THE BEST LAID PLANS PT. 6
Years have passed since those early days and I am a bona fide, dyed in the wool farm girl with the work worn hands and developed biceps to show for it. My knowledge of the animals in my care has increased immensely as has my ability to care for them. I can now tell you about the various breeds of chickens, which ones are best for laying and which are used more for their meat, as well as what color eggs they lay and what size. I can give you similar advice about ducks and even answer questions about turkeys. I can talk about goats with a healthy amount of knowledge.
Being a farm girl means I have also gained skills I never expected to have. I can and do trim hooves with little in the way of difficulty. If a song is included in the hoof trim, the goat version of the spa treatment is tolerable as far as they are concerned. If a repertoire of songs is included, that’s even better. I’m not sure why the goats enjoy being sung to, but I’m for anything, even a few rounds of “Skip to my Lou,” if it will keep them calm and make the job easier.
I can and do give booster shots to the goats with great skill. I have bottle raised kids and I have hatched eggs. It never gets tiring watching a duckling tumble out of it’s shell, wet and exhausted from passing nature’s fitness test. And, yes, I have opened and drained a few abscesses, nursed a rooster back from the brink, given a therapy bath and gotten up at midnight to give an injection of antibiotics to a sick goat. I can lay claim to this and so much more.
The farm has come a long way from those early days of Junior and Jellybean, who have long since traded their earthly wings for something angelic. Hiram has done the same. Tragically, String Bean also left us after becoming stricken with bladder stones during a particularly hot, dry summer. Mocha is now quite old at the age of 18 and she looks it, too. Sweet Pea, at age 14, is right behind her.
There are others who have since joined this cast of characters that comprises my farm and they have all succeeded in stealing my heart. It’s just that way. Chicks need to be raised, as do ducklings in order to provide the eggs that I now sell to a healthy customer base. If a kid goat needs a surrogate mommy to raise her, I am not going to say no. For me, it’s just not possible. There is always room in my heart for one more. I even still whistle at mealtime to call the descendants of those first turkeys to come and have a bite to eat. They thunder into the farmyard, ready and eager, as do the chickens and ducks who have learned to respond to my whistling, too.
No, I never planned on having this farm that began with two orphaned ducks and an inability to keep my mouth shut. This was one big accident that has turned out surprisingly well. I have learned, I have laughed, and, yes, I have even cried. It might have been nice to have found Mr. Right and settled down in the suburbs, but, when a three-month-old kid goat stands on end and wraps her front legs around my legs so she can give me a hug, that’s pretty nice, too.
