Morning Song Farm News

Quite a bit of ruckus going on in the goat barn this last week as Lulu, our gorgeous, spotted Nigerian goat was on the losing end of a tussle with a rattlesnake. We've had an unusual breed of rattlesnakes out here this year, many just don't rattle. It's like they're just too lazy to bother. Which is a bummer, because it's the distinctive sssshhhhhhh of the rattlesnake that alerts us of their presence. There was a couple years, about a decade ago...when the rattlesnakes on the farm were wildly aggressive; just exploding with rattles and hisses whenever someone came near. Those got thinned out pretty quickly because they alerted predators to their presence. Some locals are saying that the California rattlesnake has bred with other snakes and the current breed of rattlesnake is a hybrid. I'm hoping that's just folklore because a non-rattling, lazy but still venomous snake is pretty bad news. Poor Lulu's face is swollen to the point she doesn't look li...

Some of you may recall that the family New Year's Resolution involved demonstrating once and for Who Is Really In Charge Here and definitively fence in (corral) Carl The Goat Terror and his cohorts where they belong, like the rest of the goats on the planet. This has been a long term endeavor, and not to be over reaching; we agreed that getting the task done SOMETIME in 2014 was a reasonable goal. Setting about the job without proper consultation would never do, as we mean business this time, Carl. So I called Premier Fencing's tech support line in the first week of January. They're the folks that handily instructed us how to create a llama corral that was never, ever questioned. Not by the resident coyotes, and not by our herd of three hundred pound llamas. The fence was never defied..a flagship of human will over a grazing animals instincts to eat the surrounding landscape into dust. Our otherwise untrainable dog was indeed trained in a single dog-meets-electrical-fence e...

Carl has outdone himself yet again, and all whose so-called unreasoning, prejudicial complaints in re Carl's behavior, lodged against his "mother," Goat Whisperer Lance; are united today to celebrate a minor, yet joyous vindication. It reminds me of the time my ex insisted his unbelievably  car-phobic dog was too car-trained, and his spectacularly ill-fated attempt to prove his point by having the dog ride in his brand new Jag. Oh yes, vindication is sweeeet. Carl has taken to wondering south, lately; all by himself...  (a very ungoatlike thing to do) and browsing down to the packing house where the weeds and treats have proved to be less impacted by other, less trail-blazing, munchers. Although a known break-and-enterer up here by his barn (which means that young and old, residents and visitors alike must, without fail,  remember to BOLT all exit doors or Carl will end up in the living room or his head in my recyling bin), Carl has found enough trouble to get himself i...

Nothing new here under the sun, but I'm just so over Carl eating my stuff. I don't know what it is about money and Carl, but he seems to have an other worldly sense for when there's money in an unattended envelope. Yeah, I know I shouldn't have turned my back on Carl with an envelope of 20's on the golf cart, but the level of vigilance that is required to never, ever get your stuff eaten by Carl has proven to be beyond me. Think about how many speeding tickets you'd have by now, if you never, ever, ever, got away with speeding. Not once, not ever. As in, every time you exceeded the limit by even one nanosecond of a mile, bamm, you get a ticket.  Some times the ticket isn't too costly, sometimes it bowls you over, as in... you just can't believe the wreckage of what was formerly known as your living room.  That's what it's like caring for  Carl. There is no elbow room, no margin for error. It's never like, high five that, I'm so lucky C...

We weren't sure how Boo's first birthday party would pan out... as, well...you never quite know with a spoiled-beyond belief miniature goat with a mind of her own. Lance made quite the deal out of it, certainly more than he's made out of any one else 's birthday around here for a while. Ha ha! There never was a prouder goat owner, that's for sure. He even went to a bakery and picked up a healthy blueberry muffin for her birthday cake. No unhealthy frosting here! Boo didn't want anything to do with her "goat cake," unfortunately, and her other guests stomped right over it to get to that tasty looking book. Boo waits impatiently for her guests to arrive at her first birthday party. Boo chooses "content over calories" and eats a book instead of her birthday cake. Daddy Carl supervises the party Most of his daughter's guests ate their hats; but Carl...ever the good Dad, wears his proudly.

The family-wide debate over the worthiness of owning a goat herd continues, with strong partisan leaders in opposing camps. Frankie, at 18, sees the herd as never-intended-to-be-eaten-meat-on hooves and has zero interest in their finer attributes. He lives in fear of the day one of them jumps on his micro-managed clean-beyond-belief fire engine red Mustang. That would just do him in. Enough so, that if he can't get opposing counsel to see his point of view, he is up for relocating the herd to somewhere, over there. As in on the other side of the farm. Or the planet. Or perhaps as a reasonable compromise, someone else's farm. "You could visit, often, mom." He has, however, finally prevailed in his long held belief that Lance and Boo Boo should conduct their "mommy and me" time, not in our living room. Now in Lance's defense, Boo Boo is Lance's little mental health provider, and he likes hanging out with her away from the rest of the herd in peace. ...

Here's the link to make reservations for our cheese making class(es): http://www.meetup.com/Morning-Song-Farm-Cheese-Making/events/83796332/ If you have a CSA account with us, you don't need to go to meetup. Just send us an email that you'd like to have your class fee charged to your account, and let us know if you're attending one, two or all three that are currently scheduled. (Third Saturdays of each month.)

Carl the Menace has outdone himself this week and has exceeded even his usual level of nonsense and bedlam he provides us for our enjoyment. As the herd’s official “taster”, he takes the first bite of anything suspect and then the rest of the herd follows after him. I don’t know how he got this job. But there seems to be a herd consensus.   He ate all my Temecula Valley Pipe and Supply invoices this week (really just half of each—but to the IRS, half a goat-eaten invoice is the same as no invoice), saving none for the others. So I guess the flimsy invoice paper stock the invoices are printed on, is extra tasty. As I was unloading my car yesterday, I put my purse down for a second to shift the groceries in my arms and Carl pounced on my purse and bolted. That’s it, down the driveway with change, lipstick and Notes To Self flying in the wind. I cornered him in the goat barn, as he calmly starred me down with a $20 hanging out of his mouth. Here’s the thing.   Like the...

Carl the Terror stands sentry on a rock overlooking the farm. I'm happy to report that the goats are now moving on from what once was my landscaping to address the weeds adjacent to their living quarters. They are free ranged, but don't venture more than an acre or so from their barn and our farmhouse. Carl travels the furthest and enjoys perching himself on his rock to survey the farm below.  Lance's little bottle fed goat, Boo Boo has discovered Golf Cart Surfing, and now likes to jump in the cart as we take off to balance in the back. She has also learned to ride shotgun with Lance in his truck and flops herself down in the road when she hears him coming up the drive so he's forced to get out of his truck and pick her up. Chef Adrianna has perfected her soft goat cheese recipe, and we're all taking turns milking, which makes running the hobby dairy portion of the farm a whole lot easier.

You know, I've always thought of goats as rugged animals, survivalists even. A beast that can eat your shoe, or a piece of your car on a bad day, is no sissy. So I am really entertained to discover that they're afraid of rain. This isn't an individual trait, but the whole herd's. Even a little mist is viewed with suspicion, but the actual downpour that we received in the last couple days has been met with herd-wide alarm. Our off-limits farmhouse door is only 40 or so feet from the goat's barn, but when a few sprinkles landed on them, they roared into my house which offered a closer refuge than the barn door. Like the actual 10 feet more had they gone in the opposite direction to their barn, was too dicey. And then resolutely stood their ground when invited to leave. I know we've gone over this before; no goats in the livingroom. But getting a goat to move toward something they're afraid of is like trying to argue with arugula. Each one had to be unbrella...

Well, last time I wrote about our goats, I was satisfied with the understanding that I thought we had reached after some discussions. I don't sleep in the goat barn, and they don't hang out in my house. Everyone at Morning Song was satisfied with that arrangement and I thought we could move on to more pressing issues. Apparently not. I came home today to discover the entire herd LOCKED in my otherwise unoccupied house. I think it's Carl AKA Goat Man as pointman. He's never been much of a rule observer, and I think he has figured out how to open doors with his front hooves. He doesn't do this in front of humans. I think it's some kind of goat rule. But the evidence can't be argued with. Once he entered; and I'm saying he, because I think it's Goat Man, the whole herd followed. Had he made a quick mission into forbidden territory and exited, I might not have known. But for one reason or another (a breeze? a door tussle? a piece of paper behind the door...

This is Rosie at left, one of our wonderful Nigerian Dwarf dairy goats. She isn't interested in having her photo taken unless the camera is edible, so this is the best I could do today. Goats figured out how to get into their treat bag last night and then, having gorged, couldn't be coaxed to the milking stand this morning. In my pajamas and flip flops with a flashlight at 6:00 a.m., I discovered I had been outsmarted. Although those pajamas look like I lost in a mud tug of war, I did indeed win the battle. However, hairy foot ended up in the milking bucket, so maybe we'll call it a "draw." I'll be making soap (critical not to misspell as "soup," here) of today's milk. Basically, the goats and I have an understanding. They get treated like princesses and are bribed with treats, that no doubt preclude any hope of ever being a profitable dairy. I get to milk in peace. There's also a subsidiary rule that although they know how to open my front ...

Well, I knew Gracie would be delivering her babies any minute last night, but at some point I had to give up and go to bed. My alarm rang this morning at 4:45 and I jumped up to check on her. As I poured myself a quick cup of coffee, the farmhouse's kitchen window overlooks the llama corral, and I could see the llamas were upset about something because they were both "pointing" to the barn. Llamas will usually point if there's a coyote or dog in the vicinity. They assume a sturdy stance and "stare down" the intruder as their first line of defense. I ran out the front door to count my goats and calm my llamas. One goat, two.... missing number three. I found Gracie in the llama barn at the tail end of labor with three little fluffballs prancing at her feet. The photos here are of Gracie's babies right after birth. I was expecting them to be kind of unattractive, like a new born puppy or kitten, but the Nigerian newborn is beautiful and cute, fluffy, wide ...

Here's our intrepid goat herd leader, Nibbles (aka Whiskers On Kittens) challenging the (much) larger llamas, "so what are you going to do about it". Llamas are clean creatures (once feed hits the floor, they won't usually touch it) Our llamas utilize a hiarchy with regards to which llama can approach the feed and when. And here's Nibbles lounging in their food, completely oblivious to llama sanitation standards, established hiarchy proticol and common decency. Final insult: Nibbles left behind goat "pellets" upon departure.

Latest update on Mary, who was last reported to be spending some time back at her breeder's ranch with Bob the Stud Goat, after a vet's scan determined she wasn't yet pregnant. Evidently, Bob's goof-ball romantic goat antics fell on deaf ears as Mary would have nothing to do with him. Natha. She seemed to relish prancing and teasing, but wouldn't have anything to do with Bob that might have resulted in her pregnancy. Sooooo, a different goat stud was selected for her approval, and this time, instead of Mary visiting him, Joe the New Goat Stud has been invited for conjugal visits with Mary here at Morning Song. And just for the record, does he stink . Male goats are just a whole different deal. They reek, they slobber, they druel. I read recently that goats have, throughout history, been at the bottom of the Livestock Wish List (cattle being at the top). After getting within nose shot of a male in rut, I can completely understand my ancestors' thoughts, which up...