It is time to wean the baby goats. They cry like babies, really they do. If you did not know it was an animal, you would swear a baby was crying. The smaller goats with the higher voices are pathetic to listen to. It makes me want to pick them up and cuddle them, so I do. Raven, the little boy, Weezie's twin, is in with the Flemish Giant buck in a hoop house. They will stay together for the winter. The rabbit will build himself a nicely sculpted winter den, but at the moment, the buckling is tiny enough to fit right in the house. So, those two will be good company.
The little doelings were just weaned the day before yesterday. They busted through the shelter by pushing the chicken wire hard enough to make a hole and then climbing out. A bale of straw has stopped them for the time being. They too have some straw, but they will be returned to the does in three weeks, long enough to have the mothers' milk dry up. The babies and moms will recognize each other for the rest of their lives. It is not uncommon for a doe and her grown doelings to cuddle together years after they are all mature.
The poor little girls are so stressed and so are some of the moms. The Alpine does not seem to mind one way or the other. I milked a little from her to release the pressure. She did not like it one bit so I turned her upside down and milked her on her side, just enough to soften the udder. She is the only one who had a very hard udder which can result in mastitis, though not generally. The other moms seem to be adapted well. This is also a good chance for me to spend some time with the doelings. The only one being kept is the little white one, named Daria, Daphne's baby. Daphne is a beautiful Nigerian Dwarf and her babies, without exception so far, are superior breeding stock, no matter which billy she was bred to. Her last year's doeling will be bred this year, hopefully, to produce an exquisite little one or two, just like her mother. In the meantime, the pathetic cries of babies are heard all around the farm, sigh.
The little doelings were just weaned the day before yesterday. They busted through the shelter by pushing the chicken wire hard enough to make a hole and then climbing out. A bale of straw has stopped them for the time being. They too have some straw, but they will be returned to the does in three weeks, long enough to have the mothers' milk dry up. The babies and moms will recognize each other for the rest of their lives. It is not uncommon for a doe and her grown doelings to cuddle together years after they are all mature.
The poor little girls are so stressed and so are some of the moms. The Alpine does not seem to mind one way or the other. I milked a little from her to release the pressure. She did not like it one bit so I turned her upside down and milked her on her side, just enough to soften the udder. She is the only one who had a very hard udder which can result in mastitis, though not generally. The other moms seem to be adapted well. This is also a good chance for me to spend some time with the doelings. The only one being kept is the little white one, named Daria, Daphne's baby. Daphne is a beautiful Nigerian Dwarf and her babies, without exception so far, are superior breeding stock, no matter which billy she was bred to. Her last year's doeling will be bred this year, hopefully, to produce an exquisite little one or two, just like her mother. In the meantime, the pathetic cries of babies are heard all around the farm, sigh.
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