Buck in a truck and other guests...

 When I got the new little Nigerian Dwarf goats last summer, I planned to breed them in the fall as I had with other goats in the past. Then I found out I was to get a new knee in late April, which would be right about when the kids arrived. Since I will be recovering from surgery, I didn't want to saddle extra work on my patient husband and daughter, so I put my plan on hold. That made me a little sad. Not only would we miss out on the fun goat kids provide, but there would also be no milk. 

 Then a customer came in, walking normally and seeming to feel just fine, and told me she had her knee replaced a mere three weeks before!  This gave me courage, and I arranged to borrow a buck for some romantic interludes with my lady goats. One nice thing about this goat breed is that they come into season all through the year, not just in the fall, like most other types. I figured I'd be in good shape for extra goat chores by summer, so I went to work putting a breeding plan into action. 

 Borrowing a buck goat was a little more complicated than you might imagine. First, I had to find one whose owner was willing to share. Next, he needed to be registered and have a clean bill of health. Then I had our veterinarian out to do various blood tests on my lady goats to ensure they were perfectly healthy and would not spread any illnesses to the dude when he was here.  It took a few weeks for the tests to come back. There were storms to work around, too, but yesterday, Chris and I finally hopped in the truck and drove an hour to the dairy. The lady had offered me a plastic dog crate for transport, which was ready in the parking area. She stuffed it full of hay, and while I was still digging money out of my wallet to pay for the loan, she quickly scooped a hairy, odiferous male goat into the crate. We covered the vents with sheets of cardboard and banked the crate in bales of hay to keep the wind off while we drove.  Wyatt the buck laid down in the deep hay and rode quietly over snowy roads all the way to FairWinds. The day before, I read the book Sheep in a Jeep to the Owlet about 15 times, so all the way home, I invented rhymes about "Buck in a Truck" for my very own story. 

Chris was concerned about getting him from the truck to the pasture without him becoming frightened and confused and trying to escape. I knew that one of my does was in season, and I figured that if Wyatt saw goats when he was unloaded and got a whiff of the pheromones Plenty was emitting, he'd quickly become enamored and have no thoughts of bolting. So I got a little grain and lured the ladies out of their cozy, through the snow, and to the gate. While they were noshing on the unexpected snack, I opened the crate. Wyatt surveyed the group of does before him, inhaled deeply, stuck his tongue out to taste the air, and grunted a happy sound. Then, he hopped off the tailgate and joined his new lady friends. 

He is the brown and white spotted guy on the left above. 

Plenty was in the mood for love. Here she is, smiling a thank you at me. 

There was barely a civilized greeting before Wyatt went to work, ensuring I would have some baby goats to love this summer. Then he yawned deeply. A long ride and then a job to do. 

Plenty couldn't get enough of him, rubbing her face in his smelly beard and flirting shamelessly. 

I left the dogs inside while we introduced the goats and settled them. When I let them out, Bravo raced to the goat cozy. He could smell that buck and wanted to check him out. There was some barking, sniffing, and reassurance from me that all was well before he decided things were okay. 

We have another visitor, too. A cute Australian Shepherd. He lived nearby when he was a pup and regularly comes for grooming. He and Bravo have been friends for years. Now he is with us for a while during his family's vacation. He has made himself right at home, and there is a lot of running, chasing, playing, and fun inside and out. 

There is nothing like visitors to spice up the cold days of winter. 

Stuck...

 Although we have had little snow this winter, there was enough ice on the ground to severely limit the chickens and goats from getting out much. This is the first winter any of the young poultry has seen, and even if I leave their pop doors open, the birds have stayed firmly cooped up. They might stick a curious head out the door, but when they saw the white covering the ground, they backed up and stayed stuck inside.  But last Thursday, I heard a triumphant crowing under the window. I was delighted to see that the small bantam cochin rooster and his three ladies from one coop and the large Australorp rooster with one bold hen from the big coop were out exploring. I will have to try harder to get a representative photo of Stan the Man, the Australorp. He looks black at first glance, but in the right light, he is iridescent green and quite stunning. The single brave hen who has been venturing out with him is a Gold Laced Wyandotte. They make a beautiful pair. 

The diminutive Cochin's tend to stay in a tight flock. However, today when I went out late afternoon to exercise the dogs and check on all the animals, I saw The Donald in trouble. He had apparently launched himself upward and became stuck fast in the field fence. I don't know how long he had been there, not more than a few hours, but clearly long enough to work up quite a temper.  I tenderly worked him loose and reunited him with his ladies. He let loose a long tirade of chicken cuss words as he stomped off. 

The goats watched with apparent interest and steered clear. There was still a light frosting of white in the pasture, and I could see their wee hoof prints patterned all around as I exercised the dogs. They have been exploring and setting goals for springtime grazing. 

More snow is in the forecast this week, but it won't be long before all the critters of FairWinds are out roaming and exploring. Stuck no more. 

Love notes...

 On the morning he packed to go away for a week-long business trip, I cut some heart-shaped bits of paper and wrote little love messages for my husband. I tucked them here and there. One in with his socks, another in a pocket, and put one in his wallet. When he got home and was unpacking, I saw the notes, carefully saved, nestled in the corner of his suitcase. 

In return, he had left behind some of his own clothes to make room in his small case for the cozy new Colorado sweatshirt he had brought home for me. It feels like a hug. 

He does not travel without me often, and the house felt strange without him. It was quiet, for one thing. There were somehow more hours in the day.  And things stayed tidy. But there was a noticeable lack of laughter with him gone; the bed was too big, too cold, and the dogs were restless. 

One morning while he was away, I woke up, did all the animal chores, baked bread, and even put a fresh coat of paint on our stairs before work began. It was a good time to do it, knowing the steps would have a whole day to dry without a booted man stomping up and down them. 

It was good when he came through the door late Friday evening after a long day of travel. The house was filled with sound in no time, and the dogs snored contentedly around us. 

On Saturday, as we often do, we hosted "family supper." Though winter is far from over, the days are perceptibly longer, the sun a little warmer, and during the day, water drips from the eaves and can be heard rushing in the brook at the top of the pasture. We felt celebratory, and in a warm-weather mood, so Chris filled the grill with marinated chicken and balanced precariously on the ice in the yard while he cooked. I baked a pineapple upside-down cake for dessert, perfuming the house with a sweet tropical scent. I cooked wild rice and made a cucumber salad. Earlier in the day, I made dough for pita bread and let it rise in a sunny window before cooking each disk in a screaming hot skillet. 

Watching them balloon up as they turn from pale to golden is a treat. And the flavor is a delicious reward for the effort of making them. 

At supper time, our daughter and son-in-love breezed in with the Owlet, the show's star, and three favorite friends joined to fill the big table nicely. There was no lack of chatter, and the platters of food were well-appreciated. It felt a little festive, a sweet return to the regular order of our lovely lives. 

Things to see...

 Because the world is filled with wonderous things to see, I had eye surgery last week. The goal was to relieve the pressure caused by glaucoma and prevent me from losing vision. I had a little pity party for myself when I found out I had to have this procedure done. I let the party go on for a while, then I reminded myself how lucky I am to live in a time where medical assistance is available for problems like mine and how grateful I am to have insurance to cover the exorbitant expense. My attitude change firmly in place, I embarked on the experience.   

I don't know about you, but medical procedures involving the eyes makes me feel squeamish. I didn't want to know too much about what the operation entailed; I just trusted the specialist to do his thing and do it well. I have had two previous, less invasive surgeries by this same doctor, which helped some but not enough. So, I sort of knew what to expect, except this time the anesthesia didn't work quite as well as normal, "In a small percentage of patients, this nerve block is not fully effective," the nurse aesthesis quipped as I indicated, over and over, that I could feel what the doctor was doing. And it didn't feel pleasant.  As he placed the last suture, he said, "Man, are you sensitive. I've given you 10 times the amount of medication I give patients, and you can still feel it." This was not a contest I wanted to be involved in.  

But I have a TEAM.  Chris took two days off so he could drive me to and from Portland (2 hours each way) for the surgery and the post-op check-up the next day. And, because I think good ice cream is the antidote to all bad things, he researched and found that Fielders Choice, one of my favorite ice cream stands, was newly open for the season Thursday-Sunday, not far from where we needed to pass to drive home.  A coffee Health bar cone tasted awfully good after my harrowing time. He also has been cheerfully doing all the animal chores for me since I am on light duty, not able to bend over or lift more than 10 pounds for a few weeks while I heal. 

Sister Deb put her own plans on hold and drove to Maine to help Rachel with the Owlet. In between reading baby books, playing with toys, cuddling, laughing, and chasing the little one, she cooked, did dishes, let dogs in and out a thousand times, and waited on me hand and foot. 

Rachel took over all the grooming work and washed and groomed my own two dogs so I would have pleasant cuddle companions as I rested. I made a bold effort to help her groom on Saturday, putting on my work clothes and showing up. I lasted two hours before I hit the sofa and took a nap. 

Friends have offered to help, too, and neighbors have checked in. I feel grateful and supported by the people in my life who make tough times easier. The world is filled with wonderful things, and amazing people, and I am thankful. 

Dove colored dawn...

 The sun rose, heavily filtered through snow-laden clouds. The view was shades of grey from my pillow, inside and out.

 I made the bed, started laundry, and lit a fire. Fed the cats. Carried feed and water to the chickens, grain, and hay to the goats. 

Bravo retrieved a lost glove. Gleefully. 

The snow was light and easy to shovel, clinging to every branch and wire. 

Only one customer braved the snow. "Isn't it a beautiful day?" she asked.  Indeed. 

I filled the bird feeders more than once. The deedling voices of the chickadees and the sweet call of the goldfinches rose over the whirring of their wings. 

From inside, I watched the flakes fall, listened to the fire hiss, and the logs sighed and shifted.  Chris worked from home. I could hear the timbre of his voice as he answered phone questions, patiently untangling problems. The wheels on his office chair rumble through the ceiling, reminding me I am not alone. After a romp in the snow, the dogs settle close to me, dreaming. 

There is a hush and sensation of slowing on a snowy day. It calls for rest, and I answer. 

Lazy...

 It was a lazy day. We had a quiet morning and a peaceful afternoon. The furnace was turned up higher than usual, but I felt chilled. I knew the goat cozy needed cleaning but was having trouble motivating myself to go out in the cold and take care of business. Around 3:00 PM, Chris chided me that we needed to get out and take care of it. I was cozy. I didn't want to go out. But as always, he was right, and I knew it. 

I put on my thick barn coat, my insulated boots, and my heavy gloves.  Bravo was excited, ready to go. I checked on the chickens, freshened their water, and gave them some treats from the kitchen. I took some grain to the goats to keep them busy while I worked and got to shoveling. Chris joined me and hauled each wheelbarrow full of soiled shavings out to the manure pile. 

Just as we began to work, some sort of frozen stuff began to fall from the sky. It hissed loudly on the metal roof. I found I was no longer cold. It felt good to be outside. 

After the floor was swept clean, I emptied a full bale of sweet-smelling pine shavings. I filled the hay feeder, topped off the mineral feeder, and gave the girls a bucket of water. Knee-deep in clean bedding, they looked pleased. The freezing stuff continued to come down, and I locked everyone up early.

Bravo danced about, and I tossed his toy for him. 

The frozen stuff still fell loudly from the sky. 

It clung to Bravo's coat. He didn't care. He ran and played. 

To my surprise, I  was happy to be outside. Frozen precipitation hit my face and bounced loudly off my coat.  I wandered from the goat house to the chicken coops, checking on all the critters. Everyone was fine and snug in their houses. It was time for me to go back to mine.

Inside I made us a simple supper. As it baked, we sat by the fire and read quietly. I sneaked a peek at my handsome husband in his chair beside me. This day, just the two of us, taking a rest from our work, it was a gift. As is every day that we are lucky enough to share. Especially the lazy ones. 

Persistence...

 A sweet customer gave us a wee potted cyclamen three years ago for Christmas. It brightly bloomed over and over in its tiny pot. Then, it began to look a little sad, so I transplanted it. It grew dramatically, sending out new leaves and flowers at a shocking rate. Last spring, I transplanted it again. Shortly after that, it began to look sad. I watered more. It became yellow and sad. I watered less. It began to drop its leaves. Then it became inexplicably sticky. It appeared to be infested with aphids. I have no idea how that happened; I've never had that problem before. I bought a special spray. The aphids laughed. My poor, previously vigorous plant looked pathetic. As much as I like houseplants when they begin to look crummy, out they go. I sadly tossed the plant out into my flower garden. 

My kindhearted friend Sunday sometimes comes and helps me with yard work. It was late summer when I noticed she had taken pity on the poor, abandoned plant and tucked it into one of the flower beds. It was bravely putting a few new leaves up. I watched it for weeks, and more leaves appeared. I was impressed and glad that my merry little plant had a new lease on life. 

As summer came to a close and frost threatened, I dug it up and popped it in a pot. Though it had several leaves, they looked kind of rough, with tattered brown edges. I didn't know if being transplanted would be the death knell for my small friend, but I gave it a spin. 

Now it is January, and here is the cyclamen. The sweet pink blossoms have made me smile countless times in the last three years. Especially so now that it has been granted a new lease on life. My husband quips, "Life is persistent." This little houseplant certainly is, joyfully so.