Days In The Life Of A Dairy Goat Farmer

Fall Dreams

2010-11-10T20:30:00.000-08:00

As the days shorten, the does grow heavier, their bellies starting to hint at the new life growing inside. Just a few days ago, we started a 'dry' pen, for the goats who have "dried up" or stopped producing milk. So far, just twelve goats are in that pen, but over the next month, it will expand until the entire herd is dried off.
Every year, as we stop milking, I start dreaming about the days to come in January and February, when the snow will fly and the sound of newborns will fill the barn with their tiny bleating cries.The miracle of new life never grows old.

Thirty Dollar Pineapple

2010-05-22T16:41:00.000-07:00

Late last fall, the scrawny colt tripped on his way into the sale ring as the driver's whip snapped behind him. Lifting his head, his dark brown eyes' gaze darted in every direction, searching for a way out. The auctioneers voice crackled, crying in vain for a bid on this three-month-old colt with its dirty yellow coat stretched across washboard ribs.

"Thirty dollars! Thirty dollars! Who'll give me thirty dollars for this palomino? He's got color!"

I nudged my husband in the side. "Quick! Raise your hand before it's too late." I looked around the room. I knew the auctioneer wouldn't cry for long. People were ignoring him, and the door swung open on the far side of the ring. In a moment, the colt would be driven out of the ring, back into the pens, as a "No Sale." At the end of the day, someone with a gun would put him out of his misery.

The auctioneer saw my husband's hand before I did. "Thirty dollars!" he hollered. "Sold!"

We left the ring and finally found our colt crammed into a small hog pen at the very back of the auction building. I stroked his neck and felt the muscles bunch tight beneath my hand. "It's okay, buddy," I crooned, but the white-eyed colt wasn't having any of it. He fought us every step of the way to our horse trailer, and three hours later, we ran him down the alleyway into the back stall of our barn. We shook our heads.

"Pineapple" as my daughter christened him, looked more like a withered yellow squash than his namesake. His spindly legs seemed inadequate to hold him upright.

"Weaned too young," my husband said, and I nodded my agreement. With fall approaching, and grass becoming sparse, many people decided to dump foals at the sale barn, rather than feed them through the long mid-western winter. There's no substitute for a mother's milk, and foals weaned too early can die, no matter how much good feed you put in front of them. Throughout those frigid months we wondered often if we'd done the right thing. We put one of our own weaned foals in the stall to keep him company, and he seemed to enjoy the company. Once he overcame his fear of humans, Pineapple's gentle nature surfaced, and our daughter spent many hours brushing and petting him.

When spring came, we turned the two youngsters into the pasture where they could run, play and grow up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today, I carried hay out of the barn to give to the horses. Even though they spend all day grazing, we like them to come up near the barn each morning so we can check on them.

Pineapple whinnied in greeting, his eyes soft and warm. Beneath the remnants of some lighter woolly hair on his sides, a beautiful coat shines like a golden coin. His body has filled out and his ribs have vanished. I walked up to the gentle colt, and stroked his soft neck, brushing wisps of hay from his white mane.

"You're a pretty boy, aren't you?" I said, as he munched on a mouthful of alfalfa. It's hard to believe this beautiful, young horse is the same half-starved colt we brought home just seven months and I'm sure glad we gave him a chance.

I don't know how long Pineapple will stay here at Rainbow Gate Farm. Often visitors to our farm will fall in love with a particular foal and they are sold, making way for the new crop of babies born each spring. Many are eventually forgotten, but others are etched forever in our hearts.

Pineapple will canter through my memories for a long time to come.

Waiting With Lama

2010-05-20T08:42:00.000-07:00

Favorites. Everyone has them, and even in a herd of over a hundred dairy goats, there are always a few that stand out. My special girl is an eight-year-old white Saanen doe, called Red. I'm not sure why she's called Red, but she came to us six years ago with that name and it's hers. Red is getting old now, and I wince when I see her walking into the parlor, looking like the caprine equivalent of an old woman. I know her time is coming, but she's had a good life, and she'll stay here until the end.

My daughter's favorite is a young doe called Brownie, and in this case, she is easily identified by her matching color. Brownie comes when you call her name, and I have many stories I could tell about that sweet little goat, but this tale isn't about Red or Brownie. It's about Lama; the goat my son, Sam made a pet of when he still lived at home and helped with chores.

Lama's name was coined from her mother's breeding. She is a cross-bred with the snow-white coat of her Swiss Saanen ancestors and the tiny ears of the American bred La Mancha breed. Hence -- La-Ma which soon became condensed to one word.

Lama is average in every way including her milk production. This year, she is producing just five pounds of milk a day, which means she needs to go down the road, out the door, farewell . . . you get the drift. We aim to keep only does giving eight pounds plus, so when we decided to thin the herd out recently, Lama was marked to be sold.

Knowing Sam had endeared himself to Lama, I called and asked him if he minded. "No, of course not," he said. "If she's not making the grade, you should sell her."

A few days later, Lama ambled through in her usual, not-in-a-particular-hurry way and jumped on the deck to be milked. I thought of the days past, when she would search out my son, and walk to him to be petted, and have her head scratched. She'd always wait on the way out too, because he'd sneak her an extra handful of grain as she left. Even though he's been gone a while now, to this day, when leaving the parlor, she still turns her head and looks, as though she hopes he might walk through the door at any minute.

A lump formed in my throat, and I blurted out to my husband, "I can't sell Lama."

Being the understanding soul he is, he didn't even question me. "Take her out and put her back in the good pen," he said.

For you see, Lama loves Sam. Even though she doesn't get to see him much anymore, she recognized the special qualities of my soldier son, who will deploy this August to fulfill his responsibilities as a soldier-medic in Afghanistan.

In a few months, Lama and I will both be looking toward that door, hoping, waiting and longing for the day my brave, young son walks back through that door, safe home at last.

I'm glad I won't be waiting alone.

A May's Winter Day

2010-05-08T18:10:00.000-07:00

I gaze out over dark brown fields, nestled in borders of green grass. A deep grey sky hovers above, threatening to pour out its heavy burden upon unsuspecting blossoms and newly planted gardens. We've been scampering around all day in coats and sweatshirts, wondering if an unseen wrinkle in time has stolen our summer and slipped us back into November. The weather man tells us to expect snow overnight. He's kidding, right?

Newborn foals huddle against their dams, and goat kids likewise stay closer than usual to their mothers.
A neighbor stops in to tell us that back in the 1800's, the temperatures stayed low all summer long and folks starved to death on the east coast.** That sparks my interest, and as soon as I finish covering up the tomato plants and take the axe down to break up the ice in the water tubs so the animals can drink tonight, I'm going to go look that up. Okay, so maybe I won't need the axe, well, at least not until tomorrow morning.

Please come back, spring. We miss your warm sunshine and blue skies. Stay tuned for more Rainbow Gate Farm updates very soon!

** The summer in question was 1816 -- the year without a summer in New England. It followed the Tambora volcanic eruption in 1815 and caused winter-like summers in the United States and Europe. Killing frosts were recorded on June 10th, July 9th, and August 13th.

Empty Trailers And Dreams

2009-11-30T18:58:00.000-08:00

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!

Sophie The Ferret Flies The Coop

2009-11-09T20:17:00.000-08:00

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!

Fluffy And His Five Mothers

2009-11-04T15:18:00.000-08:00

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.

A Never-Ending Cycle

2009-11-02T09:37:00.000-08:00

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.

Chicks Ahoy!

2009-10-29T11:54:00.000-07:00

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 Adventures Of Sophie The Ferret

2009-10-28T09:44:00.000-07:00

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?

Fall Preparation on the Farm.

2009-10-27T13:55:00.000-07:00

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.

Chicken Barns And Baby Mice

2009-10-26T08:10:00.001-07:00

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?

Snow Flurries and Pregnant Goats

2009-10-14T09:09:00.000-07:00

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!

It's Raining Baby Goats!

2009-01-22T11:27:00.000-08:00

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

Warm Enough To Snow!

2009-01-18T16:15:00.000-08:00

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

Baby Goats At Last!

2009-01-16T19:29:00.000-08:00

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!

Peggy's Story

2009-01-13T04:51:00.000-08:00

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.

Let The Birthing Begin!

2009-01-10T20:19:00.000-08:00

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!

Freak Out At Rainbow Gate Farm

2008-10-31T21:08:00.000-07:00

The sound of barking dogs jarred against the rhythmic sound of automatic milkers and Chris Tomlin singing Jesus Messiah, just after five thirty this morning as I worked alone in our milking parlor. Peering out the open window, I squinted, trying to see past the dim light exuding from the barn into the tar pit of darkness beyond.

I'd already milked over one hundred goats so the area where they wait was half empty. To my surprise, the does were running, flowing in a mass of brown, white and black around the pen."What on earth is the matter with you?" I asked the frantic goats.

It's still dark each morning at five, when Sparky, our Australian Shepherd trots behind me to the barn to help me herd the does into the holding area where they stand beneath the twinkling stars, chewing their cud and waiting their turn to come in and be milked. I sing along to the radio without reservation and I've never had a goat complain. By the time my husband and boys appear to feed hay and water, the sun is budding over the horizon, and I'm hanging the milker units in the milk house to be washed and sanitized.

Except today, in that pre-dawn emptiness, when fear crept in to keep me company. I hollered at the dogs to hush up, and turned away from the window to change a milking unit to a different goat. At that moment, I heard a sound I will never forget. What the heck was that?In the few seconds it took my grey-matter to complete a google search, my circulatory system iced down. Or, if you prefer the old cliché, my blood ran cold. I remembered where I'd heard that sound before and I knew what it was.

A cougar's scream.I slammed the window down and shut the parlor door. That scream echoed in my ears; a screeching harmony of a cat being strangled mixed with a baby-like wail trailing off at the end. Staring through the glass, I could see the goats, now statues all facing the same direction and staring into the dark pasture beyond the barn. The dogs were no longer barking. I prayed they were still alive. Different scenarios played out in my imagination, each one of them equal to the scariest movie you can imagine. Unless the thought of being torn apart by an over sized cat doesn't bother you at all. It bothers me.

If my muse, Lydia, hadn't interrupted, I might still be standing there. She wasn't fazed, of course. There's something to be said for being a figment of a writer's imagination to make you immune to fear and taxes.

Leaning against the wall, Lydia sighed. "Just milk the goats, will you? I want to get some more work done this morning, and we do have to get to the gym."

"But I have to open the door to let more goats in. What if it attacks?"

"Jani, no self-respecting cougar is going to pass over a hundred delicious goats just to eat you. Trust me. You will see him in time to shut the door."

With visions of a yellow furred and whiskered face appearing in the window at any moment, I followed Lydia's advice. After the first group, I cracked the window just a tad, but not big enough for a cougar to crawl through. When the sun cast its first rays through the clouds, I opened the door, which is positively big enough for a cougar to stroll right through, but by this time, Lydia's confidence was rubbing off.

By seven, all the goats were milked and chores were finished. I'm thrilled to report, the goats, the dogs and I survived unscathed.

Heading inside, I jumped on the computer and typed "Cougars in Iowa" in the search box. Sure enough, after being re-introduced into our state, these majestic predators have been working their way east from the initial repopulating area in the northwest of the state.

Several reliable sightings were recorded one county over from ours, two years ago. Dusk and dawn sightings were most prevalent.

So, about tomorrow morning. Any volunteers?

If you like reading these stories about my farm. . .

2008-10-31T19:51:00.000-07:00

. . . please also visit my story page on my Rainbow Gate Farm website, where you will find links to a lot more of my writing.

http://rainbowgatefarm.com/JanilousCorner.html

Autumn's Wicked Lullaby

2008-10-31T19:30:00.000-07:00

Each morning now, my old friend, Jack Frost, nips my cheeks as I step outside just before the sunrise butters the horizon. Hugging my sweatshirt, I hurry to the barn, where the goats greet me with a chorus of bleats and snorts. After filling seven buckets half-way with grain, enough for each group of twenty-one goats, I stop to feed the kittens meowing in the entryway of the parlor.

Next stop, the milk-house, to run hot water into the steel sink where the milking units lie waiting. After pouring in a dose of sanitizer, I flip the switch for the milker pump, and let it run through the pipelines and back into the sink. It needs ten minutes to kill any bacteria in the line, so I leave it running and walk outside to the holding area.

From here, the view is superb. The rolling hills are weeping leaves in the brisk wind, leaving rivers of autumn tones across the pasture. Several of our horses graze the remnants of green grass, so abundant just a few short weeks ago. If you have to shovel manure, you might as well do it with a view, and grabbing the manure scraper, I soon have the cement yard clean of mud and goat droppings.

Once that job is complete, it's time to shut the pump off and drain the sanitizing solution out of the line. I carry each milking unit out to the parlor, and plug it into the pipeline. First the tubing where the milk will flow, and then the air-hose for vacuum.

Sparky, my Australian Shepherd, waits at my feet, eyes sparkling, tongue lolling in an ever-present grin. He loves his job. "Come on, boy," I say. We enter the barn, and slide the door to the holding area open. As I open the gate, Sparky starts barking and the goats run through the door. Sparky dashes to the back of the pen, rounding up any stragglers.

When the last goat is through the door, he sits and waits, daring them to try and come back in the barn. They know better these days, and I slide the door shut without incident. Sparky looks across the barn at the goats who remain on the other side in the "Dry Pen" and whines.

"It's okay, boy," I say. "They aren't milking right now." Of our 250 adult does, half are no longer milking and are what we call "dry". They are pregnant and will be giving birth by late December. As their pregnancy progresses, their body signals a "slow down" on the milk production and they give less and less each day. When this happens, we mark these does with green ink, and milk them once a day for about a week. This gives their bodies another signal to cease making milk. Then we put them in the dry pen so they can focus on growing the new life inside of them and prepare for the next milking season.

Putting the radio on to my favorite station, Life 101.9, I let a group of goats into the parlor, and switch on the pump. It only takes an hour and all the does are milked. I carry all the milking units back into the milk-house and place them in the sink.

After washing off any mud, they are hooked back up to be washed with hot water and a special pipeline detergent. Finally a solution of milk-stone-remover and acid rinse is run through the lines and they are drained until tonight.I hose down the parlor deck where the goats stood, and head upstairs to the top of the barn where we store the sweet-smelling alfalfa hay.

After forking down two huge piles through feeding holes in the floor, I run back downstairs and spread it up and down the mangers in the dairy barn. Soon, every goat is lined up eating hay.

Then it's off to the smaller barns where over one-hundred-and-forty yearling female goats called doelings are waiting for their breakfast of hay and grain. These young does will give birth in early 2009 and join the milking herd, bumping our total number of milking does to almost four hundred next year. Most of our does will give birth to twins, with the occasional set of triplets and some singles.

Math never has been my strongest subject, but I believe this means we are expecting somewhere in the vicinity of seven or eight hundred baby goats this year, all to be born between late December, 2008 and April, 2009. Our weather man warned us this morning to expect snow flurries this Monday.

Last year, snow fell by Thanksgiving and never left until April. We keep our baby goats (kids) in two old trailer houses. They have to be cleaned out and bedded-up with fresh sawdust, which will give our three teenagers something really exciting to do this weekend.

Even though we have electric heaters and automatic feeders in the kid trailers, the biggest challenge is collecting the babies before they freeze at birth. Here in the Midwest, United States of America, our temperatures can stay below zero for weeks on end through the winter months. Add mountains of ice and regular snow storms, and I wonder once again why I ever chose to live in Iowa.

It's time to start boarding up windows and hauling the old tarp out of storage to cover up the open end of the barn. Winterizing is essential if we want livestock, not deadstock. While most does are excellent mothers and try to lick their babies dry, some plop their offspring onto the straw and walk away without so much as a backward glance.

On the coldest days, I have about five minutes to reach the soaking-wet newborns and run them back to the milk-house to be dried off and fed their mother's colostrum. If I don't get to them fast enough, their ears freeze and fall off about a week later.

It's simple enough until twenty does all decide to give birth to twins and triplets in the space of one hour. Having licked their babies dry, they walk across to someone else's kids and claim them, too. I will bring one round of babies in and go out to find fifteen more waiting for me.

The boy babies (bucklings) out of the top milk producing does and each female baby goat (doelings) are given a Velcro collar with their date of birth, future identification number and parents' names written on it with a permanent marker. The Velcro collar can be adjusted as they grow.

Once they reach eight weeks, they receive an ear tattoo with the same number.While I'm enjoying the beautiful scenery and the slow-down pace around the farm, Autumn's gentle lullaby is deceptive. Her days are mild and the scenery is superb, but we all know her husband is a foul-tempered beast and I hear his voice howling in the distance.

Let him come. We'll be ready.

A Glimpse Of Heaven

2008-09-05T19:49:00.000-07:00

I leaned against the door of the barn and looked out across the green cornfields at a clear blue sky dotted with cotton-wool clouds. It may have been the hazy day or my tired eyes, but all I

could see were tiny, shimmering circles of light cascading down from the heavens.

I watched in amazement, hoping whatever visual oddity this was, it wouldn't vanish too soon.Then I noticed while most of the light circles were coming down, some floated up into the sky. It's like watching prayers, I thought.

What if those shimmering circles are the answers to prayers being sent to God? Our prayers float up to God, and His love cascades down upon us even when we can't see it. We live in a world full of invisible, technological wonders. I accept the presence of satellite signals shooting down from the sky to a metal dish on the side of my house and don't give a moment's thought to the process while I watch my favorite television shows. I talk to my family, thousands of miles away over the ocean, on a cell-phone, and I don't need to see those conversations flowing through the sky to know they are real.

Of all generations, why does ours still need to see to believe? I'm quite thankful for my earthly sight, when it comes to dust mites, bacteria and viruses. If we could literally see everything in the air as we walked around, we might all live in glass bubbles! I think there is a good reason why God gave us limited vision.

Here on earth we see through a glass, darkly, the Bible tells us. We cannot imagine the true wonders of heaven or see the world the way God does. Sometimes we are given a glimpse of the glory of God when someone taking their last breath, opens their eyes wide and says, "Oh, it's so beautiful." I heard one of those stories last night on the radio, and it gave me goosebumps. I could almost see those angels carrying her home in their gentle embrace.

When I think of those beautiful circles of light, I am reminded of God's love for us and His presence. He is with us every moment of every day. He loves us that much. He loves you that much and He does hear your prayer, the cry from your broken heart. Be still and know. . . Emmanuel - God is with us.

Author Notes1 Corinthians 13:12 - For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

Please forgive the formatting problems on this post. For some reason it is not posting properly!

Goats For Hire

2008-09-05T19:44:00.000-07:00

The other day on the radio, the commentator explained the difference between poor and broke. "Poor is a state of mind that will keep you there forever," he said. "Broke is a temporary situation, able to be changed if you try hard enough. It's all in your mind-set."

Okay, I'm broke. Rising fuel and livestock costs have brought us to the brink of disaster in the goat milk production business. Our does eat one large square bale of hay a day. The same bale we bought last year for $45 now costs $70 to $100. They eat four pounds of grain a day. I won't bore you with the details. Grain has tripled in price. Those of you familiar with the Rainbow Gate Farm goats know how much they care about me. The rest of you are about to find out.

Yesterday, I went to the barn. The girls were gone! Imagine my shock when I found this note nestled in the hay: Dear Jani,We know times are hard. They must be. You have cut back the amount of grain you feed us! Normally we would simply kidnap you again, or stop milking altogether. But we heard you talking to your two-legged mate about having to sell the farm. We know really bad things happen to goats who leave their farm, and besides - we've grown fond of you.

Please look outside and you will discover our new second job! That's right! We are now officially the "Roofing & Construction Does of Rainbow Gate Farm!" No job too steep. No need to take out expensive insurance. We never fall! We never fail! Love from Cinderella, Egg-Yolk, Red, and 247 other does who wish to remain anonymous.

So all my problems are solved. I plan to put up fliers everywhere, then sit back and wait for the calls to come rolling in. Of course, with their sharp hooves and tendency to nibble anything they can fit in their mouths, I might be better off renting them out as demolition workers.

Just look at those girls on top of the barn roof! It's such a relief. For a while there, I thought I might have to get a real job!

Bye, Bye, Barbie

2008-09-04T11:49:00.000-07:00

We watched the buckskin foal, Blondie, frolicking in the summer breeze across the pasture, far from the safety of her mother's side. "I've never seen such a young foal stray so far from its mother," I commented to my husband.

Paul nodded. "It's the weirdest thing," he agreed.

We stood watching Blondie a little longer before heading to the barn to milk our goats. This petite filly was Barbie's third baby in the five years we'd owned her. Her first two foals, both boys, were sold when they were weaned.

We bought Barbie at a local horse sale in 2003 for our daughter to ride. Her previous owner sang her praises, but anyone familiar with horse sales knows it is "buyer beware". In this case, the seller was truthful. It wasn't long before we discovered what a dream pony Barbie really was. My daughter learned to ride on this patient equine babysitter.

Every year in the fall, children visiting the local tractor and antiques show would line up for a free ride on the "chocolate pony with the pink saddle." Barbie let children sit on her back for hours on end, and she never misbehaved. She also attended multiple birthday parties, giving town children an opportunity to ride a pony, often for the first time ever.

At a recent sale, I caught up with her original owner, and was able to tell her how much we adored the sweet pony she'd sold us. We breed and sell horses for a living and many times, people asked us to 'name our price' for Barbie.

Ponies like her are hard to find. I would smile and say, "You can't afford her. She's priceless." We displayed her photo on our Rainbow Gate Farm website, with the caption, "Barbie will never be for sale."

On Rainbow Gate Farm, foals are not handled much until after they are weaned from their mothers. We like to let them learn "horse manners" from their mother and the other horses in the herd. Mares ' breed back' (become pregnant again) sometime in the first few months after their foal is born. At six to eight months of age, we "wean" them gradually.

This transition time is usually a tough time for the foal. We bring their dams back to the foal each night for a week, and then every second day for a little longer. Then it's time for the dam to concentrate her energy on the growing foal inside her belly, and for her weaned foal to learn about people.During those first six months with their dams, it is unusual for the foal to stray far from her side. Mama is their security from predators, and their only source of affection and nutrition.

Blondie's behavior was odd for her age. The only time Blondie stayed by her mother's side was to nurse. Once satisfied, she would take off exploring once more. None of us could have imagined at the time, this unusual trait would save her life.

For the past several months, severe thunderstorms have been rolling in across the green corn fields of our county. These storms are often brief, but very intense with continuous lightning and hail. No sooner does one storm end, than another is building up on the horizon. Three months ago, we moved Barbie and her two-month-old baby girl, Blondie, to our neighbor's pasture with several other horses we own. There are several barns where the horses can seek shelter from severe weather. Barbie didn't like being outside in storms, and was usually the first one in the barn when the raindrops began to fall.

One afternoon, our neighbor called us to say a horse was dead in the pasture. We rushed up the road to discover our dear Barbie collapsed in knee-deep grass, with Blondie circling around her. Blondie touched her nose to her mother's side over and over again, unable to understand why her mother didn't get up. A quick examination revealed a large burn mark on Barbie's right cheek. Her eyes were dislocated. Lightning had struck the ground next to where she grazed, and the wet grass became the conductor for the electricity to enter her body. The way her legs were buckled underneath her told us she'd died instantly.

Blondie wouldn't let us near her. With five people helping, we were able to run her up into the barn and lasso her. Once she was caught we put a halter on her head and trailered her back to our home farm. We put her into a large stall, with hay, grain and fresh water, and she nibbled the food, giving us hope she will make the transition to solid food successfully. Two months is far too young for a foal to lose its mother's milk, but they can survive if given enough high quality substitutes. We may offer her goat's milk to help boost her calcium levels and protect those growing bones.

Within a half hour of being home, the distraught foal decided Amber and I might make pretty decent surrogate mothers after all. She started following us around and nuzzling us. We brought her out into the sunshine and let her nibble grass on the lawn. She looked around and whinnied for her mother, but of course, there was no answer.

Every time I look at Blondie, I think back to the day we stood and wondered why she didn't stay next to her mother, like normal foals. How thankful I am for her "oddness." A normal foal standing right next to her mother in the wet grass would have been killed by the lightning bolt that took her dam's life. Even in a storm, Blondie was far enough away to be saved.

Our eight-year-old daughter is naturally very upset about her pony's death. But our Barbie lives on through her sweet daughter, Blondie, who will one day take her place at the fair, giving pony rides to children who love horses as much as we do.

Oh, and by the way, don't ask, because Blondie will never be for sale.

Frazzled!

2008-09-04T11:38:00.001-07:00

Having spent twenty minutes showing our guests around the farm, we paused by the goats' pasture, where all two-hundred-and-forty of our milking does grazed in the warm sunshine.

"So," the woman standing beside me said. "You don't have a job, then. You just stay here on the farm."Excuse me? my brain interjected, while my lips threatened to break out in hysterical laughter.

"No, I don't," I stammered. "I milk the goats."I milk the goats? What kind of a lame answer is that? my brain roared.

Shrugging her shoulders, our visitor climbed into her car. "Must be nice," she added.

Watching them drive away, I glanced at my grinning husband."She didn't mean it that way," he said, standing at a safe distance."Yes she did!" Yes she did! my brain and I shouted.

You had to hear the words spoken. The tone of voice, the inferring smirk. Perhaps she is right. All I do each day is crawl out of bed at six in the morning and head to the barn to set up for morning milking. I'm in the door again by, oh, about eleven to grab some breakfast, now that kidding season is over.

During kidding season, I ate my meals in the barn, where I belonged. A mere five hours of being outside enjoying life on the farm, while I milk all two-hundred-and-forty milking goats, and then feed, water and care for the one-hundred-and-fifty baby goats, twenty horses and one-hundred chickens, ducks and turkeys, give or take a rooster or two, that also live on our farm.

My husband is a self-employed electrician and contractor. I'm his secretary, book-keeper and general go-fer. In other words I 'go-fer' this and I 'go-fer' that. The sales people at Menards, Lowes and FarmTek know me by name. This task usually involves driving long distances and subsequently delivering electrical or plumbing parts to whatever job site he is working at on a given day.

But not every day. So that isn't work. Work is something you do every day. I should be ashamed of myself, really, not having a job. Five people live in this house and only three of those are children or teenagers. This week, one of those children is in swimming lessons, and one is in driver's education, both of which mean a trip to town. That is the least I can do, seeing as I don't have a job.

By mid afternoon, after squeezing in a few hours as a housewife doing laundry and dishes, I find myself back outside enjoying that country air. Waterers need filling, animals need checking, and the possibility always exists that the sneaky fence-defying pony is out in the corn field again. Gosh, look at the clock! It's almost six in the evening and time to start the evening chores.

Chores? Did I say chores? Excuse me, I meant the evening leisure time, where I get to go out and spend three to four hours milking the goats again, feeding and watering everyone and gazing at the moon as I trudge back to the house around nine or ten.I almost forgot. I'm looking after our neighbor's ninety-year-old grandma this week and have to dash down there and help her get ready for bed. It's only a five-minute drive each way. She is a wonderful lady. I hope I'm as agile as she is, if I live to be ninety. Visiting with her is the highlight of my day -- no kidding!

When I get back, I will don rubber boots once more, so I can go outside and play farmer some more.It's ridiculous. This nine to ten hours a day of lazing around the farm has to stop! I'm going to start searching the classifieds for gainful employment.

Tomorrow.

In all my spare time, yawn. . . . Zzzz.

Stupid World

2008-09-04T11:34:00.000-07:00

Two old goats glared at each other across twelve inches of feeding space. I sat in my milking parlor the other night watching as each one in turn tried to eat a mouthful of grain from the manger. The other doe would bite her ear.

Back and forth they went, neither of them accomplishing anything more than stopping the other one from eating. A young doe, half their size, stood between the two fighters. While the old ones nipped and fought, that young doe proceeded to polish off every last piece of grain in front of them.

First she leaned one way, then the other, stretching her neck to reach, until it was all gone. The other two were so busy fighting, they didn't even notice she was devouring their prize. I couldn't help but think of our world and the mess we are in.

Our governments and countries are too busy fighting and squabbling with each other to realize the very prize they fight for, our world, is vanishing before their eyes. Heaven help us.

We are a bunch of stubborn old goats.

Summer Time!

2008-07-03T14:41:00.000-07:00

The rivers aren't the only thing flooding here in North East Iowa as summer takes a firm hold on our lives. Reports of exploding mosquito populations are in the paper, as those needle-nosed pests find a million extra breeding grounds in our soaked earth.

I have never been more thankful for our resident Muscovy duck population. Muscovies love mosquito larvae and we rarely hear that dreaded whine thanks to their tastes!

Rainbow Gate Farm is well above the river and although we flooded with rainwater twice this spring, if the river ever reaches us, we'd better have an ark waiting!

Kidding season is over and one-hundred-and-fifty growing baby girl goats will join our milking herd next winter, boosting our numbers to 395 milkers.

Little Red Roses - A Rainbow Gate Farm Story

2008-04-09T21:38:00.000-07:00

Little Red Roses the goat, entered the world on the coldest day of the winter last year, her fate already sealed by her mother's decision to deliver her against a stone wall next to a small hole, through which a bitter cold wind howled its thirty-degree-below-zero fury.

By the time I discovered her some ten minutes after her birth, her ears were frozen all the way to the base of her head. Snatching her up and wrapping her shivering, seven-pound body in a towel, I hurried to the milk-house where I immersed her in a sink of warm water, trying to thaw her ears and warm her. As I lowered her into the sink, I heard an odd clunking sound. I felt along her hind leg and discovered it was frozen solid.

"Oh, no, baby, this isn't good," I told her.

After fifteen minutes of attempting to thaw the frozen limb, I gave up. Once we had her dry and warm, we put her in the heated trailer with the other newborn goat kids. She could walk but dragged the useless limb behind her. I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.Red Roses grew right along with the other young goats, but her left hind leg did not. It shriveled up until it looked like a gnarled old piece of deadwood attached to the otherwise healthy young doe. It was hard to watch her trying to run and play with the others, and I wished a thousand times over I had found her earlier on that morning she was born.

"What are you going to do with her?" my husband asked, ever the practical farmer. "She won't be able to stand in a milking line, even if she does actually manage to breed."

I just grinned and said; "Guess she'll be a pet then."

He shook his head. "I figured that." He smiled as he walked away.

To our surprise, Red Roses did breed, and gave birth to a fine daughter in early February this year. My poor son, Sam, who was home alone when she delivered, saw the baby standing next to Red Roses and thought a coyote had attacked her and chewed off her leg, because of the bloody nature of birth, but that's another story.

Being different from the others didn't seem to bother Red Roses. She received a lot of attention from us as a baby, and became very tame. Oh, excuse me for a moment. Someone is tapping on my shoulder. It's Red Roses! She thinks she could tell her story better than I can. I'm really short of time, so I will let her take over from here.

Hello, my illustrious two-legged readers! This is "Gimpy" here. I know Mom refers to me as "Red Roses", but everyone in the barn calls me Gimpy, and if the shoe fits. . . . Wait, I don't wear shoes, but you get my drift! So anyway, I am Janilou's favorite herd goat. Every time she comes into the barn to drive the other girls to the holding area, I follow her as she walks to the far end of the pen and shoos the slowpokes along. I love to run around her in circles, showing how pleased I am that she worked so hard to save me when I was just a kid.

Then I follow her to the entrance of the holding pen and wait while Janilou closes the sliding door on the rest of the poor suckers, ahem, excuse me, I mean the rest of the does who have to wait their turn to enter the parlor and be milked.

Janilou and I walk right into the parlor together. I run down to the far end where there is a feed manger set up at ground level for special goats like me. She lets another 19 does into the parlor and we all get milked with the special machines Janilou calls "milkers". Ten minutes later we all leave through the exit door and head back to our barn to play and eat hay.

I should explain that Janilou is not my real mother. My real mother has four legs and a fur coat. Janilou has two legs and I have three, so I am stuck somewhere between being a real goat and a real person, but I don't mind a bit. The other day, I overheard Janilou telling the tall one she calls "Paul" that she has over 160 kids in the trailers right now. Personally, I think she is nuts. Who in their right mind wants to take care of 160 babies? Give me three or four any day!

She adopts all of our babies each year, so the older does tell me. We don't mind because it frees us up to spend our time doing important things, like eating hay and grain, playing "Queen of the Manure Pile" and sleeping. Oh, and milking of course! My fellow does and I are giving almost 5000 pounds of milk every four days right now. I like to stand on top of the manure pile and call out a greeting to the milk hauler man who drives his truck down the lane every Wednesday and Sunday to collect the milk. He isn't very friendly, though, because he never bleats back or lifts his hoof in greeting.

Which brings me to my final point. Janilou talks about me being disabled, but the poor thing is in denial herself. You should see Janilou's hooves. Instead of being cloven and nicely shaped, there are five odd-looking things protruding out where the hoof should be. Such a shame.She calls them fingers. I know that because one day she started leaping around doing a funny dance while we were milking and the tall one asked her what was wrong. She held up her hoof and said, "I jammed my finger." As if that's not bad enough, you should hear her try to talk goat. It's all we can do to keep a straight face when she tries to speak our language. Some of the younger goats crack up, but the older does say "hush" and remind them where their grain comes from.

I think I hear Janilou coming back up the stairs, so I'm signing off now. Besides, I need to talk to her about that wolf she has working here. She calls it a "sheep-dog", but we all know it's a wolf in sheep-dog clothing. Besides which, we are goats, not sheep! Poor Jani. She really gets confused at times, but we still love her.

That is what I like the most about living here on Rainbow Gate Farm. We accept everyone for who they are, regardless of what deformities they might have, or how odd they might look or talk. Everyone, that is, except for that no-good, low down, goat-chasing wolf.

E-Coli And Other Bacteria I Hate

2008-02-09T06:00:00.000-08:00

Our kidding season started two and a half weeks ago. For the first time in five years, we have been having problems with an e-coli bacterial infection that strikes our newborn baby goats. It rears it's ugly amoebic head by the time the kids are just hours old, and can kill within twelve hours.

Ah, the joys of farming.

Hail to the marvels of modern medicine. With early intervention, we have been able to save seventy five of the eighty little doe kids who have arrived so far.

The veterinary university lab is running tests to find out the exact strain and the best treatment plan.

Back to the barn I go.

A Tough Winter Day

2007-12-26T11:16:00.000-08:00

As another winter storm looms on the darkening gray horizon, a gloomy day on Rainbow Gate Farm is almost over.

One of our aged dairy goat does delivered twins this morning, three weeks too early. The twins, both girls, were born dead. They both looked like the goat in the picture. Their sire was a La Mancha - the breed with the tiny gopher ears.

"Grandma", the doe who'd given birth, was lying in a corner of the barn, thrashing and moaning. She is an older goat, about eight years in age. Although the twins were born early, my first suspicion was "Milk Fever."

"Milk Fever" occurs when the pregnant or "fresh" (having just given birth) animal cannot compensate for the large amounts of calcium being demanded by the body to produce the milk. As the blood levels of calcium drop, the animal becomes lethargic and then begins to convulse. If the condition is not treated, death will follow within hours.

Hurrying to the milk house where we keep our animal health drugs, I ran back to her with a bottle of Calcium Carbonate, a needle and syringe.I injected twelve cc's (milliliters) of the calcium underneath her skin and then continued until I reached the maximum dose of fifty cc's.

Within a few minutes, she scrambled to her feet. We offered her warm water and grain. She ate and drank, but she will need further care, to be sure she does not relapse.

It always amazes me to see a goat recover from milk fever. They can be literally dying, and within minutes of receiving the calcium into their body, they are standing up, eating and drinking. It reminds me of how delicate the balance between good health and illness can be.

We will begin milking Grandma in the hope of encouraging her to "come into milk", but she will probably have a shortened lactation time due to her age.We are expecting the other does to begin 'kidding' (delivering their babies) in two to three weeks time.

Our old vet used to say, "If you're gonna have livestock, you're gonna have dead stock." It's a sad fact of farming.Within a few months, our entire farm will be teeming with new life, warm sunshine, and green grass. We will have baby goats, ducklings, chicks, turkey poults, kittens, and foals.

I'll try to keep that in mind as I head back outside through the snow drifts tonight and pray the next time I see baby goats in my barn, they will be standing on wobbly legs next to their mama, trying out their new lungs.

Jingle Bell Goats - An Ice Storm Hits Our Farm

2007-12-02T07:10:00.000-08:00

The ice storm sweeping across the entire mid-west United States yesterday, hit Rainbow Gate Farm with a vengeance we rarely see this early in the season. We awoke to the sound of ice hitting the windows like millions of tiny firecrackers exploding on the fourth of July!

Staying warm and dry wasn't exactly an option with three hundred goats, twenty-five horses and over one hundred chickens, ducks and turkeys waiting to be fed and watered, so we bundled up and faced the storm.

Our five-month-old Australian Shepherd pup, Sparky, thought it was Christmas. With his thick coat, he romped across the yard, oblivious to the sting of the driving ice, grabbing mouthfuls of frosty snow from the ground. His bright spirits made it hard not to laugh, although I took care to face away from the direction of the wind.

No more outside frolicking for the goats this year. The wind whipping through their open door sounded like a freight train, bringing nothing but arctic air as it roared through the barn. A few heavy pieces of plywood and some long screws soon took care of that. Sparky made sure all the "girls" stayed on the right side of the door while we closed up the hole. Our horses were standing inside the open end of their building, snow blankets covering their backs. They greeted us with friendly nickers and neighs, knowing our presence meant their breakfast of hay would arrive any moment. The pregnant and waddling goats on the opposite side of the barn likewise sent a chorus of bleats our way.

Some of them hurried to the gate where they would usually go to the holding area to be milked. "Sorry, girls," I told them. With only two months to go until their babies are born, we have "dried-off" the entire herd. Most of the does dried off naturally, but a few of them were still milking about six pounds a day.

In a few days we will bring all the goats through the parlor one last time and milk out the does whose bags are tight with milk. This will prevent them from developing mastitis, an painful infection in their udders, which can ruin them for milking forever.

After feeding the dairy barn, we treked across the yard to the "upper" and "lower" barns, where our younger horses, mares and foals, poultry and young goats are housed. The four girls in the photograph greeted me as I walked into their barn. With almost one hundred of them in the building, they stay warm and dry. It is hard to believe these doelings are only nine months old. They were born this spring weighing an average of six to seven pounds. Now they are pregnant with their own babies and will give birth in February and March. You might notice two of the doelings in the picture have almost no ears. No, they didn't freeze off, although it does happen. They are both "La Mancha" doelings, an American breed of dairy goat with a gene that produces tiny little ears. Some people don't like the way they look, but I think they're cute. It's actually an advantage in our climate. No ears to freeze!

The chickens, ducks and turkeys are all running together in one big room for the winter, upstairs above the doelings. The other day I spread a layer of fresh sawdust in their area and it's the first thing I smell when I open the door. One glance at their water tubs tells me it's warm enough for them because the water is not frozen, despite the outside temperature. I fill their water tubs and feeders, collect a couple of blue-green eggs laid by our Araucana hens, and head back down the steps.

In the lower barn a mare nickers from the first stall and is answered by the colt standing in the back stall. Snapping a lead rope onto her halter I take her down the alleyway and reunite her with her baby, the colt who just called out to her. He is being weaned, but we do it over a period of a week or more. We separate them into adjacent stalls, then put them together again at night. After a few more days, we move the mare further down the barn and wait twenty-four hours before putting them back together. This prevents either the mare or foal from becoming too distressed with the weaning process. The foal is nine months old and needs to be halter broken and educated. In the wild, his mother would drive him away in the spring when her new colt was born, but it isn't practical in captivity. Once the separation is complete, we will put the colt in with another colt who is already weaned. Within a few days they will become the best of buddies, and Mom will be forgotten.

Pulling my ski-mask over my face to prevent being assaulted by stinging ice, I head back toward the house. Sparky has been waiting for me and he continues to cavort in the snow and ice as we walk. Then, he stops and looks across the field beyond our home. I follow his gaze to see a huge coyote hurrying along the crest of the hill. The coyote pauses and glances over his shoulder and then across at us. He dashes a few more yards and stops again. Deer hunting season opened up today, and no doubt he's been flushed from his normal territory by hunters searching for deer. That explains both his unusual daytime appearance and his nervous behavior.Grabbing the digital camera, I aim. The camera blinks "Card Full." Scrolling through the images, I delete a couple and raise my camera once more. I get my picture but he has traveled further away and it's not going to be much of a photo.

I make sure Sparky comes into the garage with me when we reach the house. As brave as he is barking at the coyote, he is still a pup. If he follows the coyote into the field and timber, he might not make it back home and I'm not taking any chances.I come back inside and check the computer for the latest weather report. The entire state of Iowa has disappeared under the blue for snow and purple for ice color code of the Doppler radar. We spend the rest of the afternoon under a blanket watching movies. Even though our house is a warm sixty-eight degrees, it takes a bit of thawing after spending time outside in the cold and evening chores will be here too soon.A late afternoon check of the incubator in the back room reveals some suspicious peeping sounds and one egg that's rocking back and forth across the wire floor. Twenty-seven Pekin ducklings are due to hatch tomorrow and it sounds like they're right on target. I turn the light off and plug the candling light in. Shining the light into the eggs, the duckling's beaks can be seen in the top air-sac section of the egg. Breaking through this membranes to start breathing the air within the egg is the first step toward a successful hatch.Stay tuned! The 'Fluffy Yellow Christmas Ducklings' story is coming soon!

Farewell, Foals

2007-11-25T13:46:00.000-08:00

We received a phone call earlier this past week asking about one of our foals for sale. The lady said she would be coming to see the filly (female horse baby) pictured here on Saturday.

Here on Rainbow Gate Farm, we do not handle our foals for the first four to six months of their lives. While many people believe in early handling and even imprinting the foals, we think this can interfere with the very important 'horse' lessons a foal must learn about being a part of a horse herd. Most of our mares are very friendly and come up to see us when we walk into their pasture, so the foals, while wary, learn very early that people are not so bad.

During those first few months of life, a mother horse teaches the baby about the horse world's "social ladder" and how to behave around other horses. When a young foal sees an adult horse it doesn't know it will stretch out its neck and open and close its mouth rapidly. This is horse language for "Don't hurt me - I'm just a baby who poses no threat to you." I have seen young horses do this up to the age of two years when they encounter a strange, older horse they do not know.

There is a distinct pecking order among horses in a herd. Even though our stallion (male horse capable of breeding) runs with the mares, he is not the boss. A mare is always at the top of the pecking order. The head mare always decides who eats first when hay or grain is given out and she leads the herd through the day when they graze out in the pasture. The stallion may be allowed to eat beside her if she likes him, but quite often his position will be at number three or four.

Foals are often an exception in a group of horses who know each other well. Younger mares without foals will even "babysit" the youngsters, allowing them to eat with them, while the mother is eating elsewhere or if she is taken out to be ridden on a trail ride. The foals will spend less and less time by their mother's sides as they grow, returning only to nurse and if they become frightened.

Once the foals reach the age of four to six months they can be weaned from their dams. If a mare is maintaining her condition very well, we might leave the foal with her until it is seven months old.

With a pending sale, however, the weaning and handling process must begin. We promise our foals will be halter-broken and know how to lead by the time they leave the farm at purchase.

On Wednesday night, we weaned "Lucky," the filly in the photo, and left her until Friday morning, to get used to the idea of being without her mother. She soon realized her source of food was coming from us, and would nicker when we entered the barn, but touching her was out of the question. She didn't trust us. You could almost see her wondering, Are they going to eat me now? I'm ready to run away!

On Friday morning, I entered her stall with a lasso, being careful to leave the door unlatched behind me as an emergency exit if I needed one. The filly moved as far away from me as she could. Tossing the rope over her back, I let it slip to the floor several times. At first she flinched but soon realized the rope was not hurting her, and she ignored it as it flew past her head.

I threw the rope so the lasso end fell over her head and pulled it just tight enough so she knew I was now in contact with her. She ran around a couple of times and then stopped. I walked up to her and she moved away. Talking to her in a gentle tone, I continued walking up and reaching out my hand until she finally stood long enough for me to make contact with her head. As soon as my hand touched her, I stepped back five paces. End of lesson. I stood looking at the ground for a moment before glancing at her once more.

She watched me intently, and you could almost hear her thinking, Hmm, I wish she would go away. I run around and she follows me. I let her touch me and she leaves me alone. Letting her touch me is a good thing to do because then she leaves me alone.

We repeated this scenario several times. Touch her, walk away. By the third time, she hung her head and licked her lips. This is a key sign to a horse trainer that the horse just calmed down and relaxed. The next time I walked up to her, I stroked her neck and under her chin, lingering for about ten or fifteen seconds before walking away again.

She stared at me, and I imagined her thinking, Well, she hasn't eaten me yet. That actually feels kind of good when she scratches underneath my chin. Maybe that's why Mama liked these people creatures.

Within fifteen minutes of entering her stall, I was able to place a halter on that filly. I then left her alone for a few hours to absorb her lessons.

When I lived in Australia I was blessed to know the great horseman, Tom "Robbie" Roberts, author of the "Horse Control" books. In 1982, Robbie was awarded the Medal of the Order of Australia, for his service to equestrian sport. A veteran of both World Wars, he took on difficult and dangerous horses and turned them into well-mannered, riding horses. He taught me a great deal about "gentling horses" and I still use his methods today. I remember him telling me over and over again, "A lesson is anything you teach a horse, good or bad." It is up to us to be sure every "lesson" a horse receives is a good one.

When I returned to the filly, she allowed me to walk up to her. I patted her and then snapped a lead-rope to her halter and taught her to give to the pressure and follow me wherever I went. I spent another fifteen minutes or so with her, and then put her away in her stall for the night, confident she would be ready to meet her new owner the next day.

On Saturday morning I received a phone call from the lady coming to see "Lucky," our filly. She mentioned having seen a buckskin foal on our website and indicated she was interested in purchasing that colt too.

Out the door we flew to catch the mare and foal in question. We weaned the foal, and I began to work with him right away. Using the same methods as for the filly, I had the second foal leading by the time the people arrived.

Tom "Robbie" Roberts always said if you teach a horse the right way, you give them a very good chance of having a good home for life. Although he was referring to a horse raised and then 'broke-in' or gentled for riding, I know the same holds true with foals started the right way too.

I always ask people to keep in touch and e-mail photos of the foals as they grow. Most people love to share but sometimes we never hear from them again.

As evening fell, I watched their trailer loaded with two foals, travel up our driveway, and drive away. I wondered if we would ever hear from them again and I think of Robbie's words, and smile, knowing I gave them a good head start on a happy life.

A White Thanksgiving on Rainbow Gate Farm

2007-11-22T06:48:00.000-08:00

This morning as I head out for chores, I'll don snow boots, hat, gloves and a thick coat! It's a crisp 17 degrees out there with the wind chill and only 27 degrees if you are lucky enough to be out of the wind. Here on Rainbow Gate Farm, we are celebrating Thanksgiving Day with a blanket of snow covering everything in sight. No dreaming neccessary!

The flurries began yesterday and quickly turned into a steady snowfall. My journey to see a movie last night, with my two children, turned into an ordeal worthy of a 'Survivor' episode. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration but the forty-five minute drive took two-and-a-half hours each way. The snow surprised us halfway there. In retrospect, I should have turned around, but the nice radio weatherman assured us only flurries would be falling. He forgot to mention there would be four inches of them.

I slowed to thirty-miles-per-hour and watched car after car speed around our vehicle and vanish into the white cloud of wind-driven snow surrounding us. Being a dutiful parent, I turned boredom into a "How-Not-To-Drive-In-A-Snowstorm" lesson for my seventeen-year-old son, Sam. If he doubted his mother's wisdom at first, it didn't take long before he became a believer. We started passing flashing lights, police cars, tow-trucks and at least ten cars, trucks and SUV's in the ditches along the road.

We enjoyed the movie, Enchanted, and made it home safe. Now, there's something to be thankful for.

Here on our farm, I transfered fifteen half-grown chicks from their grower-cage up to the main poultry barn yesterday afternoon. Until then, they'd been under a heat lamp so I hope they are doing okay. With over 100 other chickens, ducks and turkeys up in our poultry's wintering room, the temperature does stay a little warmer. Chicks are born with a downy, soft covering and it is crucial they stay in a warm environment until they grow their adult feathers, which protect them from cold temperatures.

Thirty Pekin Duck eggs are developing in the incubator. Those ducklings will be needing that heated growing cage a few days after they hatch. We keep them in a cardboard box inside for a few days to be sure everyone is eating and drinking. I "candle" the eggs in the incubator every week to check on the development stage of the embryo. Using a small, white light in a tube, I hold the wide end of the egg up to the light in a darkened room. Like magic, you can see the growing chick or duckling inside. Bad eggs are removed so they don't explode. Depending on the stage of development at the time of candling, you might see a beating heart, a beak, a head or a foot!

The last time I checked the duck eggs, one embryo plastered his tiny webbed foot against the side of the shell when I shone the light into his egg. The foot was the size of the nail on my pinky finger and I laughed at his protest against my intrusion into his private world.

We have over ten different varieties of rare-breed chickens, two breeds of ducks and Narragansett turkeys. Last year, I could not keep up with the demand for chicks and hatching eggs. I've increased our numbers of breeding stock this summer and fall. If you would like to see them on our website, just type in http://www.rainbowgatefarm.com/ on your browser and go to the Poultry page. We have chickens who lay blue, green, brown, white and tinted (off-white) eggs.

Well, I'm off to do chores in the snow. Brrr! The goats are waiting to be milked. We are milking less than 100 does now, as the others have dried-up in preparation for the pending birth of those five-hundred goat kids we are expecting in February and March. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

2007-11-21T10:05:00.000-08:00

Jack Frost made an early appearance this morning to our mid-west farming operation. He greeted me by nipping at my bare hands as I hurried across to the barn to feed hay and check the livestock. Our radio weather man announced we could expect snow flurries this afternoon. Just in time for Thanksgiving.

We are weaning foals this week. Most of them are already five to six months old. One paint filly is heading off to Indiana this weekend, so we need to work with her over the next few days. Right now she is nervous of us but over the next few days she will learn how to lead, and tie up, pick up her feet when asked and stand still to let us brush her. We use a gentle approach to training but firm enough to teach the foal manners also. A newly weaned foal will treat human handlers like another horse from their herd. At some time in their training they act out, perhaps trying to kick or nip at their human. A sharp smack and a loud "No!" is usually all it takes for the foal to think Whew! I don't think I will try that again.

Even though we have six turkeys sitting in the freezer, we've decided to go out for Thanksgiving lunch tomorrow. It is our first Thanksgiving without my mother-in-law and nobody feels like much of a celebration.

The goats are falling on milk pounds. Their bodies are preparing for the new kids they are carrying, due in January and February of 2008.

Which reminds me, I have a lot of cleaning to do! Both our "kid buildings" need to be cleaned out by hand and restocked with fresh sawdust. Pens must be dismantled for cleaning and then rebuilt. It will be worth it, when those gorgeous babies start to arrive and I can transport them to clean, dry and warm buildings in which to grow and play. We are expecting over 500 goat kids this year, so it's never been so important to be prepared.

Rainbow Gate Farm Web Site

2007-11-15T08:32:00.000-08:00

I have been doing a lot of work on our website

http://www.rainbowgatefarm.com

This is where we feature our horses, our dairy goats and rare-breed poultry.

You will find short stories and poems in Janilou's Corner.

We have informative "how-to" articles on hatching your own eggs, and shipping eggs for hatching.

I am working on a recipe page for poultry recipes and would love to receive some ideas!

There is a dairy goat record form that can be downloaded and printed off for your own use if you have your own goats..

Lots of photos, stories and more!

Feedback is always appreciated!

Houdini Horses

2007-11-10T06:30:00.000-08:00

This morning, we looked out over a frosty blanket of grass, a blue sky and fifteen horses meandering around the house eating our lawn. The problem with this cozy picture is the horses, who should have been down in the pasture eating grass!

Lucky for me, a bucket of grain soon solved the problem as thirteen of the escapees followed me back to their home. The other two were quickly apprehended and put away. But our gaited stallion was also here, and he is pastured at our neighbors!

Deer had knocked down a corner of fence, allowing him to escape. At least he came home!

Turkey Day Is Coming!

2007-11-09T07:07:00.000-08:00

We raise rare-breed Narragansett turkeys. Even though numbers of these birds are limited, we still end up with too many males to females ratio.

My husband, being a practical man, thinks we need to recoup some of our feed costs involved in raising the birds by selling hatching eggs and eating the extra offspring.

So, off to 'Sue's Pin and Feather' we went the other night with six turkeys and four ducks. Sue provides the butchering and preparation of the birds, and this morning when I go back to Fort Atkinson, I will pick up ten snap frozen, bagged birds ready for our freezer.

This time of year is obviously a good time to be loading up with turkeys as Americans prepare to celebrate Thanksgiving, or at least the rest of our extended family seems to think so! Turkey, anyone?

Our turkeys free range through the summer out on pasture eating bugs and insects. They are not fed hormones so their growth rate is slow, but the meat is excellent.

Our ancestors knew what they were doing when they created the Narragansett breed by crossing wild native turkeys with the ones they brought over from Europe. Even Abraham Lincoln was once given a gift of Narragansett turkeys from the people of Rhode Island.

If it was good enough for Abe, whom I have always admired, it's good enough for me.

Pass the cranberry sauce, would you please?

Milking Dairy Goats

2007-11-08T07:36:00.000-08:00

Today is Thursday, November 8, 2007.

The photo above shows my dairy goat "girls" waiting to be milked. The dark brown doe in the forefront is 'Bella', a Nubian two-year-old doe who is a real sweetie.

You can see from the photo that we use a low deck. The does run in and jump on the deck. A manger in front provides them with their favorite food- grain!
We sit on a mechanic's roller chair and along behind the does to change the milkers.

Yesterday we changed our milking schedule from twice daily milking to once a day.

Goats are seasonal breeders, meaning they all breed in the fall and then have their babies (kid-in) in late January to mid March. The does need to be "dried off" or stopped being milked about two months before they kid.

They naturally fall off on milk production at this time of year and their SCC or Somatic Cell Count goes up. The Somatic Cell Count is an indication of how many white blood cells are present in the milk. A high count can be an indication of infection, but at this time of year, it raises naturally as the does give less milk.

I have to go out each morning and feed hay to everyone, including our horses and foals. Then about 2.30pm I will head outside and milk the does that are not already "dried off". This takes about an hour and a half.

This is the quiet time of year. When the "kids" begin to arrive, we will be outside upwards of 12 hours a day!

Dairy Goat Record Keeping Form

2007-11-08T07:09:00.001-08:00

Rainbow Gate Farm has 275 milking dairy goat does. Each year we "kid in" (the does give birth to-) about 500 baby goats. Half of those will be females. The female baby goats are called "doelings" and the males are called "bucklings".

I have devised a record-keeping form for anyone who has dairy or meat goats that is simple to use and provides a one-page record of each doe or breeding buck from birth to death.

You can access this form and print it for free from my website, Rainbow Gate Farm.

The website address is:

http://www.rainbowgatefarm.com

The page where the form is located is at:

http://www.rainbowgatefarm.com/RainbowGateFarmGoatRecordForm.html

Milk Inspector

2007-11-05T13:06:00.000-08:00

Two words that fill the heart of any dairy farmer with fear and trepidation are "Milk Inspector."

All dairy farms in the United States are inspected on a bi-annual basis by a milk inspector who works for the State in which the farm is located. They check for cleanliness, condition of buildings and milking equipment, and the general health and living conditions of the livestock.

The inspector has a sheet he or she uses to mark down any problems found. If there is a health risk or terrible conditions, they can shut down your operation on the spot - no more selling milk until you correct the problems and are re-inspected for a fee.

Today was our day. We passed with flying colors, much to my delight!

We sell our milk under a Grade B licence because our goat's milk is all goes to be made into cheese. Grade A is for fluid milk production.

The wind is whipping through our November midwest today. I felt like Mary Poppins sans umbrella out there trying to carry hay around this morning to feed everyone.

The horses and goats are growing the thickest winter coats I've seen in years. I'm hoping they won't need them, but Mother Nature sure is preparing for the worst.

Sunday's Tail

2007-11-04T10:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, I received a phone call from a friend. She told me a neighbor of hers was giving away "about thirty" Pekin duck eggs and she had a couple of chickens she wanted me to have. Never one to miss a bargain, I turned the incubator on to warm up, jumped in the car and drove over to the neighbor's home.

When I arrived, the neighbor directed me to a dog house behind a silo and then pointed toward the road.

"The rest of the eggs are out there by the road. Oh, by the way, there may be some goose eggs in with them."

My young daughter and I squeezed through an incredibly small space between the silo and a wire fence panel and looked inside the dog house. The very small dog house. There lay about forty eggs.

I reached my hand and removed the first few, before turning to my daughter and saying, "How would you like to get in there and collect them for Mommy?"

Lucky for me, she agreed and we soon had the eggs wrapped in a towel.

We headed for the road next and collected another thirty eggs.

With seventy eggs on board we headed to my girlfriend's house. The cutest puppies I have ever seen waited for us in her yard, eight-week-old 'cockerdoodles'.

After cuddling the pups we headed for her barn and chicken pens. She mentioned she wanted to sell her Naragansett turkeys for $10 each. I am raising Naragansetts so it didn't take long for us to bundle two of them in the trunk of my car after her husband tied their legs together with twine. We set them on a towel beside the cage I'd brought for my two chickens, and after a short chat, waved goodbye.

Now, you can't put turkeys and chickens in a trunk without opening the middle console section of the back seat, so they don't get too hot or short of air. My daughter buckled herself into her booster seat and opened the console.

"I can see them, Mom!" she said.

"Great!" I replied and we began driving home.

About ten minutes later, just as I swerved wide to avoid an Amish buggy ambling along the road, a blood-curdling scream erupted from behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder I caught a glimpse of my daughter's terrified face through the blur of turkey feathers flying around the back seat.

Thirty pounds of live turkey loose in a vehicle doesn't make for safe driving so I pulled over, and we managed to bag the turkey with her leg bindings still hanging from one ankle.

Securing her with an apology for treating her in such a manner, I drove the rest of the way home with a turkey sitting beside me.

We reached home without any further drama. I was prepared when we opened the trunk and the second turkey hen flew over my head! I made a vow to always tie turkey's legs myself in future and lunged for the hen. Much to her disgust, I won.

Now both turkey hens and the chickens are safe with their companions in our barn and the eggs are in the incubator. Duck eggs take twenty-eight days to hatch, but I am not sure about goose eggs! Time to go googling!

Friday's Day On The Farm

2007-11-02T14:59:00.000-07:00

Hi! Welcome to my Friday. It's been an interesting day, starting with a phone call early this morning to go collect two of our American Quarter horse mares who were loaned out for the summer to a family with teenage girls who like to ride. It's weaning time for foals anyway, and we have several "babies" in stalls in the barn.
We wean the babies slowly, taking their mama's away for short periods of time over a week, until both mare and foal are happy enough to leave each other.

The vet was here the other day to remove a cast from our dairy goat doe, Squatti's leg. Squatti panicked and jumped a gate five weeks ago, breaking her leg. The report was all good - a beautifully healed leg!

Milking the does this morning didn't take too long. We are down to 125 milking does, as the winter approaches and they "dry up" or stop milking. Goats are seasonal breeders which means they all come into "heat" for breeding in the fall, and then "kid" (have their babies) in the early months of the new year. This year we are expecting over 500 baby goat kids to be born! Half of those will be males and most of those will be sold as day old kids. The girls or "doelings" will be retained to expand our milking herd size next year.

A baby doe is called a doeling. Doelings only take eight months to reach maturity and will produce their first babies around the time of their own first birthday! Once a doeling has milked for one year, she is called a 'doe'.

Our chickens are also slowing down for the winter. During the summer months, we keep all the breeds separate and collect 'purebred' eggs from the different varieties. I sell hatching eggs on eBay of rare breeds such as Swiss Spitzhauben, Blue Silkie, Cream Brabanter and Barnavelder chickens.

This year we also raised Nargansett turkeys for the first time. Out of nine turkey chicks we only ended up with three hens. But we won't have to buy any turkeys to have Thanksgiving Dinner.

Of course, we also raise Muscovy ducks for the same reason - providing meat for the table. The Muscovy duck raised three clutches of ducklings this year, and not one of them has ever made it to the pot! So there is a good possibility the turkeys will be safe after all!

Cheese, Please Louise!

2007-11-01T20:41:00.000-07:00

I wrote this story a few months back on the writing site, FanStory. Thought you might enjoy it! :-) I was really enjoying telling you about our cheese, when Louise the Saanen doe took over!

Goat cheese, please! Hot toasted cheese sandwiches; melted cheese on a baked potato; sliced cheddar cheese sandwich on fresh oven-baked bread. I’ve loved cheese since childhood. Blue cheese, camenbert, brie - I could go on and on. But I never imagined I would end up being a producer for one of the biggest goat-cheese factories in the United States, "Mt. Chevre Creamery," in Wisconsin. Mt Chevre is owned by two French brothers, Arnaud and Jean, who really know how to make cheese.

It started when I read a newspaper article about milking dairy goats and became enthused with the idea. My husband, Paul, calls it an obsession, but let's not nit-pick. Within months, I was the proud owner of a black and white ‘La Mancha’ doe, named 'McKenzie'. La Manchas have little tiny ears but they are excellent milkers. (except Saanens are better)

Soon after that, I persuaded Paul to drive to Ohio to purchase a small herd of thirty Saanen does and two bucks. Saanens originated in Switzerland and you may have read about them, in the classic story, Heidi. The following year we were accepted by the creamery to ship goats milk, and our new career took off.

Now, just four years later, we own 280 dairy goats. Only 170 are milking this year, but they produce over 1000 pounds of fresh goat’s milk each day. Every Wednesday and Sunday, a refrigerated truck pulls up next to our milk-house and empties our "bulk tank", where the milk is stored after each milking.

Next year, our yearling doelings will also begin milking and our pounds of milk produced each day will nearly double. About 560 baby goats will be born in the coming late winter/early spring here on Rainbow Gate Farm. I'm taking applications for anyone who wants to come help and experience life on a dairy-goat farm. Just kidding! (That is a baaaaad pun.)

Goat cheese is superb! Mt Chevre produces so many different varieties. Although I can buy it in our grocery stores, our milk-hauler also brings us cheese direct from the factory. There are soft cheeses blended with pepper, garlic and herbs and my favorite, cranberries! Spread on crackers, they are delicious. They also produce camembert cheese and a variety of hard cheeses. My husband loves feta and usually eats the entire slab before I can get it to the house.

People are amazed when I tell them we milk goats. Here in the United States, goat milk and its by-products are not widely recognized. World-wide, however, there is more goat’s milk and goat’s cheese consumed than cow’s milk. Did you know. . .

Bleeeaaat.

Hey what’s going on! Wait a minute! Get out of that chair! Give me back the mouse. . .

Okay, move over Jaaani. Hi folks. This is Louise, the Saaaaaanen doe. I can’t believe Jan is writing an article about our cheese without letting us goooooats have a say. After all, we’re the ones doing all the hard wooooork.

Hmm. I think she cooooovered most of it already. I've made a few corrections, so now, let me leave you with this little limerick about yours truly!

There was a young goat named Louise

Who produced an abundance of cheese

She became quite a star

Her fame spread so far

That her owners gave her all that she pleased!

When we untie Jan, it’ll be too late for her to change this. I’m going to post it right now. I’ve been listening to her all year rambling on about how much she loves writing on the computer, while she milks us. Now it’s our turn.

What’s that you say? Editing? She can edit this after it’s posted? Naaaaa, she won’t do that. We might all go on strike!

Don't blame her for the title. She had a really dull one posted that didn't mention my name. Siiillly giiiirrrl.

Goooood bbbbbyyyyyeeeee. Enjoy our cheeeesssseeeee!

Love,

Louise, the Saaaanen.