Kaiser Wizer...

Kaiser Wizer Puddin Pie

His farts smell so bad,

they burn your eye

And when he poops on the floor mama sighs,

But we love our Kaiser Wizer Puddin Pie

That's Kaiser's poem. I can't claim authorship, though. That would be my husband's original verse.

We got Kaiser in October. He's an English Mastiff puppy. His food bill is sizable, but he is a sweet boy. He has stopped that floor poopin' stuff...and now he poops on my PORCH. Why the porch when we have five acres? I have no idea. Other than that, he is a good dog. He fits in well with our two other dogs. Jules, our ten year old coonhound, is actually quite fond of him. I have even caught the old girl engaging him in play outside. The boys adore him. Jason treats him like he is one of OUR babies. I am only mildly annoyed by his hoarding of shoes...mainly because he likes to move my shoes on me during the night, so I can spend thirty minutes I don't have finding them the next morning. Cute. I am very much in love with him despite his bad habits.

A Look Back

I said goodbye to a friend this week. I met her when she was three days old, and she was all limbs and ears with a wagging tail. I named her Lily. Lily was the sweetest, but dumbest of all of my goats. Her herd-mates recognized her airheadedness, and ranked her last. Or, they were just jealous because she was the prettiest and kept he in the bottom slot (this is what I would tell her anyway). She was always the last to eat, and the first to get her head stuck in the fence. Lily was my most compliant milker. Happy to have a few back scratches and some goat cookies, she would hop in the milk-stand without any fuss. She never fought me, or kicked the milk bucket like her bratty herd-mates.

She seemed a perfect fixture for our little farm. The boys lovingly called her "Lily-goat", fed her cookies out of their little hands, petted and brushed her. It never dawned on me that one day she would just be gone.

I went to feed a few nights back, and all the goats were waiting for me at the fence but one. I knew instantly that it was not good. My sweet girl, who I had bottle fed from birth, was laying dead under the lean-to. It seemed that she had bloated and died. We assume she ate something that she couldn't pass. I screamed "no" and sobbed and sobbed. I'm sure you could hear my wailing a mile away. I blocked the boys at the fence, so they couldn't see her body. I thought that it might be much for a three and four year old to see their pet dead. I did, however, have to explain why mama was sad. Little hands patted my shoulder while I sat and cried in the yard. Barrett summed up the whole event to my husband: "Lily died. Mama cried".

I feel incredible guilt, because I feel like I could have done something to prevent Lily's passing had I been home more in the days preceding her untimely death ( she was only three). We just took over a small business, and I have been gone practically from sun up to sun down. I hadn't done much aside from dump food and water in the goat pen. I wouldn't have noticed if she was showing signs of illness. I will never forgive myself.

I dug through my photos and all I could find were pictures of Lily as a baby. I loved that little goat, and I hope to see her one day again.

A Third Son

I'm back. I have a lot to update, but I suppose I'll start with the biggest news. I had another baby. In keeping with every other child who has come out of me, he has both red hair and a penis. We named him Axel. NO. We were not listening to Guns n Roses when he was conceived. I don't even like Guns n Roses. Anywho, he was born early in the morning on the day after Christmas. I'll let the pictures tell the rest of the story.

My Name is Mud

There was all of one mud puddle on our entire property. It's measurements were approximately two by three feet. Who manages to fall in that particular location about three minutes before we are going to go to town with Meemaw? Gunther....of course. Who is not going to let his brother have all the muddy fun? Barrett, who jumps in the puddle immediately after Gunther falls in it.

Who is not amused? Me. Who documents the whole clusterf&%# ? Meemaw.

A Kid (goat babies, not redheaded midgets) Update

The kids are now two and a half weeks old. Daisy, the doe on the left, is doing well. She is a little on the wild side, though. She is making it increasingly difficult for me to catch her, and cuddle. I am trying to make friends with her via the sweet goodness of raisins.

Elliot, our little billy, is as sweet as honey. We made an unfortunate discovery last week. It seemed that Elliot had/has a broken rib. We weren't sure how it happened. We suspected that the other mama in the pen, Evey who is not his mama, may have hurt him. I have seen her head butt him to get him to go away. It was the next day that I realized that my theory was wrong. I caught Mack, our knucklehead puppy, dragging the billy out of the pen. I am sure that Mack was the one who hurt Elliot. For a short time I thought perhaps Elliot's injuries were more than he could recover from, and we would have to put him down. Not two hours later, he was hobbling around, nursing, and wagging his tail. He spends a lot of time resting now, but is doing well. We are hopeful that he will heal, and lead a happy life.

After the incident with the Mack and Elliot, I made the difficult decision to get Mack a new home. He was just not working out on our little acreage. He was a smart dog, who was bored and many a temptation (remember he murdered a chicken too). A neighbor of ours took him on. Mack will have a job running cattle, which I think will make him happy. The man who took him recently lost his wife, and a new dog to train is a welcome distraction. I can still go see Mack and give him cookies, but I don't have to worry about him threatening my other animals.

Think good thoughts for Elliot. He is still recovering.

Edit: Thanks to my mom for taking pictures of the goats.

You Can't Milk The Dog, Son

We are in milk! The twins are producing plenty of delicious milk for both the kids, and for our family. We began milking last week, and the girls have been agreeable about the whole thing. Jason even built a milkstand out of some miscellaneous lumber we had sitting around. I must say that milking would be much easier without a couple kids underfoot, but we manage to get it done.

Barrett has been intrigued by the whole process. I imagine a two year old must have a hard time understanding the what hell is going on. I am even struck by how weird it is if I think about it too much. Barrett kept calling the goats' teets "weenie". We corrected him "No, son, those are ninnies". The goats' "ninnies" look nothing like the ninnies he is familiar with (my own breasts)....thank the lawd. So, he thought we we were some sickos who like to put goats on a platform and yank on their weenies.

Dan, our fat coonhound, was the victim of Barrett's confusion. We caught him trying to milk Dan one day. Dan, as sweet as he is, only grumbled and shot Jason and I a look that said: "Please do something about this". We have since explained that Dan has a weenie not a ninny, and it does NOT produce milk. I think Barrett is still confused, but the world is a confusing place....what can you do?

Goat Dude

If you know this guy, tell him to e-mail me. A man that has a jacket commemorating his second place show-goat NEEDS to be my friend. He was spotted in Oklahoma according to People of Wal-mart. I would love to meet him, and his goat.
Thankyouverymuch.