It all started with the spotting of the dreaded coyote - near the goat yard!! After the spotting, we realized that we did not have a gun. We lost a few points on the "good farmer" list for not having a gun. So - I called my daddy... he brought me a 22 and showed me how to shoot it. (push safety button, look through scope, pull trigger... I think I can write a computer program to do that!) I sat outside for a few hours waiting for Wile E. to show his stinking hairy face again. He didn't. I did, however, successfully shoot a paper bag that I sure thought was a coyote. Sad.
With the adrenaline high after my valiant protection of the flock, I decided that I was capable of doing a few other new and exciting things. Like - saving the three guinea fowl chicks that were being hatched and reared by a momma goose. You see, I figured that if I let goose continue to sit on the eggs and hatch the rest of them then she'd be distraught when she took them to the pond and discovered that they couldn't swim. So - me to the rescue!
First step in the plan - get the momma goose off the nest. That took some doing. Daddy goose decided to coming honking to momma's rescue and chased me round and round the flower bed (where momma is nesting) hissing and honking while my entire family stood in the bay window laughing at me. I finally made it inside without getting goosed and told all the laughers that they could bloody well come help me.
With more bodies on the job, daddy goose wasn't quite so brave and just screamed at us from a distance. We got momma off the nest and found that two of the chicks had already died. So I rescued the final guinea chick, stuck it in a cardboard box in the sun room with a heat lamp, water and chick starter feed. It died the next morning. Mother Nature 3, April 0. I didn't need any more guineas anyway, right? Momma Goose is still sitting on her nest hissing at me every time she sees me. However, Craig cut a sapling down to make me a shillaleigh (a big stick to you and me), so Daddy Goose doesn't come near me any more. I'll totally whack him with the stick (oops, shillaleigh) if he does. Totally.
Next task on the weekend to-do list: Weedwhack the tall brush up by the creek that runs past the goat yard. Here's a fun fact...chickens can absolutely turn invisible when they sit in tall brush. Here's another fun fact...they won't move when the weed eater gets near. She screamed... I screamed... she flew to the goat yard missing all tail feathers except one broken one. She looks at me accusingly everytime she walks past with her nearly naked butt. I feel bad.
Up next, time to de-billy the baby billy goats. Mind you, it's well past time for this to happen. We wanted to do so last weekend, but found that their billy-bits were too big to fit in the bands. So, we ordered a burdizzo. I can tell you that nowhere in all of the books that we've read did it tell us that goats can scream like girls at a horror movie. Well, they can... in my ear... really loudly. I also discovered that my rough and tumble husband will cry a small tear of sympathy when the burdizzo clamps together. More on this later - it was too hysterical not to talk about!
Sore and aching, I think we'll take next weekend off!
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