shall have to renew my case and address the court regarding my concerns, but until that time I suppose I shall have to bow to the decisions of a Higher Authority.

Goats by Picasso

I had some time to burn this evening, so I took pencil in hand and rendered an exquisite portrait of my dear little goatlings.

Gotta Keep 'Em Separated

Mr. Bunny was moved today into his new Bachelor's Quarters.  The Bachelor Pad that he is so fond of was moved into the new area and he is now separated from his family by a fence.  While I feel bad about this on the one hand--he and Mrs. Bunny being so companionable--logic dictates that he be removed from the vicinity of her reproductive organs. 

I have drawn up a blueprint of the new arrangement:

I know, my drafting skills are astonishing!  I tried to move him as far from the burrow as possible, hoping he will not dig an intersecting tunnel.  If he does, I will have to confine him to his room and nobody wants that to happen. 

Here he is in his new digs, running around and checking out the lay of the land:

In the next week I will be trying to gather the young rabbits into a burrow-less area so that they will not run me a merry chase come harvest time, which should be about the end of this month.  I would like them to be semi-confined as I believe they will put on more weight this way which is a thing to be desired. 

My husband is not happy with this whole arrangement, fostering some romantic notions of rabbits that bear no resemblance to reality.  As I was explaining to him this morning, "Ronny, it has to be done.  It would be one thing if Mr. Bunny said to Mrs. Bunny, "My dear, would you like me to use a condom?" or Mrs. Bunny was responsible enough to take a birth control pill.  But since neither of these things are happening, I am afraid that this is the only recourse."  He seemed to be speechless after that.  I wonder why? 

After the Fact

We started on our pumpkin yesterday.  We opened it up, scraped out the stringy stuff and the seeds, cut it into pieces, put it into a pan and covered it with foil and cooked it.  It took about 90 minutes to get everything nice and soft.  We scooped into the Bread Bowl, the only thing I had large enough to hold all that goop, and left it to cool in the refrigerator till I have time to mess with it. 

                                                   Isn't that just beautiful? 

I'll be roasting the seeds this afternoon. Who knew all this fun was waiting inside a simple pumpkin?

Darn It!

Today Craig has been particularly wanting to do things.  Wet Laundry into the dryer.  Dry clothes into baskets.  Feeding the Cat.  Making his bed.  I got some things out for mending and the next thing I knew I was out of a job!

I love that he opens and closes his mouth as he stitches!  He does the same thing when he uses scissors.  His mouth must be connected to his hand. 

 

Oh, and for those who wonder these things, my darning egg came from Mrs. Duck. 

Hayday vs. Heyday

I dreamt last night that I was Mickey in "The Sorcerer's Apprentice", carrying endless sloshing buckets of water down the steps.  They steamed in the cold air and froze before I got them to the animals.  When I awoke I employed my newly invented strategy of filling a spare bucket with warm water and exchanging it for the frozen bucket.  I brought the bunnies waterer in.  It's an old gallon chicken waterer and had not yet frozen completely.  I put it in the sink and ran warm water over it, and when I opened it a beautifully shaped ice form came out.  It was hollow, delicate, transparent.  Beautiful.  I brought the filled waterer out to the Rabbits and was privileged to have Mrs. Bunny come up and smell me daintily.  She is naturally quite shy, but today she was very bold.  Thank you, Mrs. Bunny, for learning to trust me.

I made note of the need for more rabbit feed and more hay.  Nutmeg is so large she looks like a barrel on sawhorses.  She jumps and skitters and has gotten very grumpy with the chickens and even Echo.  They had a fight today over who got to stand in front of the chicken house in the Best Sunny Spot in the Yard.  At one point Echo actually tried to crawl on top of Nutmeg as she stood there, so determined was she to have that exact location for herself.  Nutmeg grew disgusted at the turn of events and walked away.  Of course, now that Nutmeg no longer wanted the spot Echo didn't care either, and she trotted off after Nutmeg like a pesky younger sister:  "Where ya goin'?  Huh?  Can I come?  Wait!" 

I had the wonderful solo adventure of my first official Hay Run.  I found a Hay Source on craigslist, called, set up a time to come.  It turned out to be the same farm where I bought Mr. and Mrs. Bunny!  I was so glad to be in a familiar place and even happier when I found out they were slaughtering hogs over the weekend and they would have sausage for sale on Monday morning.  Yummy!  Guess where I'm going on Monday?! 

Ronny was home today and had plans to work out in the back, but it was too cold for the poor man and he came back in.  Since he had nothing to do he pestered me with silly questions: 
"Why is there a pumpkin in this house?" 
"I'm making pumpkin pie from scratch later." 
"Since you have a pumpkin, why are you making one from scratch?  Get it?  Instead of using scratch you should use your pumpkin?" 
"Okay." 
"You didn't have to say you were making a pumpkin pie.  I could see it was a pumpkin.  I didn't think you would be making apple pie."
"Okay.  I think I have to go out and do stuff with the animals.  Yup.  Outside.  By myself."   


So I went out and wrestled with the goats while I fixed the latch on the chicken house door and tightened the screws on one of the gates.  The goats love hammers and screwdrivers for some metallic reason and insist on tasting everything as I work.  It's a good thing I'm on meds, because I think it is funny instead on annoying.  Then I had the joy of being mobbed by all the loose livestock as I brought the hay from the truck to the storage section of the chicken house.  "Chickens to the left of me, goats to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with hay..."

Later, I checked everyone's food and water for the night, escorted Mrs. Duck to her new housing arrangement with the chickens (again) and watched as Mother Hen scolded Mrs. Duck for staying out so late.  She does fuss so over stragglers!  Shockingly everyone was quite at peace with Mrs. Duck and so I shut the little door, dodged the inevitable goat attack on the way back inside, thanked Jehovah for the joys of the day and locked the door. 

Night, babies! 

Happy Thought for the Day

Hug O' War

I will not play at tug o' war.
I'd rather play at hug o' war,
Where everyone hugs,
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles,
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,
And everyone grins,
And everyone cuddles,
And everyone wins.


by Shel Silverstein

Various and Sundry

Where to begin?!  Here, I will start with a pictorial representation of my day:

There was some laundry in my day, the weekly grocery trip into Rustburg with my infamous black canvas bags, four eggs laid by hardworking hens, and a gorgeous pumpkin that someone used for a Thanksgiving display and then left out for people who pick up the things other people don't need anymore.  That would be me!  I have never made a pumpkin pie from the actual pumpkin, so we will have a kitchen adventure later this week when I do so.

Now, the most spectacular thing that has happened on Good Enough Farm, outside of Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit's little bundles of joy!  I had just filled a big scoop of goat feed and dumped it into Nutmeg and Echo's feed buckets when I noticed this:

 That, my dear, besides being the rear end of a goat, is a developing udder.  I have rather rudely checked the girls udders from time to time and I know what they normally look like.  Echo's udder is still flat, like a prepubescent girl's chest.  But Nutmeg's udder bounces when she runs!  Unless I miss my guess, we shall have a baby goatling or two in our future!

Do the papers accept goat birth announcements?  I'll have to check.  Oops, I'm counting my chickens before they hatch, or something like that, again.  I'll have to just hunker down and wait......Are we there yet?