Mother and Son

Milking Tessie yesterday was anticlimactic after the drama of the preceding days.  She pretty much kept all four feet on the stand and I was able to empty the udder, even to the bump-and-strip at the end.  Tessie is going to be a good milker once she gets over the urge to be a tap-dancer.  Given that she delivered so far into summer, I am only milking her once a day.  Twice a day is better for a couple of months at first, but it's just too darned hot for her and for me to do a nighttime stint on the stand.

Twenty-Two is really coming into his own.  Like all babies, at first all he did was eat and sleep.  Now he wants to play a bit after his tummy is full, and he's sucking down a full bottle at every feeding.  When I pick him up to sit him on my lap, he immediately starts nuzzling and doing the head butting that gets the milk flowing from the moms.  I've explained that his milk comes from the bottle.  His eyes are blue, and won't change to golden brown for another month or so.  Since I am now his "herd," Twenty-Two tries to follow when I leave.  It's hard to be an only child when you're a kid, goat or otherwise.

Hearing a noise on the deck this morning as I went to make coffee, I turned on the porch light and there was Rocky Raccoon, busy working on the lid to the empty dog treat container again.  Bessie Anne about lost it, yelling, "Let me at him!"  There was no way I would let her out...raccoons can really do a number on a dog.  I'm banging on the glass door, Bess is barking her head off, and Rocky just looked at us, said, "Fine.  Just fine.  You're a lousy hostess anyhow," and ambled over to the corner and down the post at the end of the deck in his own good time.  Obviously, I've got to find another place to keep the recycle bag.