The Boy in the Bedroom

Ah the boys.

In a business where girls are desired and coveted for their milk production, size of their udders and ability to give us more girls, what do we do about the boys? The HooDoo Valley Farm is indeed a matriarchal society. We are the anti-China. The little female kid that arrives at birth puts the smiles on the faces. Future moms= future milk producers=cheese. $$

The little boys only elicit the initial: oooh, how cute. Too bad its a boy.

A dairy certainly needs one or two males. Boys certainly have a use and every fall they get to strut their stuff for around 3 weeks when the does go into heat. Already a very smelly beast the o' so sexy males make themselves irresistible to the ladies further increasing their aroma by peeing on themselves. Peeing. All over themselves. A once tolerable musky skunk-like scented mangoat, bucky is now transformed to a yellow, stiff legged foul, pee smellin' very focused male. They walk around with their tongues hanging out blurbering at the females who at the right time, is the only thing that can tolerate them. Ah, the Bucks. (Picture the man in your life sauntering up to you, reeking of a urinal with his tongue out..hey, baby)

Genetics. Boys may pass on the udder genes to their daughters, so a mom with the goat equivalent of a double D udder may give her son a chance to stay on the farm. Otherwise, what do you do with a male goat. A couple options:

1. Auction/sale.

2. Alicia's freezer.

Both are sending the male kids to some one's dinner plate. Check out the NY times:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/01/dining/01goat.html

I'm sure Alicia would love to share some recipes. A companion for our cheese recipe book?

There is a goat in our living room. One of the boys decided two nights ago, that sleeping outside the barn near the water drain was more preferable to the dry hay, warm goats and companionship of the kids. Perhaps Olaf kicked him out and wouldn't let him in, ornery little f*@# that he is..

Chilled, wet and no food in hours, the little man was in sad shape. Perhaps already on borrowed time, he was tube fed and brought in to be watched over by the dark one. Dylan takes her baby goat responsibilities seriously and maintained a vigilant watch throughout the night. The women of the house expected the little guy to not make it through morning but were rather surprised when, at the wee hours of the am, we awoke to a very hungry, very loud kid crying in the living room.

The little man was left at home, still in the house with his new buddy Dylan. Hopefully still in his bin, but then its Susanne's turn to vacuum aka pellet pickup.

rasta llama

Llamas. Watch out, they spit.

Wikipedia: The llama (Lama glama) is a South American camelid, widely used as a pack and meat animal by Andean cultures since pre-hispanic times. In popular culture llamas are mostly associated with the Incans and Peru. Using llamas as livestock guards in North America began in the early 1980s and some sheep producers have used llamas successfully for that entire time. The use of guard llamas has greatly increased since a magazine article in 1990, when national attention was drawn to the potential use of llamas for guarding sheep.

HooDoo Valley Farm has tossed around the idea of using a llama for a guard and tossed it right on out. Eventually a new dog will live at the farm and protect it from the coyotes, wolves and cougars of north Idaho, until then we have the dillybean, the dark one, the princess Dylan. She makes her rounds barking and running, generally maintaining a secure perimeter of the farm. A mutt of uncertain heritage, the often grumpy panted canine is queen of the full size bed she occasionally allows her human to share with her. There is suspicion of a coyote boyfriend and she is nervous around the adult goats but rather fond of the cat Cha Cha. Unconditionally spoiled by her mother, Miss Dylan, good dog that she is, cannot take on the larger canines that roam the valley, and has recently been shown to be scared of large brown llamas who visit the farm.

A particular llama sauntered in about 3 days ago. Lured perhaps by the bleating of strange noises, he eventually made his way up from the neighbors field (our extended front yard) to Wheywards front pasture. The morning of the 27th, while sipping her morning coffee, Kat watched the large, brown llama cautiously walk up the driveway. "Sus, you got a llama in your yard". What?! I don't want a llama in my yard.

But she had one.

This would explain Dylans unusual desire to stay inside. The magesticness of the animal was negated by its nappy, hippy dreaded coat and rather comical under bite that could be seen from 40 feet away. Seemingly harmless, rather amusing and a nice distraction from the norm, the llama however was still an unwelcome guest and a call would be made to inform its owner (over 3 miles away as the crow flies) Mr. Blood, that his llama was visiting.

Later that day, while the human ladies were at work, the neighbors Will and his sis Chelsea would be shoo-ing the rasta llama from the HooDoo Valley Farm since Rasta llama was inappropriately interested in the does and chasing them out of the barn. So much for guard llama.

Rasta Llama has since moved on. He most recently was reported spooking the neighbors horses but perhaps due to the negative response of his Innocent wanderings, he has hopefully found his way back to the Bloods and can finally poop in peace.

(llama are rumored to only like to poop in one place, I cannot confirm nor deny this)

what to do with all the babies

7 girls and 7 boys born to 7 ladies. No, not the latest Rogers and Hammerstein musical but this years crop of future milkers and shakers! How cute are they! Almost all were born without incident. Day. Night. Afternoon. The mom's kept Susanne up to the wee hours, up before the crack of dawn and racing home from work. Do goats need help? Doctors don't deliver babies, mothers do-same goes for the goats. However, all does not always go as planned and help is sometimes needed. Susanne was blessed with tiny, itsy bitsy little hands and the goats appreciate that quality in her. Not many needed any help at all and only had us oohing and ahhing over the babies, generally being fascinated by the births and the process. Birth is messy. Its bloody, its gooey, its not pretty. It is absolutely incredible.

One birth of note: Marykate, floozy that she is, popped out a floppy ear Nubian.

Let me explain for the nongoaters. Marykate is a laMancha breed. She has no ears. She has little nubbins. She was bred with a laMancha buck. The kids should have come out with no ears. One did. Number two sister surprised us twice. First thinking it was a boy and then as the little goat came out back feet first, she had floppy ears. hmmmm. Yes, there is a Nubian buck that she was with but this genetic craziness is unusual-remember recessive/dominant genes back in biology?

Very cool and very, very cute. The yet to be named little one has taken the favorite spot amongst the humans. Sorry Scout. You're still in the top two, kiddo.

Sadly, our little Nubian doe, the wee little poptart cheerleader of the herd Miss Molly did not make it. Her boy was unable to move pass the birth canal and due to the extent and difficulty of the labor, the little buck did not survive and Molly had to be put down. She will be missed.

The season starts..

No one every said it was going to be easy. However, we can cross our fingers and toes that it will never be that hard. Babies born this last week begin the second season of cheese production, farmers markets, sales and marketing, oh so fun bookwork, time juggling, milking twice a day, feeding, watering, state visits, friends visiting, family visits, truck repair, fence repair, fence building, outbuildings, gates to be put up and where do we put all the goats?

One woman with a passion for cheese and goats that began in Ohio. The love affair started out with a little Nubian named Kerra and her two babies: Thelma and Louise. A Nubian may sneak into any one's heart, with the floppy bunny ears and doe-eyed bambi looks but milking goats for a living? hmmmm. Surely no crazier than skiing for a living.

How does a summer spent outside Dayton, Ohio on a farm turn a future heart surgeon into a milk maid, you may ask? The answer simply doesn't matter. Someone said once:

“When work, commitment, and pleasure all become one and you reach that deep well where passion lives, nothing is impossible."