goat talk

We wormed all our goats yesterday morning. I was not sure what they weighed, so I took the scale out and pre-weighed the Firebird and myself, expecting that we would pick up the goat and then subtract our weights. We started with skittish little Anna, the youngest, who had never been wormed. Of course her eyelids were bright red, indicating that she was not anemic, but I was going to worm them all anyhow.

Anna's response to people is to play passive. She curled up on the ground and glued herself there. The Firebird couldn't budge her. Talk about dead weight! I managed to get her in my arms, and then couldn't get to standing, so I had the Firebird help me lift her. She weighed 65 pounds!

Then Derek was on the small house roof, so I scooped him up, he being the next smallest, and he weighed nearly a hundred. Combined with my weight of currently 137,
(my Doc would be dancing with glee), we nearly topped the scale, so I stopped weighing goats and started guesstimating. Phew, got that job done!

Today we worked at the farm. The day did not start well at home, beginning with cat vomit on my favorite rug (I refer to these as omens of a "cat puke day") and sure enough, things were helter skelter at the farm. We ended up on the buckling hill for two hours combing the little guys. The first ones were easy enough-then I had saved Jacolby for last.

The other time I combed him, he yelled so hard I had to release him. So of course today he started in yelling. I started singing to him..."Mr. Pitiful". This caused him to increase the tempo of his screaming. Maybe he was just trying to drown me out. Finally he settled down enough to comb quietly. Phew, my arms arm aching, and I already agreed to comb the big bucks tomorrow. Ha. I think I am ready for a nap.... :P