Maaaaama

There aren’t many more exciting things on a farm than baby animals. Zelda, Peach, Luna and Cosmo are all old enough to frolic together now, and there are times during the day that the traffic on the street alongside the goat pen has slowed to a crawl so everyone can take photos and video as they pass by. I’m not even joking. The babies are neighborhood celebrities, and everyone from the local schoolbus to the local police officer stop to say hello to the babies.

I’m used to it this year, but last year it sort of weirded me out. When we lived in town, it was unnerving to have people look at our property. Were they casing the joint? Did they see something they were going to complain about? Ugh. Now, though? I’m glad to see everyone enjoying the farm animals. We have little kids visiting pretty regularly, and big kids too. Baby goat snuggles are pretty much the best thing in the world when they’re small enough to hold in your arms.

All four babies are also big enough to start eating hay, so that means they’re all old enough to be separated from mama at night. The older two babies are more or less used to it by now, but… the two little ones are very put out. Last year when I separated them it darn near broke my heart to hear them crying for mama – mostly because it actually SOUNDS like they’re saying “MaaaaaaMaaaa!!” I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter what species they are, little ones can really tug on a mom’s heart strings. Here’s a photo of Zelda, who the kids have elected their tiny herd leader. She stands on the little half house inside the stall, and yells out the window at me. I’m fairly certain she was elected leader because she’s the damn loudest.

Tomorrow morning, I start milking Star again. Hopefully, this time around she won’t be my “tap dancing idiot,” as I have called her in the past. Signs don’t point to any change, though, considering that when I was checking her udder a few days ago she put both back feet into the milking bucket at the same time. That takes skill and dedication, folks.

Wish me luck. If you’re in the neighborhood, you’ll be able to tell when I’m done – the babies will be done yelling, and I will be done cussing.

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