Shouldering shovels and a pitchfork, my helper, Renee and I made our way down to the empty trailer late this afternoon. My daughter's friend, Ellie tagged along to help. The mission: clean out two feet of old sawdust bedding from last spring's baby goats who called the trailer home for the first eight weeks of life.
As we shoveled and scraped and shoveled some more, I looked around the empty room. In my mind's eye I could still see last year's babies running and jumping all over the room. We unearthed a wooden box, half-buried in sawdust, and I placed it to one side, with a smile. It will be back in use this winter, for little goats to take turns playing "King of the Castle" as they fight to knock each other out of the way.
Very soon, the quiet room will be filled with the noise of the automatic milk feeder whirring in the background, as kids bleat and call out when we enter the trailer, stomping the snow and ice from our boots. Baseboard heaters on the wall keep the kid trailer at a comfortable fifty degrees which will seem very warm after the two hundred yard trek across the yard from the dairy barn.
It's a busy time when the babies start arriving. We are only expecting about two-hundred-and-fifty kids over a three month period. It sounds like a lot, but it isn't so bad. Last year, with almost three-hundred dairy goats, we delivered over seven hundred babies and some days, I thought I'd never see the house again.
For now, I will dream of those days to come; of cute baby goats and winter's wonderland, and try not to think about blizzard warnings and the twenty-below temperatures that seem to coincide with the day the does decide to start having babies!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Sophie The Ferret Flies The Coop
I stepped into the garage late last week to discover Sophie the ferret had escaped her cage once more. Her companion, Dillon came running up to greet me. "Don't worry, buddy," I said, scratching his head. "She'll be back." Usually she turns up at our back door, begging to come inside.
Three days later, there was still no sign of Sophie. With the days getting cooler, and the nights leaving light blankets of frost across the pastures, I worried she might have become dinner for some sharp-clawed owl or a stray dog.
Then, the phone call came.
"Are you missing a ferret?" our neighbor asked.
"Yes, we are," I said. "I'll be right down to get her."
Now, this neighbor doesn't live right next door. In the country, your 'neighbor' can live any distance away, and it seems Sophie had traveled way across the corn field to reach their home, at least a quarter mile's walk.
Not bad on tiny little ferret feet.
Before I could leave the house, or the computer, our neighbor's daughter sent me an instant message on Facebook telling me she'd always wanted a ferret and how cute Sophie was.
Hmmm, let's see. A ferret who wants to live inside, and traveled over a hill and across a cornfield to find a friendly house, and a teenage girl who wants a pet ferret. It didn't take me long to decide.
So, now Sophie lives at our neighbors, inside their basement with her new girl. Our other ferret, Dillon seems content to curl up in the basket with our five new kittens each night, and he never runs away. The ferret cage sits empty in the corner of the garage, and I have one less cage to keep clean. I like it!
Three days later, there was still no sign of Sophie. With the days getting cooler, and the nights leaving light blankets of frost across the pastures, I worried she might have become dinner for some sharp-clawed owl or a stray dog.
Then, the phone call came.
"Are you missing a ferret?" our neighbor asked.
"Yes, we are," I said. "I'll be right down to get her."
Now, this neighbor doesn't live right next door. In the country, your 'neighbor' can live any distance away, and it seems Sophie had traveled way across the corn field to reach their home, at least a quarter mile's walk.
Not bad on tiny little ferret feet.
Before I could leave the house, or the computer, our neighbor's daughter sent me an instant message on Facebook telling me she'd always wanted a ferret and how cute Sophie was.
Hmmm, let's see. A ferret who wants to live inside, and traveled over a hill and across a cornfield to find a friendly house, and a teenage girl who wants a pet ferret. It didn't take me long to decide.
So, now Sophie lives at our neighbors, inside their basement with her new girl. Our other ferret, Dillon seems content to curl up in the basket with our five new kittens each night, and he never runs away. The ferret cage sits empty in the corner of the garage, and I have one less cage to keep clean. I like it!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Fluffy And His Five Mothers
It's quiet around Rainbow Gate Farm right now. So, instead of boring you with the details of uneventful chores, I'm drawing on my FanStory.com archives and digging out stories I wrote earlier this year. Reminds me I'm likely to be digging myself out of snow drifts here in a few months, but meanwhile. . .
"Fluffy And His Five Mothers"
. . . Fluffy came into this world on the heels of his dead brother. Not an amazing way to start life, but he didn't care. Within minutes of being born, he struggled to his feet, and started searching for warm milk.
He soon found a soft udder and began to nurse. His mother bleated and nudged him, but Fluffy kept right on drinking . . . on Hershey, the wrong doe.
Some of our goats could care less when their kids are taken away, but others have strong maternal instincts. Taking their babies away is the least favorite part of my job description.
Those does often decide to adopt another doe's baby. I've even seen them knock the real mother out of the way as soon as the kid hits the ground, so they can take over the newborn's care.
Usually, our baby goats are raised in a heated trailer nearby, where they have access to automatic feeders providing warm milk-replacer around the clock and they quickly adopt us as their two-legged mothers. Right now, Fluffy happens to be the only one we have. The other seven hundred should be arriving any day.
I decided that rather than heating the entire trailer for just one kid, I'd let Fluffy stay with his mother, er, mothers, in the fresh goat pen.
There are five does in there who claim him as their own. Fluffy thinks life is wonderful. More milk than he could possibly drink and five warm bodies to snuggle against.
My eight-year-old daughter, Amber, christened him 'Fluffy' and although his lot should have been heading down the road to the meat market at the tender age of five months, it seems fate has intervened once more. Between Amber and his five devoted mothers, I don't have a snowball's chance in you-know-where of sending him away.
Fluffy will have to endure being castrated in a few months time. Male goats left 'entire' for breeding are one of the most terrible smelling creatures on earth.
At this rate, I may have to quit milking goats and start a sanctuary.
"Fluffy And His Five Mothers"
. . . Fluffy came into this world on the heels of his dead brother. Not an amazing way to start life, but he didn't care. Within minutes of being born, he struggled to his feet, and started searching for warm milk.
He soon found a soft udder and began to nurse. His mother bleated and nudged him, but Fluffy kept right on drinking . . . on Hershey, the wrong doe.
Some of our goats could care less when their kids are taken away, but others have strong maternal instincts. Taking their babies away is the least favorite part of my job description.
Those does often decide to adopt another doe's baby. I've even seen them knock the real mother out of the way as soon as the kid hits the ground, so they can take over the newborn's care.
Usually, our baby goats are raised in a heated trailer nearby, where they have access to automatic feeders providing warm milk-replacer around the clock and they quickly adopt us as their two-legged mothers. Right now, Fluffy happens to be the only one we have. The other seven hundred should be arriving any day.
I decided that rather than heating the entire trailer for just one kid, I'd let Fluffy stay with his mother, er, mothers, in the fresh goat pen.
There are five does in there who claim him as their own. Fluffy thinks life is wonderful. More milk than he could possibly drink and five warm bodies to snuggle against.
My eight-year-old daughter, Amber, christened him 'Fluffy' and although his lot should have been heading down the road to the meat market at the tender age of five months, it seems fate has intervened once more. Between Amber and his five devoted mothers, I don't have a snowball's chance in you-know-where of sending him away.
Fluffy will have to endure being castrated in a few months time. Male goats left 'entire' for breeding are one of the most terrible smelling creatures on earth.
At this rate, I may have to quit milking goats and start a sanctuary.
Monday, November 2, 2009
A Never-Ending Cycle
This is an old story from April of this year. It still makes me laugh, which I really need right now, considering we have just switched to once-a-day milking, because the 'girls' are drying up, in preparation for the soon-to-begin kidding season.
"A Never-Ending Cycle"
(originally posted on FanStory.com in April 2009)
Anyone who is familiar with my life story by now knows I milk dairy goats for a living. At times it seems to be all I ever do, taking four hours twice a day just to milk from start to finish. Then there are babies to feed, weaned babies and dry goats (goats who haven't given birth yet) to feed hay, grain and water, goats to bed up with dry cornstalks, new babies to bring in and vaccinate -- it's a never ending cycle.
Last night, still recovering from a flu bug going around this area, my feet were dragging. My son, Sam, started milking but he had to leave to go to his girlfriend's high school play. My other son, Joel, was also in the play, and my husband, Paul, left on a service call for his electrical business.
By the time Paul got home, I'd been milking alone for almost three hours. He told me later he was surprised how many goats were left in the holding pen waiting to be milked, but thought it was understandable considering I'd been feeling under the weather.
We milked a little longer, and noticed some of the goats had very little milk. We were both concerned. There is a virus that can run through a herd, causing almost instant fall in production and our neighbor told us his herd was having problems.
"We'd better call 'Connell' (our vet)," Paul said.
"I agree," I said. "This doe here has hardly any milk at all."
Several hours later, I went and chased the last group into the parlor. As my husband finished up, I went into the barn to fill the water tubs by the far edge of the holding pen. To my surprise, the holding area was full of goats!
It was then I saw it. The gate that separates the goats who are already milked from the ones waiting to be milked was not properly chained shut, leaving an eight-inch gap, just big enough for goats to leave the milking parlor, walk back around the corner, and squeeze back into the holding area.
Yes, we'd been milking the same goats twice. For two extra hours. They love coming into the parlor to get the grain we feed while they are standing to be milked, so they were having a wonderful time!
And I sometimes wonder why I never get anything else done.
"A Never-Ending Cycle"
(originally posted on FanStory.com in April 2009)
Anyone who is familiar with my life story by now knows I milk dairy goats for a living. At times it seems to be all I ever do, taking four hours twice a day just to milk from start to finish. Then there are babies to feed, weaned babies and dry goats (goats who haven't given birth yet) to feed hay, grain and water, goats to bed up with dry cornstalks, new babies to bring in and vaccinate -- it's a never ending cycle.
Last night, still recovering from a flu bug going around this area, my feet were dragging. My son, Sam, started milking but he had to leave to go to his girlfriend's high school play. My other son, Joel, was also in the play, and my husband, Paul, left on a service call for his electrical business.
By the time Paul got home, I'd been milking alone for almost three hours. He told me later he was surprised how many goats were left in the holding pen waiting to be milked, but thought it was understandable considering I'd been feeling under the weather.
We milked a little longer, and noticed some of the goats had very little milk. We were both concerned. There is a virus that can run through a herd, causing almost instant fall in production and our neighbor told us his herd was having problems.
"We'd better call 'Connell' (our vet)," Paul said.
"I agree," I said. "This doe here has hardly any milk at all."
Several hours later, I went and chased the last group into the parlor. As my husband finished up, I went into the barn to fill the water tubs by the far edge of the holding pen. To my surprise, the holding area was full of goats!
It was then I saw it. The gate that separates the goats who are already milked from the ones waiting to be milked was not properly chained shut, leaving an eight-inch gap, just big enough for goats to leave the milking parlor, walk back around the corner, and squeeze back into the holding area.
Yes, we'd been milking the same goats twice. For two extra hours. They love coming into the parlor to get the grain we feed while they are standing to be milked, so they were having a wonderful time!
And I sometimes wonder why I never get anything else done.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Chicks Ahoy!
The sound of cheeping greeted me this morning as I walked downstairs to start chores. Grabbing the flashlight, I peeked inside the cabinet incubator sitting at the base of the stairs, and sure enough, five Black-Copper Maran chicks were waddling around inside.
The Black Copper Maran is a French breed, and very rare, so the hatch is exciting! The hens lay a dark brown, almost chocolate-colored egg. I bought these eggs from a breeder in another state, who shipped them to me to hatch. Many folks who visit here are amazed to learn that an egg can be sent through the mail and still grow a chick three weeks later.
These chicks are coal black with white chests, and feathered feet -- cute as buttons. I have six older Maran chicks already outside in the hen house, so these little guys will be joining them in a few weeks.
Four more eggs to go, and one is already pipping the shell, meaning its little beak has broken through. Now it must twist and turn all the way around the shell, continuing to break it open. As tempting as it becomes to want to help a struggling chick, being able to hatch by themselves seems to be an essential key to survival. If the chick isn't strong enough to hatch, there is something wrong, and helping it out of the shell makes for a miserable time watching it slowly die. Don't ask me how I know.
The chicks hatch soaking wet, and will remain in the incubator for the rest of the day, drying off. Right before hatching, the chicks absorb the remainder of the egg yolk into their bellies. When a hen hatches chicks naturally in a nest, she often waits on the nest for several days waiting for all the eggs to hatch. The first ones to hatch must wait for the latecomers. This will provide them with all the nutrition they need for the next two days.
Tonight, we'll put the dry chicks under a heatlamp, with water and chick-starter food in dishes nearby. The heatlamp takes the place of the real mother, and the chicks' natural instinct to find food and water will take care of the rest!
In five short months these tiny chicks will be out in the barn laying eggs or crowing with the sunrise, and starting the cycle all over again. It never grows old watching it happen. Guess that's why I live on a farm!
The Black Copper Maran is a French breed, and very rare, so the hatch is exciting! The hens lay a dark brown, almost chocolate-colored egg. I bought these eggs from a breeder in another state, who shipped them to me to hatch. Many folks who visit here are amazed to learn that an egg can be sent through the mail and still grow a chick three weeks later.
These chicks are coal black with white chests, and feathered feet -- cute as buttons. I have six older Maran chicks already outside in the hen house, so these little guys will be joining them in a few weeks.
Four more eggs to go, and one is already pipping the shell, meaning its little beak has broken through. Now it must twist and turn all the way around the shell, continuing to break it open. As tempting as it becomes to want to help a struggling chick, being able to hatch by themselves seems to be an essential key to survival. If the chick isn't strong enough to hatch, there is something wrong, and helping it out of the shell makes for a miserable time watching it slowly die. Don't ask me how I know.
The chicks hatch soaking wet, and will remain in the incubator for the rest of the day, drying off. Right before hatching, the chicks absorb the remainder of the egg yolk into their bellies. When a hen hatches chicks naturally in a nest, she often waits on the nest for several days waiting for all the eggs to hatch. The first ones to hatch must wait for the latecomers. This will provide them with all the nutrition they need for the next two days.
Tonight, we'll put the dry chicks under a heatlamp, with water and chick-starter food in dishes nearby. The heatlamp takes the place of the real mother, and the chicks' natural instinct to find food and water will take care of the rest!
In five short months these tiny chicks will be out in the barn laying eggs or crowing with the sunrise, and starting the cycle all over again. It never grows old watching it happen. Guess that's why I live on a farm!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The Adventures Of Sophie The Ferret
Rats are not my favorite creatures on this planet. Recently, several large specimens decided to join us here on Rainbow Gate Farm. Ugh!
"I have a great idea. Buy a ferret!" one of our friends suggested. "They hunt rats and kill them, and any remaining ones will leave the farm."
So began our ferret quest, and within a week, we had become the proud owners of not one, but two ferrets, Sophie and Dillon. They came complete with a large cage, and an assurance that they were "house-broken and litter-trained."
It took us all of a few hours to realize that our definition of "house-broken and litter-trained" was slightly different from that of the ferrets' previous owners. Silly me. I didn't know it meant they used the entire house as a litter tray!
Along with their musky odor, the idea of having these two rascals as indoor pets quickly lost its attraction. We moved their cage into the garage, but I felt sorry for them being locked up, so we transferred them to the big aviary cage in the barn.
Now, ferrets chase rats down very tiny holes. This should have been my first clue. The next morning, there was only one ferret, Dillon in the aviary. Sophie was gone. We searched the barn, and the farm, but there was no sign of her. We moved Dillon back to the cage in the garage.
Five days passed, and still no Sophie. The weather is changing quickly here in Iowa, and I worried about her, hoping she had found somewhere warm to curl up, and lots of mice and rats to feast on!
The next night, my son, Joel, heard an odd noise at the back door. It was one in the morning but he got up, and went to check it out. There was Sophie, scratching on the glass door! I can't be certain, but I think Joel said he heard her say, "Let me in, it's cold out here!"
Most people would have learned the first time, but last night, we decided to re-locate the ferrets to the trailer house where we raise all the baby goats when they are born in January. We blocked off all the holes, shut the windows and doors, and let them loose.
"Go! Be free and find mice, rats and other wonderful creatures to eat!" I exclaimed, as we left the trailer to go milk the goats.
Walking across in the dark two hours later, my helper, Renee, said, "I just saw a ferret!"
Sure enough, Dillon was scampering across the yard, toward the horse pasture. We picked him up and searched for Sophie, but she was nowhere to be found.
This morning, I took the flashlight with me when I headed out to milk in the dark, and searched again, but no Sophie. My husband laughed, and said, "She's probably headed back for the house."
Which is exactly where we found her a few hours later, trying to get in the back door.
Now we own two ferrets, who eat expensive ferret food, and couldn't care less about hunting rats. I think I saw a rat doing a victory dance across from the grain bin this morning.
Anyone else have any great ideas?
"I have a great idea. Buy a ferret!" one of our friends suggested. "They hunt rats and kill them, and any remaining ones will leave the farm."
So began our ferret quest, and within a week, we had become the proud owners of not one, but two ferrets, Sophie and Dillon. They came complete with a large cage, and an assurance that they were "house-broken and litter-trained."
It took us all of a few hours to realize that our definition of "house-broken and litter-trained" was slightly different from that of the ferrets' previous owners. Silly me. I didn't know it meant they used the entire house as a litter tray!
Along with their musky odor, the idea of having these two rascals as indoor pets quickly lost its attraction. We moved their cage into the garage, but I felt sorry for them being locked up, so we transferred them to the big aviary cage in the barn.
Now, ferrets chase rats down very tiny holes. This should have been my first clue. The next morning, there was only one ferret, Dillon in the aviary. Sophie was gone. We searched the barn, and the farm, but there was no sign of her. We moved Dillon back to the cage in the garage.
Five days passed, and still no Sophie. The weather is changing quickly here in Iowa, and I worried about her, hoping she had found somewhere warm to curl up, and lots of mice and rats to feast on!
The next night, my son, Joel, heard an odd noise at the back door. It was one in the morning but he got up, and went to check it out. There was Sophie, scratching on the glass door! I can't be certain, but I think Joel said he heard her say, "Let me in, it's cold out here!"
Most people would have learned the first time, but last night, we decided to re-locate the ferrets to the trailer house where we raise all the baby goats when they are born in January. We blocked off all the holes, shut the windows and doors, and let them loose.
"Go! Be free and find mice, rats and other wonderful creatures to eat!" I exclaimed, as we left the trailer to go milk the goats.
Walking across in the dark two hours later, my helper, Renee, said, "I just saw a ferret!"
Sure enough, Dillon was scampering across the yard, toward the horse pasture. We picked him up and searched for Sophie, but she was nowhere to be found.
This morning, I took the flashlight with me when I headed out to milk in the dark, and searched again, but no Sophie. My husband laughed, and said, "She's probably headed back for the house."
Which is exactly where we found her a few hours later, trying to get in the back door.
Now we own two ferrets, who eat expensive ferret food, and couldn't care less about hunting rats. I think I saw a rat doing a victory dance across from the grain bin this morning.
Anyone else have any great ideas?
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Fall Preparation on the Farm.
Fall is a busy time here on Rainbow Gate Farm. Even though the goats are 'winding down' for the year, their swollen bellies tell us it won't be long before the barn is ringing with the sound of newborn babies. We're cleaning out barns, and hauling the manure on the surrounding fields to help fertilize next year's crops of corn, soybeans and hay.
In the first week of December, we will "dry-off" all the milking does -- or quit milking them. A lot of them beat us to it, by drying up by themselves.
Their bodies need the preparation time to concentrate on feeding the growing kids inside. Most goats have twins or triplets, and quadruplets are not unheard of. About the middle of January, the babies will begin arriving and then the whole year's process of raising babies and milking their dams begins once again.
My rare-breed chickens are done with their yearly moult. I turned the timers back on yesterday, so the chicken barn has swung into full summer hours, with the lights coming on at 5am and shutting off at 10pm. This tricks the 'girls' into thinking it is summer, and they will begin to lay eggs again. Although we eat some of these eggs, most of them will be collected for sale on eBay as 'hatching eggs'. You can check out our different rare breeds of chicken on our website at this address
http://www.rainbowgatefarm.com
Just navigate to the Rare-Breed Poultry page.
It's almost time to start evening chores. My helper, Renee, will be arriving in about an hour to help me prepare for milking.
Tomorrow I'll be working again with a yearling horse colt we are boarding here. He's a cremello Tennessee Walker and will be used for breeding in the future. When he arrived on the farm, he hadn't been handled much, and was nervous of people. Because he will remain a stallion, it's imperative we teach him manners, how to lead, and tie up, so he doesn't become dangerous or mean.
In the first week of December, we will "dry-off" all the milking does -- or quit milking them. A lot of them beat us to it, by drying up by themselves.
Their bodies need the preparation time to concentrate on feeding the growing kids inside. Most goats have twins or triplets, and quadruplets are not unheard of. About the middle of January, the babies will begin arriving and then the whole year's process of raising babies and milking their dams begins once again.
My rare-breed chickens are done with their yearly moult. I turned the timers back on yesterday, so the chicken barn has swung into full summer hours, with the lights coming on at 5am and shutting off at 10pm. This tricks the 'girls' into thinking it is summer, and they will begin to lay eggs again. Although we eat some of these eggs, most of them will be collected for sale on eBay as 'hatching eggs'. You can check out our different rare breeds of chicken on our website at this address
http://www.rainbowgatefarm.com
Just navigate to the Rare-Breed Poultry page.
It's almost time to start evening chores. My helper, Renee, will be arriving in about an hour to help me prepare for milking.
Tomorrow I'll be working again with a yearling horse colt we are boarding here. He's a cremello Tennessee Walker and will be used for breeding in the future. When he arrived on the farm, he hadn't been handled much, and was nervous of people. Because he will remain a stallion, it's imperative we teach him manners, how to lead, and tie up, so he doesn't become dangerous or mean.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Chicken Barns And Baby Mice
Our rare breed chickens reside above one of our smaller barns. Every fall, when my husband cleans the barn below, we open the trap-doors in the floor and scrape out all the old bedding/chicken manure onto the cement below, so it can be hauled away as fertilizer.
Where you have chickens, and grain, you are also guaranteed to have mice and as we cleaned and shoveled, we disturbed several nests. As their shelter was disturbed, the mice would scatter in all directions, fleeing for the cracks and holes along the walls of the chicken coop.
My helper, Renee and I were laughing at the neat arrangement of discarded chicken feathers lining one such nest, when we noticed movement. Inside the destroyed home were about a dozen, tiny pink bodies, squirming around -- baby mice!
"They are so tiny. They can't be more than a few days old," I said.
"Now what will happen to them?" Renee asked. "Their mother ran off into that hole over there." She pointed toward the wall.
Trying not to think about the many times I'd set traps and laid bait to try and rid our barn of these grain-eating pests, I carefully scooped up the babies in my gloved hand, feathers and all. Laying them by the hole, I said, "Watch them. I'll bet their mama is going to come back for them."
Sure enough, a few seconds later, a furry grey head poked out of the hole. She looked at us, trembling, but she ran from the hole, grabbed a baby and vanished back into the wall. She re-appeared, and saved another one of her infants. Within a minute, she had rescued every single baby, relocating them to a new place safe from our clutches.
That mother mouse will never know that this mother saluted her. In the face of grave danger, and extreme fear, she came back for her children and risked her own life to save them.
What's a little grain in the face of such love?
Where you have chickens, and grain, you are also guaranteed to have mice and as we cleaned and shoveled, we disturbed several nests. As their shelter was disturbed, the mice would scatter in all directions, fleeing for the cracks and holes along the walls of the chicken coop.
My helper, Renee and I were laughing at the neat arrangement of discarded chicken feathers lining one such nest, when we noticed movement. Inside the destroyed home were about a dozen, tiny pink bodies, squirming around -- baby mice!
"They are so tiny. They can't be more than a few days old," I said.
"Now what will happen to them?" Renee asked. "Their mother ran off into that hole over there." She pointed toward the wall.
Trying not to think about the many times I'd set traps and laid bait to try and rid our barn of these grain-eating pests, I carefully scooped up the babies in my gloved hand, feathers and all. Laying them by the hole, I said, "Watch them. I'll bet their mama is going to come back for them."
Sure enough, a few seconds later, a furry grey head poked out of the hole. She looked at us, trembling, but she ran from the hole, grabbed a baby and vanished back into the wall. She re-appeared, and saved another one of her infants. Within a minute, she had rescued every single baby, relocating them to a new place safe from our clutches.
That mother mouse will never know that this mother saluted her. In the face of grave danger, and extreme fear, she came back for her children and risked her own life to save them.
What's a little grain in the face of such love?
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Snow Flurries and Pregnant Goats
Frost covers the ground now as I walk outside to start chores at five every morning. The weather man speaks of snow flurries soon to be flying here in the midwest. Our goats, being seasonal breeders, are now pregnant, and before long the sound of bleating will fill our old dairy barn, as hundreds of newborn goats enter a cold and wintery world.
The "girls" (our goat does) are a little cantankerous right now, and spend more time picking at each other than eating their grain when they enter the parlor to be milked each morning and night. Their bellies are beginning to show signs of growing new life, and by early January, they will be lumbering around with the weight of two to three kids inside. As busy a time as "kidding season" is for us, I can hardly wait!
The "girls" (our goat does) are a little cantankerous right now, and spend more time picking at each other than eating their grain when they enter the parlor to be milked each morning and night. Their bellies are beginning to show signs of growing new life, and by early January, they will be lumbering around with the weight of two to three kids inside. As busy a time as "kidding season" is for us, I can hardly wait!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
It's Raining Baby Goats!
The babies keep coming! We had eighteen more little goats born today. I took photos, now I have to get them downloaded and posted! They are so cute. The three and four day old babies bounce around their pen, giving entirely new meaning to the phrase "bouncing off the walls!" I put a small wooden box in the pen for them to play with, and they jump up and down playing "King Of The Castle" all day long.
Taking care of their mothers is a full time job right now. As each goat gives birth, she is allowed to clean off her babies and take care of them for the day, as long as the temperature is warm enough.
At night, we bring the mother goats or does in to the milking parlor, and milk out any remaining colostrum milk to feed to the kids. Each doe is wormed with a pour-on de-wormer, and her toenails are trimmed while she stands on the deck and eats grain. She is offered a warm drink of water with a special energy solution made with sweet-smelling molasses. Most does drink it right down.
The doe is marked with non-toxic spray across her back to show the date she "kidded" or gave birth. For the first two days, she is milked out by hand. Then on the third day, she is added to the general milking line, where her milk will be transferred to the 'bulk-tank' to be cooled. The milk is picked up by a big truck every four days and transported to the creamery where it will be made into delicious goat cheese.
Our goats are milked twice a day at 5.30am and 5.30pm. We have nine automatic milking units that we put on each goat. When all of the goats finally have their babies, it will take about three hours each time to milk, plus a further hour or so to feed hay.
Hard work and lots of it, but I love my job.
Jan
Taking care of their mothers is a full time job right now. As each goat gives birth, she is allowed to clean off her babies and take care of them for the day, as long as the temperature is warm enough.
At night, we bring the mother goats or does in to the milking parlor, and milk out any remaining colostrum milk to feed to the kids. Each doe is wormed with a pour-on de-wormer, and her toenails are trimmed while she stands on the deck and eats grain. She is offered a warm drink of water with a special energy solution made with sweet-smelling molasses. Most does drink it right down.
The doe is marked with non-toxic spray across her back to show the date she "kidded" or gave birth. For the first two days, she is milked out by hand. Then on the third day, she is added to the general milking line, where her milk will be transferred to the 'bulk-tank' to be cooled. The milk is picked up by a big truck every four days and transported to the creamery where it will be made into delicious goat cheese.
Our goats are milked twice a day at 5.30am and 5.30pm. We have nine automatic milking units that we put on each goat. When all of the goats finally have their babies, it will take about three hours each time to milk, plus a further hour or so to feed hay.
Hard work and lots of it, but I love my job.
Jan
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Warm Enough To Snow!
Woo Hoo! It's warmed up enough that it can actually snow! Today's high was somewhere in the 25 degree F range and it started snowing those soft, white flakes a few hours ago. Sure beats that twenty below zero weather we were having a few days ago.
The goat kids keep on coming. A set of triplets born late last night, then a set of twins and a single so far today. All bucklings (boys) except one of the triplets, who is a doeling (girl).
It's exhausting, but rewarding. We have about twenty goats milking now, but still have 330 does to kid!
Woo Hoo!
Jan
The goat kids keep on coming. A set of triplets born late last night, then a set of twins and a single so far today. All bucklings (boys) except one of the triplets, who is a doeling (girl).
It's exhausting, but rewarding. We have about twenty goats milking now, but still have 330 does to kid!
Woo Hoo!
Jan
Friday, January 16, 2009
Baby Goats At Last!
Today, of all days, with the temperature at the near-record twenty-five below zero, our goats decided to start kidding in earnest. Thank heavens only three sets of babies were born. Two sets of triplets and one set of twins.
Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!
Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Peggy's Story
Having almost four hundred head of livestock, means accidents are going to happen. Several months ago, a yearling goat decided to try her skills at gate-jumping. She failed the class, getting her front leg caught in the top panel of the wire gate and snapping it in half. We found her hanging upside down in the gate.
In livestock, if the break is a 'simple' fracture (no bone protruding through the skin) we can have our local vet cast the broken limb, and our success rate with these fractures has been 100%.
When the broken bone has pierced the skin, the prognosis is very poor. Even if you spend the hundreds of dollars to have the bone pieced back together and pinned, infection takes over, and the animal dies.
It might seem harsh, but a farmer has to take into account the market value of each animal on the farm. A yearling doeling like Peggy is worth approximately $200. It made no sense to spend hundreds of dollars over her value, with such a poor prognosis.
Two options remained. Euthanize her or splint the leg, and see what happened.
We decided on the latter. It's not as easy a choice as one might think. For weeks, we watched Peggy hobble around. The pain affected her appetite and she lost weight, despite our extra efforts to supplement her feed. Last week, I noticed her touching her hoof to the ground. This was encouraging and I hoped it meant the leg was healing. She started eating more again.
To my shock, several days later, I noticed the splinted leg hanging from just below the knee, by one tendon. Peggy had knocked the bandage away. Her leg was falling off.
I climbed into the pen, and removed the dangling leg. The stump did not bleed, and was not infected. I sprayed some antiseptic on the stump end, and brought Peggy up to a pen right next to our milk house where we keep the does who have already freshened (given birth) She seemed relieved to be rid of her dead leg, and began to frolic around.
Peggy's loss of a leg might seem like a tragedy, but in reality, it's a blessing in disguise. Peggy is a cross between an Oberhasli and a Saanen. Although Saanens are bigger, she inherited her Oberhasli mother's small frame, and smaller does don't tend to produce enough milk to make the grade.
This first year, when she freshened, she would have been evaluated for her production level, and culled out of the herd if she didn't produce five pounds or more of milk. Five pounds is the minimum production we accept from any doe, because otherwise, they are not paying for their upkeep.
Culled does are sent to the sale barn, where buyers purchase them for the various ethnic markets who enjoy goat meat.
This will not be Peggy's fate. We seem to have a soft spot for cripples around this place. Peggy will join our other three-legged goat, Gimpy, as a permanent mascot of Rainbow Gate Farm. No matter how little milk she produces, she will grow up, live and die right here on our farm. With the constant attention and extra grain, she is becoming very friendly and looking good. Peggy is one terrific goat!
I'm teaching Peggy how to use a computer now, so I'm certain she'll be back to share more of her life stories with you on Rainbow Gate Farm.
In livestock, if the break is a 'simple' fracture (no bone protruding through the skin) we can have our local vet cast the broken limb, and our success rate with these fractures has been 100%.
When the broken bone has pierced the skin, the prognosis is very poor. Even if you spend the hundreds of dollars to have the bone pieced back together and pinned, infection takes over, and the animal dies.
It might seem harsh, but a farmer has to take into account the market value of each animal on the farm. A yearling doeling like Peggy is worth approximately $200. It made no sense to spend hundreds of dollars over her value, with such a poor prognosis.
Two options remained. Euthanize her or splint the leg, and see what happened.
We decided on the latter. It's not as easy a choice as one might think. For weeks, we watched Peggy hobble around. The pain affected her appetite and she lost weight, despite our extra efforts to supplement her feed. Last week, I noticed her touching her hoof to the ground. This was encouraging and I hoped it meant the leg was healing. She started eating more again.
To my shock, several days later, I noticed the splinted leg hanging from just below the knee, by one tendon. Peggy had knocked the bandage away. Her leg was falling off.
I climbed into the pen, and removed the dangling leg. The stump did not bleed, and was not infected. I sprayed some antiseptic on the stump end, and brought Peggy up to a pen right next to our milk house where we keep the does who have already freshened (given birth) She seemed relieved to be rid of her dead leg, and began to frolic around.
Peggy's loss of a leg might seem like a tragedy, but in reality, it's a blessing in disguise. Peggy is a cross between an Oberhasli and a Saanen. Although Saanens are bigger, she inherited her Oberhasli mother's small frame, and smaller does don't tend to produce enough milk to make the grade.
This first year, when she freshened, she would have been evaluated for her production level, and culled out of the herd if she didn't produce five pounds or more of milk. Five pounds is the minimum production we accept from any doe, because otherwise, they are not paying for their upkeep.
Culled does are sent to the sale barn, where buyers purchase them for the various ethnic markets who enjoy goat meat.
This will not be Peggy's fate. We seem to have a soft spot for cripples around this place. Peggy will join our other three-legged goat, Gimpy, as a permanent mascot of Rainbow Gate Farm. No matter how little milk she produces, she will grow up, live and die right here on our farm. With the constant attention and extra grain, she is becoming very friendly and looking good. Peggy is one terrific goat!
I'm teaching Peggy how to use a computer now, so I'm certain she'll be back to share more of her life stories with you on Rainbow Gate Farm.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Let The Birthing Begin!
The kidding season for 2009 has officially started with the birth of a live buckling tonight. We had four does kid prematurely, which really worried us. After a few days of holding our breath and conferring with the vet, we were relieved to have an on-time and live birth.
I am now milking five does by hand. Only 345 left to kid or give birth!
I am now milking five does by hand. Only 345 left to kid or give birth!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)