It’s been a bit of a sad week here at the farm. On Wednesday, Gene and I took Princess Fiona and Daisy to a new farm in Shelton to live, and today the four mini goats also went to a new farm. It was an incredibly difficult choice, but unfortunately my 90-year-old Tyrannosaurus wrists just weren’t up for the task of carrying hay, trimming hooves, etc, any more. Even though I cried (a lot), I know they are going to great homes with great people. Shy Shy and Woolimina are still here; I couldn’t bear to give up our one-eyed Shy guy, and he has a deep bond with Woolimina. Neither one of them require any heavy lifting, so taking care of them is no problem for me. Today was traumatic for the two of them (and quite honestly, for the three of us who participated in the Goat Rodeo – who knew they were smart enough to start running the minute they saw the leashes come out?) They wouldn’t even come eat their delicious kibble, because they thought they smelled a trap. I’m sure they’ll start trusting me just in time for May 22, which is Spa Day. Watching them together this afternoon helped me feel better; they stuck to each other like glue, grazing in tandem and snuggling.
As is usually the case around here, with loss comes new beginnings. Cinnabon had her babies this morning! I would love to give an update regarding numbers, colors, etc., but she refuses to let me get near the nesting box. She’s like a dragon guarding gold. I knew something was up yesterday, when she snubbed her nose at a Wheat Thin for the first time in recorded history. Then sure enough, today she pulled her fur out and made a nest. I’m assuming there’s babies in it, since she won’t let me check it and she ripped her afternoon Wheat Thin out of my hand faster than a Cheetah jumps on a wounded wildebeest (feel free to borrow that analogy, it took me awhile to come up with it).
In other mama news, birds are going broody left and right around here. There’s a broody duck in the shed, conveniently located right next to where I have to go to get the feed. Now scooping up grain is accompanied by a litany of duck swears and hisses. I tried explaining that she’s the one who picked a nesting spot in a high traffic area, but to no avail. In the chicken coop, Luigi has gone broody in a lower nesting box and Broody Mama is broody (again!) in an upper nesting box. It’s gotten to where I can’t gather eggs without getting my butt kicked by angry mamas. I keep expecting one of the quails to start guarding her eggs with a vengeance.