West Side Story and Goats

There is a thing which young goats do which is difficult to capture on film.  Or a memory card.  This is a Frolic.  It is a movement in which different parts of the goats body go in different directions,  up, down, sideways, diagonally, you name it, Simultaneously.  If you have never seen one, you are missing out, bub.  Get yourself to a goat farm, sit in the grass and wait for it.  If this is beyond your circumstances, the next best thing is to get a hold of a copy of West Side Story and fast forward to the song "Got a Rocket in Your Pocket." 

Breeze it, buzz it, easy does it, turn off the juice boy!

In case of a Frolic Emergency, it'll do. 

Out My Kitchen Window

 

Pretty Black Hen outside my window
How did you get there, my dear? 
Did you jump the fence for fear of the goat?
Or did rebellion bring you here?

Your wings are clipped,
I know this well,
And you carry a bit of weight. 
For you to get up so high off the ground
You must be in a terrible state. 

But instead of putting you back where you go,
back with the chickens and goats,
I'll let you sit up here and brag,
Every chicken deserves her gloats. 

Cure For A Rainy Day

Bread Rising on the back of the Stove.
Water boiling for a cup of Irish Breakfast Tea. 
Savor all aromas leisurely. 
Options:  Add Pride and Prejudice (The BBC version), Persuasion, Laura or Love In the Afternoon according to taste. 
Enjoy while curled up on the couch under a blanket.

Obsessive Cleaning Disorder

Obsessive Cleaning Disorder is normally not an affliction I suffer from.  I am content to be able to write in the dust on my little side table next to the couch.  I do not fret that the tub has a wee bit of a ring around it.  Poop on the back steps?  No problem!  But today, for some reason unknown to man, I cleaned.  Obsessively. 

And it actually started with a weird sort of Rearranging of Things last night about 9 PM.  I emptied out one of my office bookcases and dragged it through the house and shoved it in the Original Doorway to my walk in closet.  This takes some 'splaining.  When we moved into our house, the closet to the Master Bedroom was actually in the bathroom.  While it purported to be a Walk in Closet, being the narrowest thing in the universe, it was more of a Squeeze In Closet.  Not happy with this State of Affairs, we made a doorway in the wall in the Master Bedroom so it became a Reach In Closet.  That left the Original Doorway kind of Useless.  Here, let me Illustrate: 

I'm sure that's perfectly clear now.  So, I took the Bookcase and shoved it in the Original Doorway thus creating an Instant Bathroom Closet, which previously the bathroom had none of.  Remember, folks, this is Good Enough Farm, and this is how we do things here. 

Having Created an Instant Closet, I now organized bathroom type things into it. Then I organized my Reach In Closet;  I tossed all wire hangers ("NO WIRE HANGERS!"), hung the clothes up by category so like things were with like, swept it out and lined up my shoes. 

This manic frenzy continued this morning as I cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, vacuumed the house, swept all poops off the back porch, cleaned out the crawl space under the house, sorted out trash from treasure, made a dump run, bought two organizing bins, sorted all the crawl space finds and tools and nails and screws and painting supplies and caulk and plumbing supplies and electrical supplies into bins by category, put away all the newly organized bins in the kitchen under the counter, labeled them,  washed my poop 'crocs' and the poop broom head, made clam sauce with Linguine and called it a day. 

I've definitely run out of steam.  I know this because the dishes are still in the sink and I don't care.  And let me tell you a secret:  I still haven't dusted.  he he he. 

Good Bye, Echo!

When I first put the ad for Echo in craigslist, I received many eager emails asking many questions:  "What is her lineage?"  "Has she been vaccinated?"  "Do you think it would be okay to have only one goat?"  "I don't have enough to pay what you are asking.  Will you take (insert some insanely small amount of money) for her instead?" 

I finally decided not to sell her because people were so not right.  I just replied to every inquiry that she was being withdrawn from the market due to her advanced state of pregnancy.  And then a miracle happened.  An email showed up from someone I had turned down.  They said how sorry they were to hear that she was no longer available, but if I changed my mind could I let them know?  They had three goats, but one of their goats was a little lonely and left out.  That poor lonely goat needed a friend all her own, and they had thought Echo could be that friend.  They had fallen in love with her pretty pictures and were disappointed but they understood. They even ended their email with "God bless you."  Of course, I emailed them back immediately.  "You can have her.  You said the right things and you didn't even know it."  

So, tonight, about 7 PM, Echo's new family came to pick her up.  They were very nice people, very soft spoken, not unlike Echo herself.  They came prepared with a rubber mat in the back so she would not slide around, with soft blankets and a pillow and, best of all, total and immediate love for her.  The husband crawled in the back with her and murmured soft reassurances to her. It was beautiful.

Can a mother ask for anything more?  I think not.

The Tower of The Rabbits, with apologies

We read Chapter 12 of Nehemiah tonight as a family.  I pulled out the "See The Good Land" booklet so we could follow the parade of singers and musicians as they made their way around the temple wall.  You gotta love the names:  The Sheep Gate, The Fish Gate, The Gate of the Ash Heaps, The Tower of the Bake Ovens....We joked about how we could re-enact the march of the inauguration by lining up chairs and watching me walk across the chairs until Craig would blow a trumpet and I would fall down.  (Mixing Jericho with Nehemiah, but funny)  We ate Orange Sherbert popsicles and colored a picture of the High Priest with markers.

Is it possible to have too much fun during Family Worship? 

1986

1986.  That was the first year I remember being encouraged at a District Convention of Jehovah's Witnesses to simplify.  To get out of debt, reduce your bills, keep your life simple.  I must say we've been nearer and farther from that goal depending on what point in our life you want to peek in at.  Right now we're pretty close.  This year, if God is willing and the creek don't rise, we will have paid off our last credit card and our car loan.  That will leave only the utilities and groceries as bills.  The last time we were in that position was 1984.  So, it's been a long time coming. 

But keeping life simple is more than just financial.  What can I do to reduce the things in my life that stress me out?  What can I do to establish a routine so that life is not so disordered?  What can I do so that Craig is able to feel safe and not anxious?  What can I do to help my mate find his home a haven and a place of relaxation?  All these are factors to consider in simplifying. 

There were some comments in a recent Watchtower study article that spoke to my heart on this matter.  In speaking about the preaching work that Jesus commissioned his followers to do, it said:  "Because the preaching work is of such importance to us, it deserves our giving it as much of our time, energy, and attention as possible.  Commendably, many are doing just that.  Some have simplified their personal affairs so as to take up the full-time ministry....  Their life is very busy.  They may have made many sacrifices and they have many challenges to meet....."  Well, I'm not in a position to take up the full time ministry so that let me off the hook, right?  The next study article picks up that thread. " "For everything there is an appointed time, even a time for every affair under the heavens."  Solomon was writing about the importance of discerning the time that is most favorable for any worthwhile endeavor-be it farming, travel, business, or communicating with others.  Nevertheless, we also need to discern what is the most important work that we must do at any given time.  In other words, we must have our priorities straight...A dedicated person is one who is totally focused on an objective and is not easily distracted or discouraged from pursuing that objective.  As dedicated Christians, our objective is to do whatever Jehovah wants us to do, even as Jesus did..." 

It was about this point that I felt Holy Spirit speaking to me.  I have become distracted from my dedication.  I have been selfishly pursuing my own personal interests.  I remember that a sister on Facebook asked me 'how I had the time for all my farm stuff?'  I thought to myself, 'I have plenty of time.  Craig is pretty independent, taking care of the house doesn't take long, studying for meetings only takes so much time....I have plenty of time.'  And I did.  But you know what?  I shouldn't.  If I was really focused on doing Jehovah's will and not my own I would be more immersed in study.  I would be more focused on my ministry.  I would cultivate Craig's spirituality more fully.  I wouldn't have as much time.  This all led me to some of the downsizing that we are working on.  Ronny has been on his own downsizing kick--cleaning out the closets of stuff we don't use or need, eliminating some of the game systems, cleaning out from under the house.  I'm downsizing rabbits, chickens and goats.  I'm down to three hens.  Only Twenty rabbits, including the last litter which is still spending most of it's time underground.  I've accepted an offer for Echo, and when the babies are weaned, Nutmeg will also be adopted out.  I'll just keep the two wethers for help in clearing the woods, which was my original goal for the goats. 

I'm hoping that that I will use the time I am "buying out" for it's proper use.  I've signed up for the special service provision in April and I'm emptying my pockets as I go.  If anything is weighing me down, it's got to go.  It's time to simplify. 

It Could Only Happen Here

I've been having a Need-A-Napathon, so it was not much of a shock when Craig woke me up in the middle of Saturday afternoon with a phone call.  What was a surprise was that it was a man who wanted rabbits and he was on his way down my driveway.  I jumped up and went outside to meet him.  Now, most people would be able to have a normal sales conversation about rabbits something like this:  "Yes, I've got my females over here in these hutches, and my males in these hutches.  Just reach in and grab one you like."  But not here.  I start like this as he gets out of the car with his wife:  "Hi.  Look, just so you know, the rabbits are in a pen.  Okay.  So we kind of have to catch them first.  How many did you want?  Oh, my.  Well, let's see what we can do." 

Adding to this, his wife is allergic to rabbits, so she held the cages outside the pen while we went in and (As Sherlock Holmes would say) 'the game was afoot'.  We ran this way and that, tag teaming when one seemed to have a better position.  A middling sized piece of plywood was used to block the rabbits once we had some semi-cornered.  A male was discovered in with the females--hmm, how did that happen?  Two little rabbits got out and hid under the chicken house.  It took us about twenty minutes to round up two females and a male, all about 4 months old.  He overpaid me for them with a grin on his face, saying the extra was for "the entertainment value."  His wife was glad that he had seen what it was like to raise rabbits in a pen and had now crossed that idea off his list.  They left happy, their car toting off three beautiful white bunnies.  I went inside and chuckled to myself. 

It could only happen here.

Income

Echo, sleeping in the leaves, and her constant companion, Mrs. Duck.

 I love my farm.  This little bit of clay soil that drives me insane.  These woods full of termite ridden trees.  This sad little stream that pokes along and produces only frogs and mosquitoes.  These few rabbits and chickens and a poor imitation of a goat herd.  I love every last bit of them.  I'm sure most people would shake their heads at me and say "Tsk.  It costs you money to keep those animals.  I'm sure you could spend that money on more important things."  And there are days I feel the same.  Especially when I just picked up a hundred pounds of feed and the bin is almost empty again.  But there are other days when I realize that these animals give as well. Beyond the obvious laying of eggs or providing meat for the table.  Like when Ronny ventures out into the back and the baby goats jump all over him like strange hoofed puppies.  Or when Squeaky jumps the fence just because she can and lays her egg under the back steps, tormenting the other hens who are too heavy to follow suit.  Or when Mrs. Duck becomes convinced that she is, in fact, a goat.  Or when it comes Rabbit Catching Time and a chase worthy of The Keystone Cops takes place in the rabbit pen.  That's when this farm really pays. 

I'll admit that there are times when Good Enough Farm pays actual cash in egg or livestock sales, and that's not too bad either.  But I'll pick the intangible income anytime. 

Family Worship Night

Bible? Check!
Binder with Activities?  Check!
Cup of Tea?  Check!
Strawberry Cheesecake?  Double Check!  
I love Family Worship. 

The Jingling Brothers, Chicken and Bunny Circus

Ladies and Gentlemen!
Children of All Ages!
Welcome to The Greatest Show On Earth!
The Circus is About to Begin!
Please Direct Your Attention to High Above the Center Ring!
The Fabulous Buckless Boys and their breathtaking High Diving Act! 

Molasses is first to brave  the Overhang.  He must first squeeze his bulging belly through the railings.  Absolute Silence, ladies and gentlemen.  This requires complete concentration. 

 Yes, He's in position now.  Just a moment, and......

Well, I'm not certain what happened there.  Seems to be some sort of malfunction. 

But, undaunted, Cinnamon steps out into the Great Unknown!  He positions himself carefully.....

Amazing, Ladies and Gentlemen!  Without Water and Without a Net!  Let's hear it for The Fabulous Buckless Boys!

How Molasses Got His Name

I have two lovely little wethers named Cinnamon and Molasses.  Looking at them, you would immediately assign the wrong name to the wrong goat because they are not named for appearance but for "intellectual ability."  In other words, Molasses is a little slow.  This was evident today in their adventure in the Compost Pile.  Cinnamon watched as the chickens went in and danced upon the bounteous pile of poo and straw.

 Cinnamon said, "I want to do that!"  And so he did. 

Molasses is distracted by his shadow.  But eventually he sees that he has been left behind and reacts swiftly!

 

While this is a joyous and tearful reunion after such a traumatic separation, it does not last long.  No, for Cinnamon spies sweeter smelling pastures and leaves the way he came.  The way that Molasses came in not 5 seconds ago.  But can our Mollie find his way out?  Can he remember the route he took which is right in front of his face and which he came in by not 5 seconds hence?  No, he cannot.  After several minutes of over-the-fence prodding and nudging he saw the exit and took it posthaste. 

While the saying may state "Slow as Molasses in January", it does not seem that the change of month has improved his perceptive powers.  There is hope, however:  He may be a little slow, but I think he can get by on his looks. 

Don't you just want to give him a kiss?

Rabbit Poo

Rabbits poop.  A lot.  And the more rabbits you have the more poop that piles up.  While this is a logical progression of thought, it does not prepare one for the standing in poop that awaited me today in the Woman's Ward of The Rabbit Dormitory.  The ladies had begun their "latrine" practice against one fence.  I had foolishly thrown straw over that when it was cold out, thinking that would buy me some time to clean it all up.  Then they just moved their "latrine" to underneath the hutch and along that fence.  Having not gotten the point, I threw down more straw and they just started pooping all over the place.  The mercy of it all is that rabbit poop dries to lovely little dark orbs that are easily raked up and shoveled up and toted over to their new location next door to the Compost Pile of 2010.  With that went all the attendant fuss of chicken inspections,

Chicken awaiting her opponent in the new sport of Chicken Cage Wresting!

baby goats leaping into the wheelbarrow, and much quacking by Mrs. Duck who knew something spectacular was going on but didn't seem to be able to appreciate it.  I have much more poo from other species awaiting me tomorrow, but I am glad to have accomplished that chore.  I would say that I'm pooped but that's just too low, isn't it?  Yeah, I though so too.

Udderly Beautiful

                                                      Nutmeg's Udder is a thing of beauty.

This is her udder first thing in the morning.  All filled up and ready to go!  Notice the nice spacing between her back legs!

Nice attachment in the rear.  No pendulous boobies here!  Good round full udder!

My Mom used to tell me a story about a girl in her class who was generously endowed.  They used to sing the song, "June is busting out all over!" to her, which is probably mean, but looking at Nutmeg, I can kind of understand the inclination. 

No pocket in the front, but a good attachment with minimal cleavage.  The teats are a nice size.  Can you see the spot where the babies bop her to start the milk flowing?  They're aggressive little feeders, don't ya know? 

Now, you will never see such a post regarding the beauties of Echo's udder.  She is developing an udder now, but it is a sad thing even in comparison to Nutmeg's early pregnancy udder.  Her back legs are spaced too close together and she is too stubborn.  She's a good pet; A very calm, serene animal with a beautiful spirit, but I wouldn't choose to breed her again.  Her small size makes me worry about the birth, where I did not have that concern with Nutmeg.  And I just know that to top it all off she will have girls, and that just makes it more worrisome.  She could still have a month, at least, to go, but she is so fat she spends most of her time laying down.  Poor little Echo....

One last note on Echo:  We were discussing names for her babies in the car group on Saturday morning (yes, when Jehovah's Witnesses get together to go Door-to-Door we discuss all kinds of things in the car.  You should ask the next time they come by:  "What do you guys talk about in the car?"  We just jabber away, hootin' and hollerin', until we get to your door and then we put our game face on and try to get serious.)  Okay, so, I was saying that I wanted to stay in the theme of Echo, but really, what kind of names stay in that theme?  One of the brothers came up with some good ideas which I have completely forgotten!  When I look up synonyms they are just not helpful....So, we are taking suggestions. 

Farm Exercise Program

After a long winter, and too many ice cream bars, it is time for some exercise.  I am thinking tomorrow would be a good day to undertake the beginning of a varied program of exercise, keeping the theory of muscle confusion in mind. 

Phase One of the Program will feature running laps in the rabbit pen as I chase down and confine as many rabbits as I can get my hands on in anticipation of a combination of selling some on craigslist as meat rabbit trios and a batch of butchering.  Rabbit lunges will be included. 

Phase Two will involve climbing into the chicken coop in a prolonged squatting position, while simultaneously shoveling ammonia emitting wood shavings into a wheelbarrow.  There will be a series of deep knee bends as the floor is scraped and new shavings applied.  Heavy Lifting will follow, as the wheelbarrow is taken to the spot where the Great Compost Pile of 2011 will reside.  The Great Compost Pile of 2010 will be stirred, utilizing a variety of Muscles I Did Not Know I had.  A spot for the Garden will be picked out and Mental Exercise will be called into play as a Crop List is drawn up. 

Phase Three is sure to include both the Cardiovascular Construction of raised beds and the moving of some fences.  I am taking one area of free range for my garden, closing it with a new fence, and opening up a new area to free ranging by moving a fence line 90 degrees.  This will keep the goats and chickens off the back steps and introduce an aerobic session of step scrubbing and disinfecting. 

I will confess that besides all this work really needing to be done, it is in part inspired by the dream I had last night in which my older sister came up behind me, having lost 75 pounds, and told me I was eating too many carbs.  If that's not enough to get this farmer off her fanny, I don't know what is. 

The Great Inner Tube of Life

Time insists on flowing on and sometimes it just carries me away--sitting in an inner tube in my creek bathing suit, my butt dragging over the rocks in the baby rapids.  It looks like fun from the bank but I'm not sure out here.  My swimsuit smells kind of funky, I've got a tadpole in my crotch, rock rash on my butt and I'm not sure where I'm going sometimes.  But then other times, when the creek slows down and the sky is clear, the sun warm upon my skin, I just sit back in that tube and smile.  I guess there isn't anyplace I would rather be after all. 

At Last!

Blood, Sweat and Tears

Echo had been limping around for the last few days and I knew it was her hooves.  Her crazy hooves.  People talk about how overgrown hooves look like elf shoes; Echo's look like that even when they are trimmed down.  They kind of curve sideways or something.  Very hard to describe.  Anyway, I made use of The Man of The House today in a hoofing adventure.

We went out into the back armed with Determination and Hoof Rot Shears.  We tipped Echo on her side, and then on her back.  If that sounds easy, I'd like to see you try it.  She does not like to be touched right now, and she HATES her hooves being trimmed.  This is, of course, why I needed Man Power.  While he semi-sat on her and held her legs still I ruthlessly trimmed those insane tootsies, explaining to Ronny what I was doing and what to look out for.  At one point he said, "You cut too far!  She's bleeding!"  I said, "No, that's me.  I cut myself twice on the last hoof." 

Needless to say, wherever there are body parts being flung out into the environs, there are chickens.  Greedily gobbling up all detritus, pecking at any blood drops.  Sometimes my chickens really gross me out.

Echo was bleating pitifully the entire time, necessitating the intervention of both goat babies, who climbed all over Ron, yelling, "Don't hurt our Auntie!  She's just started to like us!"  Nutmeg came over and gave sniffing inspections of the whole procedure, proclaimed Echo a Big Goat Baby and went back to her browsing.  Ron declared in all his wisdom that Echo would probably squirt her babies out due to all the hubbub.  I got a good look at Echo's udder, which is slowly but surely developing.  If I'm wrong about her being pregnant, and I don't think I am, she really needs to go on a diet. 

At the end of all the Fuss, Echo got up, shook herself, allowed herself to be petted and patted and babied, accepted a handful of grain and then looked at me as if to say "What?  No tea?  I'd like four lumps in it."  She went under the stairs to check our her new nails, and seeming to approve, came out, tucked all her legs under herself, oh so daintily, and sat in the sun, chewing her cud in complete contentment. 

Thanksgiving

Jehovah God,
Father of Celestial Lights,
Thank you for the sun which warms our bodies and our hearts. 

Thank you for the gift of Hope
That Spring will Come Again. 

Thank you for The Parade of Days
That make up our lives. 
May they never end. 

Bunny Lump

There is a curious phenomenon I have observed in The Bunny Pen.  This is probably only to be observed in places where unrestrained breeding has been allowed to occur due to the sentimental convictions of the male of the household.  The female of the household has put a stop to such nonsense, but the ramifications continue to accumulate.  There are more ramifications underground, unfortunately, awaiting the instinctive trigger which calls them to the outer world.  But, until then, this stands as a lesson to all those curious about the multiplicative powers of a single breeding pair of rabbits.

The day starts with a rather diffuse arrangement of rabbits.

The Gravitational Pull of Rabbits is not to be Underestimated.

The final result is what those knowledgeable about such matters refer to as A Bunny Lump.

Farm Math 101

See if you can solve this Farm Math Problem:

You are a Farmer.  It is February.  You have one spare bucket you keep in the house for hauling out water.  You have three water buckets and two feed buckets outside with the animals.  You decide to buy one more spare water bucket to make life easier.  The day after you do so you find you now have four spare buckets.  Explain. 

Solution:
Remember, it's February.  The spare buckets are because your water buckets outside freeze up overnight and with spare buckets you can just replace them with buckets of water from the kitchen.  With a February thaw now you can use the hose.  Suddenly you have no need for your two spare buckets.  Simultaneously, Nutmeg decides she wants to spend the night with Echo and not her kids.  This leaves one feed bucket no longer in use in the kids house.  The last bucket?  This is the extra water bucket outside for Mrs. Duck and the chickens to play with.  But now that we have a thaw Mrs. Duck's pool is full of water and everyone seems to prefer her poopy, muddy water to that which came from a clean bucket. 

Extra credit points for answering the following question: 

Why can't rabbits divide or subtract? 

Technicolor Ankle

I had a stupid fall earlier this week that could have been prevented by the application of a brain.  While standing on a chair in slippers too big for me, holding a flyswatter in my outstretched arm, trying to kill a stinkbug on the ceiling, I remembered that I have Vertigo as I watched myself fall onto another chair, ribcage first, then onto the floor, hand first.  To say I had the breath knocked out of me would be an underestimation.  I knew when I tried to move that I had (at the very least) bruised a rib or two.  I didn't realize I had hurt my ankle until I went into the bathroom and noticed blood seeping through my sock.  It took me two days to notice that I had bruised the bridge of my nose--I kept thinking I was just pushing my glasses down my nose so much that I had left a permanent mark.  So, in the light of all my injuries I made some well thought out decisions about getting rid of the goats which I took back as soon as I was moving better.  My "bruised rib" is right under the band of my sports bra, and it seems to be acting as a support to it.  My bruised hand is all but healed.  But the ankle--(at this point I hear Leslie Howard as the Scarlet Pimpernel saying to the Prince Regent's tailor "But the sleeve!") is still swollen, although not nearly as much, and a lovely testimony to the Power of Color.  For your viewing pleasure, I present the Original Injury:

Swollen just a teensy bit, don't you think? 

Yes, that's bruise from mid foot all the way up to the calf. 

I immediately made another Rule, which makes something like 5000 now, which states "I shall not climb on chairs to kill stinkbugs, hold pieces of trim for someone else to nail or change light bulbs."  It's been 5 days and I haven't broken it yet. 

Counting the Cost

I've started this post and closed it without saving three times.  Does that indicate I'm having a hard time writing it?  Yup. Here, I'll start this way: 

Many people are familiar with the question Jesus asked about "counting the cost".  If you are not, I will summarize:  If a man wants to build something, doesn't he first sit down and calculate the expense, lest he get started and then finds he does not have enough funds to finish?  If he gets the foundation laid but then cannot finish, all those looking on will ridicule him.  I tend to count the cost of things compulsively, with anxiety aforethought.  But I will admit to having gotten caught up in the excitement of something and then having reality come up and bite me on the bum. 

I am the proud possessor of four goats at present.  One lovely mother and her two charming boys, accompanied by the pregnant auntie.  Once Echo presents with what will most likely be twins, I will be the possessor of six goats.  As romantic a picture as that presents, I find it a bit intimidating.  I find the workload increases, as it is just me in the barnyard, and I find myself feeling pressure not pleasure.  Logic, Practicality, call it what you will, dictates a choice.  I am not likely to get more energetic or strong--quite the reverse, as I recently fell for the second time, breaking a rib and badly bruising an ankle.  So, facing my limitations square in the face, I come to the the conclusion that I must simplify.

I ruthlessly go through my list: 
Can I chuck Husband or Children?  No. 
Can I disregard Household chores?  No. 
Can I ignore my Spiritual Responsibilities, including meetings, or ministry?  No. 
What is the heaviest pressure:  chickens?  No.   Rabbits?  No.  Duck?  No.  Goats?  Yes. 
Logic is very cruel:  Can you handle six goats?  No. 

There.  I've said it.  I admit my limitations and I surrender to a higher power.  How do you reduce a goat herd?  Again, logic becomes your refuge. Can you give up the babies?  They can't be weaned until they are three months old, meaning they have two more months before they can be separated from their mother.  So, neither Nutmeg or her babies can go, unless they go as a package, and that would leave lonely Echo.  Sadly, this seems to leave the forlorn, pregnant Echo on the craigslist pile.  Echo, my favorite, calm goat of deep feeling and perceptive powers.  But I don't see another option.  My original goal was two goats.  Echo and Nutmeg.  I can handle two goats.  I can handle three goats.  I can handle four goats with a lack of joy.  It seems Echo must be embraced into a new family.

It surprises me that I had not contemplated this aspect of a backyard barnyard.  I addressed slaughtering and butchering in my mind well before I ever had to do so in reality, and found the task manageable.  I pondered pages of goat pregnancy and birth, kid care, milking, etc.  in advance and was able to plunge in without too much trepidation.  But I never thought of selling my Original Goats. Dope.  My expense list was definitely incomplete.  All I ask is that no one looking on ridicule me.  I'm having a hard enough time as it is.