My 100th Goat, er,.. I mean post!

Actually, this is my 231st post, if you count all 3 blogs... but who's counting?

I've been meaning to post some pics of the goats for a while now. This morning I saw a cute goat photo on another blog, and it prompted me to grab the camera before the rain came. As usual, the goats were not very cooperative for the camera. They are sweet and loving, but they never stand still for photos!

When I uploaded the pics, I noticed this was my 100th post. So I decided to add a couple of extra photos to the post...

Below is an aerial photo of our farm, taken for county records in 2003. I labeled it so you would have a reference now when you read about the front pasture, etc. The property lines are marked in yellow. We own 2 tracts; one mostly open field, the other woods. The small area in the lower right labeled 'leased' is what I call the side pasture. We lease it for $1 a year. It's a little hard to see, but the red 'X' marks where our house now stands. The V drive now circles around, and in the center of it is the round pen. We built the barn first, then the house. We moved in on Hubby's birthday in December of 2003.

This is the way our farm will look some day... The photo was taken last fall. I embellished it just a tad. The pine trees on the right are much smaller and the front garden isn't finished yet. I erased all the parked stuff and greened up the front lawn. I had to finish 'building' the hen house, as Hubby didn't even have it under roof for this pic. Do you like the added touch of the white 'horse' fence? OK, maybe I'm dreaming there. It will probably remain the white electric rope that stands there now.

So there. My 100th post featured the entire farm. I thought that was appropriate. Now on to my intended post.

Introducing my other herd... the goats. Elvis has left the building, but he's now in my pasture. He had that name when we acquired him. He is much older than the others. Notice the nice beard.
Next is our only girl, Nanny. Real goat people think it's a sin to name a girl goat Nanny. Oh well. She's a real sweetie. Funny thing is, she also has a beard! The other two boys are the same age and they don't! Must be the water...
Mr. Universe... We call him Oreo. When he was a baby he had a big 'O' on his belly. Now it's grown into a 'C'. He has curly hair, and in the summer when it gets its reddish tint, he it absolutely gorgeous! He is also the leader of the herd, and the most brave.
Last, but certainly not least, is Derby. I call him my lover boy. He doesn't know when to stop eating, so he's a little chubby. He loves kisses and affection. Definitely my favorite! I named him Derby because of his white markings. When he was a baby, it looked like he was wearing an English saddle. Now that he's full grown, you'll just have to use your imagination.

We had two other goats that passed away last year. Biscuit was the runt of the litter, and silly Willie was the comic. It broke my heart when Willie died. He had the most comical personality. I miss how he made me laugh.

Our goats are Nubians, a large dairy breed. We don't breed Nanny, so we don't have milk. They work on keeping the woods cleared out, and have well earned their keep! They follow us whenever we take walks through the woods, and come running when I call them. They are not the smartest creatures God put on this earth, but they are certainly among the sweetest!

The Monster in the Register

Ever since we've had her, Sadie has been afraid of the floor registers. To get in or out through the garage you must pass through a short hall that has one of those evil things. To take her outside, you had to open the door wide so she could make a mad dash past the register before it could attack her. Now she is used to the register and will walk through the hall, but only on the other side!

I had some fun with her tonight...



I know... I'm mean! But did you laugh?

Fire in the Hole!

Hubby inherited a terrible trait from his mother... He's a worrier. He's notorious for hearing noises coming from every corner of the house and barn. And when he hears them, oh, it must be something major that will cost a fortune to repair. I know I'm supposed to be supportive of him, but most of the time these catastrophes strike, I ignore them.

Wednesday, he kept telling me that the pressure tank was kicking on and off all day and night. "Don't you hear that?" "I don't hear anything." "How can you not hear that?"

I worked in a factory for many years. Give me a break! Besides, if you can hear that over the TV, why can't you hear me call for you?

On to Thursday: Houston, we have a problem... This time he was right. It was actually the well pump he heard echoing through the pipes. (I must speak very softly.) Anyway, the spigot by the well head appeared to have a leak. Digging about 6 inches down, we could see water circulating.

Fortunately, Hubby's buddy & boss has a backhoe. That's him reaching for the propane tank with a cigarette in his mouth. That's part of my 6'5" hubby in the hole and his dad watching to make sure they do everything right.

There's nothing more fun than watching someone have to work in a deep slippery clay hole. Oh wait... yes, there is... Hosing them off when they're done!

Good thing we live far back from the road. I made Hubby strip down as I hosed the caked clay from each layer. Brrrr! Well water sure is cold!

Holding Back the Claws

I want to always trust God the way my mama cat trusts me. My best friend has commented more than once about how tame my cats are. Her cats are tame, too. They are loving. They purr when petted. What's so different about mine? Trust... Total trust.


I thought about it this morning when I cradled Little Bear. She is a farm cat and lives outside, hunting mice and other varmints while escaping whatever larger predators may lurk in the darkness. Yet, with all the natural instinct a cat can possess, she is not the tiniest bit 'cat' when I hold her in my arms. A lot of cats won't let you turn them upside down (especially if they grew up with little kids!), but that's how I always hold Little Bear. I lift her with one hand under her belly and roll her into my waiting cradle. She falls back into the comfort of my arms peacefully and begins to purr. She doesn't struggle to upright herself. She doesn't reach out with her claws to secure a hold on my shirt. I can walk around with her, bend over, stoop... It doesn't matter what I do; she purrs with contentment for she is in her mommy's arms.


She was days old and orphaned when we found her. She was one of a litter of five – one dead, four barely alive, crying, their bodies cold, their eyes barely open. We took the four sickly kittens home, stopping along the way for kitten formula and the other necessities. Don King (should have seen his hair) was the worst. He survived a few days, but never seemed likely to make it. The other three flourished. Chubbers, with his unquenchable appetite, appeared to have swallowed two ping-pong balls. Paint Girl’s fur looked as if a loaded brush had touched her in places on her back. And Little Bear… so deep black, with golden eyes, claws that always seemed too long to withdraw into their hidden place. (see photo) And we became their parents.

Before the DOG came along, the three of them walked the lane with us to the mailbox and back. They followed our lead everywhere. They were devoted to us because we saved them! We saved them from death. We saved them from a hard life with no one to guide them. We provided them with everything they needed. We loved them and nurtured them. They know the sound of our voices.

I was barely alive when Jesus found me. My heart was cold. My eyes were not open. I faced certain death. I was struggling to survive. I needed His guidance and His love. God is now my Father. He saved me from certain death. He guides me daily, giving me wisdom to make the right choices. He provides me with everything I need and more. He loves me and nurtures me. And I know the sound of His voice.

He tries to pick me up, to cradle me, to give me comfort. Sometimes I let Him. Sometimes I bring out the claws. I reach to cling to something… control. I am afraid to let go. Why? Has He not always cared for me with the greatest tenderness? Don’t I trust Him with my life? Of course I do! But instinct tells me to bring out the claws, at least until my reasoning takes over.

Little Bear knows that she doesn’t need her instinct with me. I don’t know how she turns it off, but I’m going to learn. It will probably take a lot of practice and patience, but, hopefully, with time I too will no longer pull out the claws when my Father takes me into His arms.

Give Me a Sign

I was just reading another blog that had a picture of a funny sign. It brought to mind this one I took last year while in Florida. Remember how high the gas prices were in June of last year? This restaurant was next to my hotel. I don't remember the name of it. I certainly didn't eat there after reading their sign...

Green Chickens

OK, we don't really have green chickens. We will have green eggs soon, but that's not what this post is about. But since we're talking chickens now, here's a couple of pics of the 'babies':
You can still see some baby fluff on the rear ends, but they are mostly covered with their adult feathers now. One of the roosters is trying desperately to crow. So far it's embarrassing.


Anyway, back to the subject I intended... This is just a short update on living green. I couldn't resist showing off this use for those infamous five-gallon buckets. Yep, those are green beans behind the pile of cucumbers.
Here is more of our repurposing in practice:
Hubby finally put his walls up for the feed storage room in the big hen house. I think the old skid boards make a beautifully rustic wall. He was going to screen the top-right section, but then decided, 'Why waste screen when I have so much wood from these skids?' So he just spaced them to allow ventilation without allow chickens to pass through.

Of course, I couldn't post without including this pic of the herd I shot while at the chicken house...