Never say Never Again!

This might look like a dark shadow lurking behind Kayleigh our agoraphobic goat but it is in fact a very well bred animal called Maisey who has just joined us at Rock HQ. She hails from way up north, County Durham originally, before moving to west Wales where she was trained and shown, got pregnant (hussy) had kids and from that point her show career was over as her udder went a funny shape. Not the shape judges admire anyway. So the nice man who sold us Kayleigh (she actually has a very posh Welsh name that when pronounced properly sounds like an angel singing, if I say it it sounds like I have just barfed on my shoe, so we call her Kayleigh) who had trained Maisey called us on the off chance we wanted another garden botherer.

How could we refuse? With Kayleigh giving us enough milk to bath in and Kurry soon to be a tandoori recipe it was obvious we needed another goat, especially as she is also agoraphobic and allergic to gardens. Anyway Anglo Nubian Goats are like chocolates, one is never enough.

So tonight I got to milk two goats. One stood quietly and ate her food while letting me get at the white stuff. The other kicked the jug over, bit my left ear and kicked me in the right. Once I explained to Maisey the options available, compliance or spicy cookery she settled down and I got enough out of her to compensate for the bruises and feed Kurry.

A.N.D.Q!

Like clockwork

Every now and then, when the planets are in alignment, the four horsemen of the apocalypse are otherwise engaged and the small gods of smallholding are looking the other way, you get a really good day. A day that lifts your heart, makes you think that actually all this effort is worthwhile and that for once being coated in the doings of several species is justified. Yes I am talking about day planned and day actual being one and the same. A day that was planned with military precision, the success of which relied on timing, a day that went like clockwork.

The bar was perhaps set too high, but we had no choice. We could borrow a small stock trailer, Wednesday only, morning only, a small stock trailer needed for two jobs, job one, collect a goat that I had for some insane reason felt compelled to buy(never say never) and a goat which I was assured would provide us with milk and curry. Milk to the sum of 7 pints a day, and curry in six months as the male kid given to sweeten the deal would be the main ingredient of several, and he would with a bit of effort make a fetching rug.

However moving goats on the the smallholding would mean that Guinevere and Morgana Berkshire sows would not be able to go to see the boar for a long time as we would be on shutdown, no stock movement off site. As small trailer would also transport pigs it was a simple matter of collecting trailer from different countrymove job one collect goat to job two so new job one became persuade the right two sows to leave the pig pen (which contains 9 pigs of different sizes and breed, all untrained) and get in a trailer for the first time ever in their lives (they got here on the back seat of Hazel the almost 4x4, don't ever buy a car off us) take them to the land of the Stable Sprite, unload, drive across the county to collect goat and kid, return, unload new critters and get to work on time. Simple. What could possibly go wrong?

For once absolutely nothing. Morgana led the way, Guinevere followed albeit through a different gate but both took to the trailer like fish to bicycles. Locked and loaded we went to the magic kingdom of Stable Sprite which to some looks like a barren wasteland but is actually work in progress, he was eventually coaxed out of hiding and took charge of the sows. His boar then tried to take charge of the sows but they took to charging off, but they will all get together in the end. Pig club needs the recruits! (Pig club news sheet will be sent this weekend honest!)

We made it to the car park of The Little Chef some miles away in time to collect our new Anglo Nubian, Kayleigh (yes another Marillion fan in goat form) and her son Kurry (uncanny!)

Safely aboard we got back to HQ and unloaded our precious charges into the stable, I got changed from smallholder to social worker and made it to the Red Kite office at the allotted time. Just in time for tea and biscuits. Hurrah!

Later, much later, after milking Kayliegh and fattening up Kurry with a bottle of her milk I made a statement that I knew the small gods of smallholding could not ignore.

I simply said, "You know (this was a comment to the world in general as my beautiful and oh so patient wife was beyond listening to me having a highly entertaining goatling to play with, yes I know she shouldn't play with her food)

You know (I repeated it in case she had forgotten what I was about to say on account of brackets)

You Know (for emphasis) either we are getting better at this smallholding lark or we were incredibly lucky today"

The world held it breath and waited for the definitive answer.

There was a loud whinney and crash.

Trevor kicked in Hazels door.

We were lucky.

The difference a day makes!

Speed eating competition, on your marks!Get set!

Go!!!!

And the winner is!

Ambrose. OEGDQ!

MLS spreads

Geisha used to get MLS, beofre she exploded (goats do this from time to time be warned) but we thought it was peculiar to her and her ANDQ ways. Here's Ambrose struck down by a rogue sunbeam, even a glancing blow can trigger MLS!

Long night, longer day

Yesterday's encounter with a swarm of wasps faded into insignificance, if feeling like your scalp is bathed in acid is ever insignificant, compared to later events. I went out at around midnight to check Pam the Mangaliza and wasn't surprised to find a deficit of piglets, but as I stood by the gate wished instant pig birth a strange sound echoed around the smallholding, an eerie wailing that made everything freeze and listen. In the maximum security unit Geisha, who had to be fair alerted us to the likelihood of poorlyness earlier on, was now very ill. We had tried to sort her out during the day, a succulent selection of greenery freshly cut was turned down. Not a good sign. We put on her favourite Marillion album (Anglo Nubian's prefer prog rock to heavy metal) but she lay in the corner and refused to perk up. Now, at the start of the small hours she was wailing with tummy ache.
This is where Darwin's theory is seriously flawed, survival of the fittest and all that, the origin of the species is lacking a chapter on self combustion in goats. Goats are, for the uninitiated, mobile chemical reactions on legs. Every second of the day their internal chemistry set bubbles and fizzes away, always on the point of critical mass, threatening to self destruct. Too much of one foodstuff and they explode. Literally. Their internal organs go to war against the host and usually the first thing you know about it is a goat that has ceased to be.
As we are now seasoned campaigners in the chemical war we know what to look out for. A goat failing to be cheered up by Marillion's Fugazi is one, but secondary signs like scouring (runny poos) were absent. Now, just past the Witching hour Geisha looked like she was lining up for the mother of all chemical reactions. Having tried to revive her and failing the fourth emergency service was called and the vet responded within minutes. Over a much needed cuppa tactics were discussed and together we tried to get Geisha to stay away from the light. Pipes were stuck where they shouldn't be in any goat and soon she was giving off a foul smelling gas, injections to relive the pain, combat the infection and prevent muscle spasms were all administered. By 3am she showed no real sign of rallying but was breathing easy and her heart rate was down. Still no poo which was a worry, Geisha can out poo the horses, combined on a good day.
We left her to it and in the morning at first light (still no piglets) Geisha was alive, and moving around. Experience warned against hope. Luckily I could do my work from home today, and between phone calls, letters sent and meetings organised I checked on the med bay. 10 am saw me back at the vets getting more injections and liquid paraffin to drench her in a final bid to clear anything causing whatever it was, but even as I tipped the goo down her throat her eyes told me it was pointless.
Lunchtime and I thought she had gone but she woke with a start and tried to stand. This was pitiful to watch and she gave up preferring to be stroked where she lay. Her breathing was slow and laboured and we were in the final stages. By 4pm she seemed to be in fresh pain, the drugs wearing off perhaps, or worse symptoms showing them self so a call to the vet to come and end it. Tracey my beautiful and oh so patient and very tearful wife went into the med bay to say goodbye at which point Geisha gave a final mew and passed on to the great vegetable garden in the sky where gardeners are happy to see her and welcome her ravishing of the ever growing crops.
Another call to the vet to cancel his trip over with the humane killer, thankfully there was no need to shoot our pet. I caught up with him later on, both of us had had a bad day, and we chatted about life, the universe and exploding goats. His view was she had got some catastrophic gut complaint, like a twist which meant she shut down and died. Anglo Nubian's do quit sometimes. Nothing could be done. We have had a run of bad luck, Rainbow the foal, Jester the lamb hit by a bike and now Geisha. With a pig about to farrow and a Bernese Mountain dog about to have pups we are hoping the run has ended.

Suits you

Two views from HQ. Geisha with a new case of MLS. (A.N.D.Q!)
Poppy with very fetching stripes. Fox pooh is this years must have accessory!

In the bag!

I did wonder where Geisha had got to, she normally tries to mug me as I carry feed around the smallholding. An empty feed bag just proved too tempting for her. It did give me five minutes peace though! A.N.D.Q!

None shall pass!

We don't get much traffic passing Rock HQ, our lane leads nowhere except to the swamp in The Cauldron. Many years ago there was some form of track that led along the Bonsai Mountain and occasionally a coal truck would venture along dropping off fuel to Rock HQ and the next cottage along. Lack of traffic is a good thing, considering the free range nature of our critters, we have only had one end up as road kill, Barry White one of the little Ryeland lambs got squished under white van mans tyres as he reversed into the turning circle.

So as we have 50 million acres of space to play in it did come as a bit of a surprise to find a dispute on one of the sheep trails at the top end of The Cauldron. Geisha the Anglo Nubian Goat and Ferny Fern Fern from Ferntown were heading one way while Levi, Joan and Petal were intent on going the other. This led to a snarl up, neither side felt like stepping off the track to let the others pass. There was a lot of pushing and shoving but both Geisha and Levi were convinced they had the right of way and would not yield. Levi should remember that A.N.D.Q!

As far as I know they are all still there.

Bernese Mountain Goat

As part of my stress management I embarked on the Bonsai Banzai training session today. Jill, aka Super Grandma had taken charge of the critters and fed and watered all. I had managed to fix the leak under the sink, the leak was not caused by my clearing a sink blockage yesterday but by cack handed design, or cobbled together plumbing by the previous owners. My disturbing the sludge in the ubend highlighted the shortfalls in pipework and lack of water proof seals. A trip to the local town to buy essential supplies for Tristan, who has given us some dramas to deal with today, all dealt with without recourse hospital which was the first idea that sprang into the visiting midwifes head. She arrived in a whiter than white car, so white it hurt your eyes to look at it, I mean it glowed, radioactive isotopes were in the paint. I stood there slack jawed like someone witnessing the second coming, dressed, it has to be said, like and extra from Deliverance and holding a pick axe handle. The radioactive car stopped on our dirt track, I had to shield my eyes, the occupant shouted from within "Have we taken the wrong turn?" I was about to say pretty much when the occupant declared in mild hysterical tones that" We are looking for Tracey" Through the glare I could see two midwifes. I pointed to the cottage door and sat myself in a rocking chair sucking apple sauce through a straw. "We don't get many strangers in these parts" I shouted after them.

Back in reality and in our local town I realised my mistake, local town, lunchtime. Here, even the cafes shut at lunchtime so trying to get essentials for Tristan was impossible until 2pm when the Chemist deemed it safe to unlock to door. Trying to get essential plumbing supplies took three shops, four pointless conversations and £2.67 plus vat for a piece of plastic I knew I could not use but needed the rubber seal from the one end.

Back at the ranch I bestowed the occupants of the cottage with gifts, which included a bar of chocolate for my beautiful and oh so patient wife. Good job she is, patient that is, as in my stressed Eric state I sat and ate the bar of whole nut while watching Tristan who, oblivious to my anxiety settled down as if nothing had happened (as I type the news he has finally done a pooh has almost brought tears to my eyes) it is, essentially a relief for all concerned. So after possibly the most stressful calorific over consumption since the healthy eating regime kicked in I took the BBMC training to a new level. The Bonsai Banzai. This is a route up the north face gully to the top, down the long haul side, back up the long haul and down to five ways crossing, double back to the summit and descend via north face gully. I had in mind it would take an hour if I really tried, I did try and it took 65 minutes. A target to beat. Not bad for a first attempt. The Berners all joined in, but we had an honorary Berner for the first stage, up until the tricky step section of North Face Gully. Geisha joined in. She changed her mind. Sensible goat. A.N.D.Q!

No one home

Not much goes on between the ears. A.N.D.Q!

Gizzit!

Chopping logs is thirsty work, but your ginger beer is not safe with Geisha around!A.N.D.Q!

Still alive!

Geisha the Anglo Nubian Goat puts a lot of effort into sleeping, it wears her out. Another case of MLS at Rock HQ.

A.N.D.Q!

Regular guests might have noticed a few bits missing from these pages, this is because our technowiz Sara has revamped her page, see mountainbikegirl in the margin, and in doing so forgot the arcane links to our pages where photos and banners were intrinsically linked. Normal service will be resumed when she sobers up enough to answer the phone.

Meanwhile.

The Dolyhir Bernese Mountain Dog site (see margin) was almost finished today by a technowizard called Rob, so by this time next week it will be "live" and fans of the best dogs in the world will have pages and pages of Berners to look at. Work will then begin in earnest on the new Tales from the Rock site.

Meanwhile.

Driving today across the mountain a blur of movement on my right, out of the drivers side door I was amazed to see a Red Kite. Flying. Flying about five feet off the road surface, parallel to me and matching my speed. For a millisecond we were eye to eye before it peeled off right over the gorse and bracken.

Signs and portents.

Battle of the breakfast bowl!

Maggie takes issue with Daffodil over breakfast rights.

A.N.D.Q.

When Hell freezes over!

Lets get a fact about goats cleared up once and for all, they don't eat everything.

They do however try to eat everything. The day you see a goat not eating is when Hell freezes over.

So the flames must have been at least dampened today as Geisha, our lovely pedigree Anglo Nubian Goat turned her back on the food. Even though her stall mate Maggie started to eat it all she refused even to look at it.

A sudden influx of poultry would normally provoke an eating race but

still she persisted in her non eating.Clearly a non eating goat is a cause for concern and as our plans for milk and cheese are resting squarely on her furry shoulders action was needed to put her right.

The cause of her loss of appetite was footrot. Hooves grow continuously like fingernails and have to be trimmed regularly to prevent their feet literally rotting away. Imagine the worst case of athletes foot ever, but with little worms in just to make it more interesting then perhaps you can appreciate why Geisha felt less like eating and more like crying.

We have been trimming and checking her hooves weekly as we had noticed the onset of this horrible affliction but it just gets worse. No matter how many times I spray us both with the purple foot rot cure it makes no difference other than my colleagues at work giving me funny looks for sporting an unusual shade of purple nail varnish. What she needs are dry feet but given our climate and its propensity for rain that seems to be, well a real case of blue sky thinking. We have moved her to dry quarters and a dry bed on a dry floor where she rather pathetically just about managed a little piece of dry straw for lunch. A real case of A.N.D.Q!

Purple was a bit of a theme today as we cleaned The Boys, giving them a good brush and generally tended to their every needs. Its a strange thing smallholding, you spend most of your time making sure your charges are clean, dry and well fed while you on the other hand get dirty, wet and hungry.

Anyway Apollo had done his party trick of rolling in his fresh number twos, turning him from a white to a sort of nicotine yellow with green splashes. No worries, we have a new weapon against the terror of pooh, a spray that is especially formulated to turn off white ponies back to radioactive white in just a few squirts. Unfortunately the manufacturers of this particular soap spray have not met Apollo and his pooh so despite following the manufacturers guidelines he didn't go white, first he went a dull grey and then a strange kind of purple rinse effect took hold, like an old ladies hair do.

Luckily I only did from the shoulders back so passers by wont think there is anything amiss as this handsome Gypsy Cob whinnies hello.

The phony war in the garden continues, masses of preparation work ready for the spring offensive.

This is how it looks at the moment, the spring cabbages have survived Trevor's assault, the sprouts are over and the garlic is struggling but holding on.

Cant wait until we can start doing proper gardening as opposed to trying to stop yourself slipping over on the death trap paving slabs or suddenly walking with one very cold and wet foot as you have left a boot stuck fast in the mud.

Goats. Why Bother?

Anyone wanting to keep goats should think long and hard about it, then go and seek medical help as you do need your head examined. No sane person would put up with their antics.

This is just one morning with Maggie and Geisha.

First they tried to eat all the lambs food.

Then they knocked over the poultry feed bucket and had a second breakfast.

Having been chased off from the hay put out for the sheep Maggie doubled back and stole Trevor's breakfast, at the same time claiming the bale of hay put out for Apollo who is in the background looking most put out.

So why would you keep goats?

Well.

Entertainment value obviously!



ANDQ!

Anything goes

Goats have a reputation for eating everything, they don't, but they do try everything. Maggie has taken this rotten gourd from the compost. She seems to like it.

ANDQ

Its my breakfast now!

The Ryelands are on Oak Bank at the moment and there is not much for them to eat so they are getting a bale of hay to share every other day. Its a good natured communal breakfast with ample room for them all to tuck in.

Not today though, the goats have joined them and whilst Geisha is quite happy to take a helping from outside of the field and so not interfering with the sheep, Maggie has decided that its all hers.

ANDQ!

A.N.D.Q!

Can anyone see a potential problem here?

Maggie does this but as she has horns she can't get out as easily as Geisha!

A.N.D.Q!

Rain stops play!

Weather really has an impact here. We got up fairly early as there was a lot to do, but whilst it was dry we walked over to visit our friends whose Berners we look after while they are away. The walk did the horses a lot of good, there was one minor upset when Trevor panicked because a car was parked at the end of our lane. It was under the trees, lurking, a harbinger of doom, for Trevor was right to panic, its Murpy's car, he is back on the hill so none of us are safe.

There does seem to be a link between his arrival and atrocious weather!

We managed to get the jobs done just as the heavens opened and we have seen some rain here but today was definitely the hardest ever, linked to the gale force winds it made being outside intolerable. Everyone and everybeast took shelter wherever they could find it, even Geisha thought twice about crossing the yard to steal food.

The rain has flooded the workshop, I moved everything into the upstairs gallery, well that that wasn't floating when I discovered the disaster area. It seems the roof over the black hole has given up any pretence of weatherproofness and the water is currently pouring in. Another job to add to the list!

You might think the video above shows that Geisha's has given up her raids on the haystack. Not a chance!

A.N.D.Q!

Despite it being appalling weather William and Geisha insist on helping themselves to the hay buffet.

Taking shelter wherever they can Hercules and Maude are hiding under the spare rabbit hutch, it might only keep their heads dry but at least its a start!

A.N.D.Q

Should you need further proof, despite her traumatic incarceration in her dinner yesterday Geisha is straight back at the hayface.

A.N.D.Q!