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Writer's pictureTina

Mutiny in the Fields




Welcome, Monday, dear reader. I hope your weekend went well and you were able to enjoy the beautiful weather. We spent our weekend at the Strawberry Festival in Smicksburg and the Ligonier Country Market. A big thank you to Melinda Peterson for including us in the festivities and being generous enough to permit us to set up our display in her backyard. We spent the day hanging out with good people, making new connections, and enjoying the weather. We also took care of necessities here on the farm. We could not have asked for more beautiful weather. With the beautiful weather comes summer camp. For The Bean? No, for the goats.


The Bibbed Wonder took his last four piggies to the market yesterday. The four little buddies didn't have to leave until the afternoon, so my pig-loving buddy got his porcine charges loaded in the late morning, parked the trailer in the barn with the fans turned onto the trailer, and took the care to fill water bowls and mist the piggies every hour. He also provided them with snacks and cool treats to keep them cool, calm, and happy. This is just one of the reasons I love and admire this man. He is so caring and thoughtful, even to little pigs who are going to market. The care, thoughtfulness, and patience he exercises with all the animals speak to his character.


Once The Bibbed Wonder got the little pigs safely to market, it was time to prepare the pasture across the driveway for our goats. The pig feeders were removed and placed in the pasture near the barn. The yurts were cleaned out, moved, and rebedded, readying them for summertime slumber. We then began transferring the goats into the lush, overgrown pasture field. The big girls, for the most part, went happily and willingly. However, the babies tried our patience and gave us a marathon workout. I spend my Sundays after markets in my PJ's, sometimes until late afternoon. I was out chasing baby goats around the pasture field like a lunatic in my gnome flannels with bedhead. Thank goodness there were no cameras around to document that debacle. Once everyone was moved to the new pasture, they ate until their little heart's content. The pasture has waist-high grass, blackberry bushes, the ladies' personal favorite, along with multiflora rose and a stream. They were all content and happy until evening.


Come evening; they want nothing more than to be in their barn. Rather than go into the yurts and snuggle in, they hang out by the gate in a huge mass, bawling and fussing at the top of their voices. Nubian goats are known for their loud maas and vocal tendencies. I believe my girls are relatively quiet. I attribute this to the fact that all their needs are met and exceeded. However, last night was a demonstration of how the breed earned its reputation. I like to sleep with our upstairs windows open at night, but I was tempted to close them all and turn on the air conditioner just to block the cacophony of bawls, maas, and loud guttural complaints. Thank God our girls are happy because they can raise a ruckus when they are not. Finally, around midnight, they gave up their complaining and went to sleep. However, they all slept in a mass under the oak trees rather than go into the summertime yurts. Sigh. It's going to be a long month.


If all the big girls were without any nimble, trouble-making babies, we would move the girls to the barn at night. They happily follow us wherever we go. The thought of moving those babies from one field to another on a daily basis makes me want to sell all my goats and move to Belize. The girls will just have to endure three weeks of camp Smay-Co-Wacko. If they could talk, I am sure we would receive the tongue lashing of a lifetime. Hopefully, they will decide the summertime yurts are not unacceptable and move into their new abodes for a few weeks. That was the excitement for the weekend. I hope you enjoyed the summer weather without complaint and shenanigans. Until tomorrow, stay safe, be smart, file all complaints quietly with GR (Goat Resources), and keep washing your hands.

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