This is fair week. Last week was spent getting ready - and like most folks, we're not completely ready, but like the show, the fair must go on.

The highlight, if you could call it that, of the preparations were shaving the goats for presentation. Sheering all the hair off is a long standing tradition, probably to show any scars, disfigurements, or other things that a nice coat of hair can cover up. Just another way of ensuring that you're not buying a pig in a poke, if indeed you do any buying at the fair. I was also informed that technically, this process is not called something as vulgar or plebean as "shaving." There's a politically correct term for it, but I can't remember what it is exactly at this writing. It's something very neutral like, "putting a show coat on the goats."

As small herd-holders, we're not pros at this clipping thing. That's why it took a couple of us most of the day to clip just five goats. Seeing these pictures gives you an idea of why also - we don't have any fancy slings or anything like that to hold the goat. We were most of the way through clipping the last goat when someone mentioned, "Why don't you put them in the milk stand for clipping?" What, and miss all the fun of holding a goat in your lap? All the fun of having your toes mushed my hard goat hooves when you don't have steel toed boots? The actual answer is, "Duh, wish we'd thought of that six hours ago."

The end result is a naked goat (boy, I bet that's going to bring in the disgusting search engine hits) that looks markedly different from the one you started with. Fortunately, we didn't clip the enormous wethers nearly as completely - we spared their face and head. They're for performance, not show, so we could dodge that bullet. This one was the smallest of the goats we did, and to get its belly, I was literally dancing with it, holding it up by it's front legs so my daughter get underneath it.

Some of the goats were spared this indignity. The two runty kids, and one of the does that miscarried will not be going this year. This is the runt of the two runts, and it had no worries about the events of the day. Also unconcerned was our audience. While we had up to four people working goats (myself, daughter, wife, father-in-law), we had just as many at one point who pulled up chairs to watch the proceedings (although one was the intrepid photographer who took these shots, and did some valuable footwork when it was needed). Needless to say, some had more fun that day than others did. This little runt was one of them. "No worries."

I've given up counting eggs until after the first of the New Year. I tried to find an academic calendar so I could start counting in September, but do you suppose anybody has one? I guess people have finally figured out how impractical they are, because no matter what, you always end up throwing 1/3 of it away. Suffice it to say that laying tapered off to nothing until I made the decision to coop up the birds until late afternoon. I did that and mirable dictu! - all of a sudden I was back up to three eggs a day. I do need to go in next week and clean out the buckets that only one hen it bothering to lay in.

We're getting about 12 - 15 eggs a week. I need a couple more layers to keep up with family demand. I also consider it a blessing to give eggs away, and I gave a lot away when I had lots of layers. I'd like to get to that point again, only with perhaps not so many birds about. A scaled down version, perhaps.

I'll be back next week with Fair results. Although technically, since I'm writing this during a break from the Fair, I know what part of the results are already. But we're going to all pretend I don't know anything yet. Right?

PS: Yes, I know this layout is sloppy and unprofessional and even unbecoming an Accidental Farmer. But I'm in a hurry, am going back to the fair in a short while, and haven't the time for formalities. Perhaps I'll fix it later...

PS2: Forgot to mention that it was worked out so the goat that recently delivered but lost her kid could make it to the fair. It has to be kept at least 1 pen away from other (that is, not our) goats. Logistically interesting, but not impossible. More later.