Most days if I woke up to a sight such as this I’d sigh with gratitude but not yesterday.
Here’s Pixie (or as my husband calls her “Future Sausage”). I love her independent streak, her beauty and her habit of leading the others into trouble. My husband doesn’t quite think these traits are endearing. When milking her everything has to be just so. When I left my confident husband for a book talk in New Jersey I suggested that he do things just so but he waved me off. He’d seen me milk her a thousand times. When I came back he was researching mechanical milking machines.
Goat does go into heat every 20 days or so in the fall and early winter. The strong scent of the buck peeing on his face and acting all crazy gets the girls going, but we’ve been putting off getting our own sex machine because we’d have to build another shelter and put in more fencing. Pixie went into a strong heat in November. She made it quite clear that she wanted to mate in NOVEMBER, but I WANTED kids in MAY. Bad plan. Her next heat I didn’t even notice so we decided a few days ago to play fertility specialists.
So we shot her with this stuff and waited for Pixie to flag her tail when I showed her the buck rag (smelly rag rubbed on our friend’s buck).
Yesterday morning it was 10-. All the way down to the barn I was praying for her tail not to flick. It did. My husband had to go to work shortly but there was no way I could get Pixie into the pick up on my own. We shoved her in and I rode in the back with her. I lost feeling in my toes three minutes in and Pixie had frozen condensation all over her shivering mouth as we road up to our friend’s farm for the buck ride. Not very romantic. After a few failed attempts (it turns out that the champion buck is a “slow breeder” which means he wants a little quality time with a girl) my husband, dressed for summer lost patience and got in with Pixie and Samba to hold her still–willing Samba to mount her. This didn’t help so we went home not sure if anything happened.
Then it started to snow–all day. My son came home from school and was recruited for the second trip over to the friend’s barn. When the window of the pick-up cab fell on my son’s head he too lost patience. He has allergies to farm animals and hay so spent a few minutes eating snow to calm the allergy attack (didn’t work). Again I got in the back with Pixie. The roads were terrible and now I noted that my young son (who used to call himself Young Buck online) was driving really fast. I also realized that I had no way of yelling at him because the truck is loud and so was the radio tuned into sports talk. As we approached a dangerous little bridge over a deep ravine I had to make peace with the idea that I had no control. It sucked.
The buck this time seemed to get a few good shots, but we won’t know for sure till spring.
So next year we’re getting our own buck.