Welcome to midweek, dear reader. As we move into August, I can feel the cusp of fall in the morning and evening air. Although temperatures remain in the mid-to-upper eighties, the mornings are chilly, and a hint of fall is in the air. The days are becoming shorter bit by bit. As the sun sets and night settles in around the farm, the cadence of crickets chirping is added to the nightly orchestra. I love falling asleep to the cricket song. Although summer is dwindling, we continue with the baby season. My bib overall wearing wonder buns has done an exceptional job spacing out births so we always have fresh milk for our products.
Yesterday, one of our first-year moms delivered a beautiful set of twins. Our lovely spotted girl, Ivy, delivered a chunky spotted little boy and a leggy, lightly spotted little girl. I've named the little girl Marigold and the little boy Marvin. Earlier in the week, Briar, another first-time mother, gave birth to two lovely spotted little girls. I've named them Laurel and Lotus, Lottie for short. It's so nice to have babies this late in the season. I hold fast to the idea that there isn't anything cuter than a bouncing baby goat. I am pleased to share that everyone is doing well and thriving.
Currently, we have fifty-five goats. This is a lot of goats, even for us. The little boys will have to find new homes in a few months. My bib overall-wearing wonder has decided that we will maintain a dairy-only herd. All our little Boer goats will have to go to new homes. With the exception of Lester and Fergus, all our Boer goats will be sold. Although I never like to sell anyone, I understand that we must downsize for herd health and maintenance purposes. Jordan is no longer interested in raising the Boer goats, and frankly, having two bucks on the property is too smelly. While sitting on the porch enjoying the evening, the air smelled like Ace and Oliver were seated beside us. That was not a pleasant experience.
Oliver is also beginning to rear up at us when we enter the pasture. He is not as friendly as his father, Abu. When Abu started acting aggressively toward us, we knew it was time for him to find a new home. Unfortunately, Oliver is becoming aggressive much earlier than Abu did. With Oliver's almost feral behavior and his stench, I am not sorry to see him go. Abu continues to guard his herd and make beautiful babies. I am sure we will be able to find Oliver an appropriate home as well. He is a very beautiful boy.
Our Nubian buck, Ace, continues to be overly friendly and mostly gentle. Ace was raised as a bottle baby, so he loves attention. The poor fellow does not understand that we don't find his pungent scent charming or alluring. Despite smelling like a billy goat in August, he continues to seek us out for scratches and pats. I feed the boys in the evening; no matter how careful I am and how much distance I try to maintain, Ace finds a way to rub up against me. I find it necessary to change my clothes immediately after barn chores are completed. Such is the life of a goat farmer during rut season. Sigh.
The new bucks have done an amazing job producing healthy, beautiful offspring. We have one more girl to deliver, and the baby season will be complete. Jessica, aka Horns, is the last girl to go. Horns is now the herd leader, and she is a tyrant. After a half-dozen separate incidents of Horns having her horns stuck in the hay feeder, puncturing little Fuschia's side, and frankly, acting like an asshole, The Bibbed Wonder did his research and decided to band her horns. Before you decide this is cruel and unusual treatment, hear me out.
Every time Jessica gets her head stuck, she is in great danger. She is in danger of breaking her neck, being pummeled to death by the other goats, or being susceptible to a predator attack (heaven forbid). We are attentive caregivers, but anything is possible if she is stuck overnight. To have her horns surgically removed would also pose great danger. The horns of an adult goat grow into the skull, affecting the sinus cavity, and having a wound close to the brain is dangerous. Also, goats do not do well with anesthesia. Their bodies cannot process the drugs, and the mortality rate is high. Banding the horns feels like the safest, best option.
When the horns are banded, the blood flow is cut off; eventually, the horns will die and fall off. It is similar to banding a buckling's scrotum and testicles. There may be some initial discomfort, but the horns eventually become numb. According to the articles I have read on the vet sites, it will take approximately fifty days for the horns to fall off. Ideally, we would have disbudded her when she was two weeks old. However, we made a mistake and left the horns on everyone that year. Jessica is the only little girl we have with horns. Disbudding babies is unpleasant, but after our experience with Jessica, we realize it is necessary. This is a mistake we will never make again.
Banding the horns of an adult goat is not without its problems. As the horns die, we must isolate her with a gentle companion to protect her from head-butting and potentially knocking the horns off prematurely. One of our dear friends just lost a goat to an accident that broke her horn off at the skull. It was traumatic for the goat and my friend. Jessica must have pool noodles placed on her horns to protect her. It will be a time fraught with worry and diligence, but I believe we can safely remove her horns and keep her safe in the long term. We take our responsibility to our animals very seriously and would never do anything to hurt them or put them in danger. We would rehome her if Jessica were not such a lovely goat with a sweet disposition towards us. However, thinking of her fear and confusion at losing the only home she has ever known is heartbreaking. Unfortunately, we made a mistake when she was an infant, and now everyone is paying for that mistake.
On this hot summer day, stay safe, be smart, be glad you don't have two billy goats in August, do hard things for the right reasons, enjoy the little joys in life like baby goats, and keep washing your hands...especially if you get rubbed on by a billy goat in August.
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