Sick goat update and PUPPIES...

 Bliss is better. Three kinds of antibiotics, topical spray, vitamins, probiotics, and more have all worked together so that she is up, walking normally, and healing. She still has a few days of penicillin injections to endure, something she and I both dread. Ok, maybe she doesn't dread it, but she certainly complains when it's time for her treatment. I don't blame her. 

Meanwhile, Opal had puppies.  Opal is a Pug and belongs to my daughter and son-in-love. She is 1 1/2 years old, and a delightful little thing. She had a rendezvous with another pug a while back and shortly after lost her tiny waistline. Before long she began to look like she swallowed a softball, and most recently looked like a generous honeydew melon was inhabiting her abdomen.  Yesterday while we were working she went into labor. Rachel gathered all the gear she had assembled for the big event, and she and Opal retired to the quiet living room. It wasn't long before Rachel helped ease a 7+ ounce female puppy into the world.We summoned Hannah from a local outing and she came back to witness the miracle. It was good she was here, because she and Rachel made an excellent team of able midwives while I finished working. About an hour later a boy appeared, and moments after that another boy. Then another girl. We thought perhaps she was done, but as we all gathered around the whelping box admiring the new family she began to push and number five appeared.Soon a sixth took it's first breath and we thought surely that was the end

. We brought the whelping box to the dining room and feasted on grilled steak and a huge vegetable and pasta salad I'd made earlier in the day. Evans provided special champagne and we lifted glasses in celebration. We had finished eating and were sitting around the table chatting when Rachel said, "She's pushing again!" A seventh puppy greeted the world. Looking at the pile of squirming pug pups it was hard to believe they had all fit inside Opal's compact little body. 

 

When Pug puppies get to be about 2 weeks old, we think they look a lot like little potatoes. The pups all have potato names, "Spud," "Russet," "Yukon Gold," and some more obscure names of potato types. We have put little ribbons around their wee necks so we can tell who is who, and keep track of their growth. (Below photo is a puppy in a soup bowl, on a kitchen scale.)

There are 5 girls and 2 boys. They will be colored like their parents when they get older, fawn bodies with black masks. The average birth weight was 6+ ounces, and they seem to be strong and healthy. Opal is a bit confused, but doing well keeping the crew polished and fed. Speaking of a crew, a group of pugs is called a "Grumble." This fact makes me smile. 

Bravo is so excited he can't even eat. He missed supper last night and breakfast this morning, obsessing about the new arrivals. Opal lets him stare adoring at them, and even sneak in a little kiss here and there, then she drives him off. Flirt investigated the pups as they were being born, and now ignores the whole show. 

The nest box is a contractor tub, and we are calling it "The Potato Bin." It is full of the cutest little grumbly taters you ever did see. 

Sick goat...

 Bliss is sick. It started innocently enough, a few weeks ago, with a rough spot on her udder. I began to treat it with some lotions and potions, and it got a little better.  Then after a week when I brought her in to milk for the evening, she had a 3 corner tear on her udder. It wasn't very deep, but about 1 inch long, and bleeding profusely. My neighbor came down and gave me some medicated cream to put on. I did, twice a day, and it seemed to improve a bit. Until it didn't. So I called the vet. There seems to be a bit of dance when dealing with large animal veterinarians. One does not want to call too soon, because they think you are silly. But of course, one does not want to wait too long, either. I think I waited about a day too long this time. The vet clipped the hair off Bliss' udder, and scrubbed the wound briskly. Bliss kicked and fought. The doctor gave her some antibiotics and steroids, and left a spray for me to put on her irritated skin. I had to give her injections for a few days, and spray her skin twice a day. Bliss hated all of it. And she didn't get better. She was up and about but clearly not herself. Her wounds were healing, but slowly, and I believed she still had some infection. I called the veterinarian yesterday and she planned to come this afternoon. 

This morning we had a wonderful rain, after a long drought. I had to go out to the goat cozy and put a lead rope on the goats and encourage them to come out in the rain. They think they are so sweet that they will melt if they get wet. I milked Spirit first, as always, then went out and got Bliss. She came along nicely, stopping to empty her bladder and fertilize the back lawn as we went. She hopped up on the table, and gobbled up the animal crackers I always give her, then began on her breakfast grain. I started to milk her. Sometimes when she does not want to be milked she will squat a little, making it difficult for me. I have to admit her, she is kind of a jerk on the milk stand. 

Today she took that to a whole new level, and sat like a dog, and yelled like I was hurting her. I tried a variety of things to get her to stand but finally gave up. She was terribly distressed. I managed to get her off the milk stand, but she could hardly walk, arching her back and acting as if she had very little control over her very weak rear legs. The rain came down, and she managed to get as far as her cozy, then collapsed with her head in the door and the rest of her body in a puddle. I managed to get her inside, and sent a rather frantic message to the vet. She called me right back and was here a little after 9. 

There was a bit going on this morning. Yesterday the furnace guy came to do the annual check up on our heater. It was fine when he came, and fine when he left, but this morning we had no hot water. No showers for us, and I didn't know what to do about the full line up of dogs wanting baths. I started out by putting a few kettles of water on the gas stove to heat up. Meanwhile we put in an urgent call to the gas company. Add to this the fact that we had another workman coming this morning to repair something. They all arrived at once. Customers, repair people, and marvelous goat doctor. 

The veterinarian gave Bliss a full physical. She took her temperature and listened long to her heart, lungs and stomach. We discussed taking a biopsy of her skin, we discussed her strange symptoms and what might be wrong. The vet pressed some milk from her teat and looked carefully to make sure it was healthy. It was. Then she spent a long time gathering medications. "We are going to throw the kitchen sink at her," she said. She have her two kinds of antibiotics, some pain killer, steroids, an anti-parasitic, vitamins and more. Poor Bliss hollered like she was being killed. I held her head, and she laid her face on my chest, staring up at me woefully while she cried. Her rear legs couldn't hold her up, it was terribly distressing. 

The vet collected a few hundred dollars and left me with a pile of medicine to give her over the next few days. 

Twice during the day I took out buckets of warm water with electrolytes. She drank them down gratefully, two quarts at a time. I took her some animal crackers, her favorite treat, and fresh hay. She mostly laid down all day, in a pile of deep, clean shavings. I watched her from the goat cam. This afternoon I gave her repeat injections, some wormer and probiotics. I sprayed the topical medication on her wound.She cried, and her mother looked on with great concern.

 Later, she walked, stumbling, outside for the first time all day. She took a deep drink from the water tub,emptied her bladder, wobbled a bit then went back inside, ate a little alfalfa and rested more. 

Over the next few days she will be an unwilling pin cushion as I pump her full of a variety of medicines. Having goats has taught me to get over my squeamishness about needles. Mostly. 

I will bring her special food and drink, and hope she will improve each day, and soon be back to her terribly naughty self. I hate it when any of my animals are sick. 

Maine summer...

20 plus years ago, when we lived in Memphis, a young couple with a two year old daughter bought the house across the street from us. We liked them immediately, and became good friends. Later they added another daughter to the mix, and the love we felt grew with the addition.They were the kinds of friends who would watch our daughter for us, invite us to prepare and share meals together, join us for the annual Thanksgiving feast, pop over unannounced and help themselves to something from the fridge. One of the happiest memories of my life is when Angel brought her 2 or 3 month old infant over, and handed her to me. She also handed me a diaper bag. "This one needs a bath, and her mother needs a rest," she quipped, and turned on her heel. I spent the next happy hour indulging in adoring the baby, giving her a sweet little bath, and dressing her in the clean clothes I found in the bag. I kept her until she got fussy, then returned her to her mama. For someone who loves babies as much as I do, this was a gift to remember. It was a sadness when they moved away, but we kept in touch some, and that was wonderful. 

When Rachel was 20 and trying to figure life out, our friends invited her to stay with then in North Carolina. She did for several months, and was greatly enriched by the experience. Last week I got a message from Angel, "Can Hannah come visit you for a while? Her college is going to be all on line this year and she doesn't want to do that, so she's going to do a little traveling." We got the guest room ready and now our house has the beauty and energy of a 20 year old in it. 

We cooked her a lobster over the weekend. She liked it. 

I like to see her sitting at the picnic table, painting. And I like to see those paintings drying in a sunny window. 

 The first night she was here Chris grilled some chicken and boiled some fresh corn on the cob. I milked the goats while he cooked. When I brought Bliss in, and began to clean her udder, I found a cut there, bleeding. I cleaned and medicated it, then messaged my farmer neighbor to see if she thought I should do more. She came right down, agreed with me that the cut probably didn't need to be seen by a vet, but she had some stronger medicated cream at home that might help. I didn't want to let the goat go, because there was a good chance I might not be able to catch her again when the medicine arrived. Meanwhile, dinner was served, so I just brought Bliss to the table. Chris grabbed an extra plate, so our friend was rewarded with an impromptu supper when she returned. Once the udder was slathered in medication, the goat went back to the pasture, and we finished our meal. 

I figured this would make for a memorable first evening in Maine! How often does one dine with a goat? (I must add here that Bliss had remarkably good manners at the table.) 

The weather has been hot and dry, and we have gotten in a few swims with the dogs, which is a joy. 

Opal the pug is very pregnant, looking like she swallowed a soccer ball. I wish I could describe to you what a very round Pug in a bright orange life vest looks like paddling in a clear lake. It's a sight to behold. Bravo is happy to swim, retrieving sticks or just puttering about for the sheer joy of it.  I bring Flirt into the lake in my arms to cool her off, and let her swim a few feet to shore. I can't say she enjoys it, but she is a competent swimmer and loves nosing around the waters edge to smell all the smells that a wee canine nose can find. 

Afterwards she sleeps well in the old enamel wash tub I turned into a bed for her. This is her favorite position to be in. 

The signs of late summer are all around us. The long, light evenings are a bit shorter than they were. Crickets chirp in the later afternoon heat, the air smells of milk weed blossoms. Along the roadways Purple Loosestrife, Queen Anne's Lace and Goldenrod bloom. Because work has been so busy I feel like I have let our short Maine summer slip between my fingers, and am determined to grab onto its joys as hard as I can in the next few weeks. I will swim as much as I can, eat the fresh corn from the farm stand, finally get my kayak into a lake. Hopefully I will share some of these delights with Hannah, so that when she leaves she will take along some happy memories of goats and lobster and New England summer. 

Summer flowers and feasts...

In summertime we tend to cook most of our evening meals outside on the grill. Chicken, beef, lamb, pork and fish all make their way to the Weber, with a side dish of vegetables. Suppers are quick, easy and delicious, the flavor enhanced by eating outside and admiring the livestock.

Last night we were invited to eat with Scott and Marion.  It had been a hot day, but there was a lovely breeze cooling the air as I got a tour of their beautiful vegetable garden and sipped a glass of cold wine. The guys did a little target practice, I admired the neat rows of vegetables interspersed with bright flowers,

and a handsome Monarch Caterpillar enjoying a butterfly bush.

After we all visited a while,  Marion went in to assemble the feast.

Home made fettuccine waited to be tossed into boiling water.

Herbs and vegetables from their garden, and a bowl of pasture raised chicken they also grew was ready to be mixed up with butter and cream for a marvelous Alfredo.

Home made focaccia bread accompanied the meal, and a beautiful salad, all of the ingredients fresh picked from the garden. Every bite a treat. As much as I enjoy our simple summer back yard suppers, it was a delight to savor this special meal with our friends.

My summer flower beds are looking nice. Scarlet Runner Beans are scrambling up the arbor, and the hummingbirds find them delicious.

This begonia was a gift from a friend, the little metal dove that is tucked in with it was another sweet present.

The  garden beds are full of day lilies, cone flowers, Queen Anne's Lace, roses, zinnia, snapdragons, and Cosmo blossoms.  

I woke to a good down pour of rain this morning, a welcome sight and sound. Now the skies are clearing and temperature climbing. I have much to do and need to get moving before the heat squelches my ambitions.

Conner luck...

In our family we joke about what we happily call "the Conner luck." It's finding an empty parking space in front of the busy restaurant you are going to, having all your flights arrive and depart on time when traveling, catching the item you were wanting to buy at a crazy one-day-only discount.
It's a lovely thing, this luck, and we are grateful when it happens. But perhaps, never more grateful than last night.

After a long day working, we had company over for supper. Chris grilled up some grass-fed steaks, and we had the first fresh corn on the cob of the season.There was delicious bread from the farmers market, and icy cold drinks enjoyed around the picnic table in the back yard. Despite being tired from a busy week, we had a jolly visit. When the mosquitoes began to bother, we came inside and got the dishes started.  It was nearly dark when I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down in my favorite spot. Chris found an entertaining television show for us to watch, and we relaxed for a couple hours before heading up to bed.

The last thing I do in the evening is let the dogs out for a final potty break. Knowing they have a cookie waiting, they run out, do what they must, and hustle back inside. But last night Bravo let out a fierce roar, "Intruder, intruder!" he barked.  Flirt chimed in, shrill and serious. At that very instant the unmistakable scent of skunk wafted in through the open windows.

(photo Harpswell Heritage Land Trust) 

With my heart sinking, I rushed to the door and called the dogs. Flirt came right away, but Bravo did not. I grabbed my big flash light and hurried down the long deck that leads to the yard.  Bravo was there, sniffing something with great interest.  He came when I called him, wagging happily. I had him sit then lifted his handsome head so I could smell him. The humid evening air hung so thick with skunk scent that at first I couldn't tell if he had been perfumed or not. Chris came out, "Did he get hit?" he asked.  "I can't tell, will you smell him?"  Leaning down, he inhaled deeply. "He's good!"  So good. Such excellent dogs. A very close skunk encounter, but neither needed a midnight shampoo.

Chris often quips that we are "richly and truly blessed." This was luck and blessings at their finest.

Good days and bad mothers...

It's been a dry summer so far, but we had a heavy downpour yesterday afternoon, complete with thunder and lots of lightning. I like a good storm, but poor Bravo does not. He shivers and quakes, slinks and hides, pants and shakes. It's pitiful. The storm happened right at milking time. Goats very much dislike going out in the rain, and in order to milk them I have to go fetch them from their cozy, get them through the pasture gate and across the back yard to the garage where I have a little milking area set up. I figured my chance of doing this in the middle of a violet storm without anyone getting hurt or upset was slim, so while dark clouds layered over the house, hurtling sheets of noisy rain against the window glass, I fixed a little supper and bided my time. With my little donkey cam working, I was able to see that the goats were resting, chewing their cuds, looking out at the storm.

Once things calmed down I invited them in for some supper. Bliss' udder was impressive.

I know she feels better after I milk her, but she does not make it easy. She kicks and bucks and throws tantrums, despite the bucket of good food I park in front of her face. Seriously bratty behavior.

While we are on bad behavior, let me tell you about the worst mothers of the year. I have had 4 hens sitting on eggs. One hatched three chicks, and they are doing well. The others have had chicks hatch, but they keep dying. Every day I find a dead chick or two, and it's depressing. Today I nipped out to check on the chicks and make sure they had food and water, and found an newly hatched chick, injured an alone lying in a pile of shavings. I had the brilliant idea that I should tuck it up under a broody hen so she could mother it. As I did, the hen snatched the chick from my grasp and tried to kill it. I spoke firmly to the hen, (actually, I snatched her off her nest and gave her a good shake,) and tucked the chick in my pocket. I realized that these broody hens are lacking any mothering instinct and decided I had to take action before any more chicks were hurt or killed. I gave it some thought while I treated the injured chicks wounds, gave it a drink of water, and tucked it into a warm space. Then I got an idea. I called the woman who bought the other chicks I sold last week. She had mentioned that she had an incubator. I offered her the eggs, each on the brink of hatching, and the injured chick. She's a veterinary technician and has lots of experience nursing chickens. She came right over.By the time she arrived another chick had hatched and been injured. We packed up the eggs and chicks and off she went. Crisis averted. I won't let any more of those horrible mothers try to hatch any babies. It is way too sad. .

Click saw me stomping back from the coop in bad humor. He flopped down on the deck step in front of me, asking for a belly rub. He's impossible to resist.

During the height of summer we are already looking towards fall and the long cold months to come. We have one trailer load of hay neatly stacked in the garage, and another coming tonight. Two cords of good split oak are piled on the side lawn. These things make me feel rich. 

All day Rachel and I groom dogs and cats in the pretty studio. We have been busier than ever this summer, and have had to stop taking new dogs. We have been opening early and working late, trying to fit everyone in. 

Despite the bad mothers and overly full udders, these summer days are long and full and good. I am so lucky to be here on this farmlette.

4th of July...

This year Independence Day was quite tame. We cleaned up the garage a bit, getting ready for this years hay delivery.

We cleaned all the animal houses, and cooked a tasty supper to share with Rachel, Evans and friends Scott and Marion. I baked focaccia bread and made a new vegetable salad recipe. Chris grilled chicken. Marion brought their zesty home made salsa and a pretty garden salad that was decorated with little edible purple flowers, all of which grew at her own farm. Rachel and Evans made us S'mores for dessert. There were fireworks from two different nearby places after dark settled, so we sat by the fire ring and watched to the left and right of the house to see very respectable displays. Poor Bravo hates the explosions. I gave him soothing medicine but he refused to come outside. Instead he parked himself under the dining room window, as close to us as he could be, but still "safe" inside.

 We have had more eventful July 4 weekends. Chris and I met in '83 on 4th of July weekend. Those fireworks were real! Here we are last month, in front of the building where we met that fateful holiday.

This weekend in '88, while living in Massachusetts, we discovered that baby would soon make three. 

Independence Day '89 found us with an infant and our every worldly possession moving to our first house in Memphis. Memphis Independence Day's were a lot of fun. A group of our Mayflower Avenue neighbors would all gather, each bringing a favorite dish to share. Many of us had little kids, some had grand kids. We would set little wading pools up in a variety of front yards up and down the street, and grill out. The adults would gather in the shadiest yard, because it was always incredibly hot. A gang of happy children would race from yard to yard, hopping from pool to pool. Most years we would end the day sitting on the bank of the Mississippi River, watching epic fireworks displays from a barge out on the water, while patriotic music floated through the soupy air from the symphony.

In '03 for the 4th we reversed routes and headed north to move to Maine, which has been a happier chapter than we could have ever imagined. 

It's all been rather serendipitous, but I know that I take an extra moment or two on this particular holiday, while I watch pyrotechnics light up the sky,  to count my many blessings. We have so much to celebrate.