good to goats

So, after four separate people called or texted me within about an hour of posting that last entry on the blog, I realized that I probably sounded just a wee bit overdramatic. Uh, sorry! I think I just needed to write it. I felt better afterward, and even better than that after I talked to the goat guy's son, who assured me we would have help if we needed it. And then, even better than that, when the power didn't go out. Whew. I took two days off of work, and the Subaru didn't get stuck in the foot and a half (!) of snow, and we had water the whole time. I read a novel about polygamy and did a lot of homework and cuddled with the dog and everything was fine.

Thank you for your concern, though, really -- I felt supported and cared for by all of you, and that made me feel better too.

And now, photos!

The girls in the barn. It was built in the Civil War and is a beautiful, slightly crumbly structure.

J. with the buck. One buck, 20+ does... that guy has a pretty good life. He knows he's in charge, too; he pushes everyone aside to get to the fresh hay first and he gets very skeptical of anyone who is messing with his girls.

He also makes this great "mup mup" noise and sort of bays with his teeth bared periodically. He drinks his own pee, too, but let's not dwell on that.

The three doelings. The goat farmer refers to them as the "little girls" and they act very much like little girls, very curious and cute and eager to see what's going on.

My favorite goat. I love her brown spots and her dappled ears. None of the goats have names, though -- it's a little bit like naming your dinner, to this farmer. He clearly is fond of the animals but he's very practical about them too.

Fresh hay brings all the girls to the yard. Woot.

Take giant buckets of water from the bathtub or outside spigot at the house, put them in the car, drive them to the barn, walk them down the stairs, give them to the goats. Rinse and repeat twice a day, three times on weekends.

Giant pile of hay bales on the first floor of the barn. You throw these through the hole in the floor that leads to the goats' floor.

And, for good measure, the adorable chocolate lab back at the house, who greets you at the door with unbridled enthusiasm when you return from goat duty.