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.

Eggs (week ending 8/12): 16
Eggs (year to date): 57

Friday morning while letting the chickens out, I couldn't find the little black buck that was born on Monday. I went into the milking room and found its mother, and then I found the buck dead on the ground between the milk stand and the wall.

There was no sign it had been attacked or outwardly injured. It was just dead. Perhaps something internal, like a bad heart, killed it. We don't know. Or maybe, like in the old preacher's story, The One That Brings Death came by for one of us, and God let it have the little buck instead.

My daughter was distressed by this, but said, "Farmers have bad years, and this one is mine." In a word, yeah. Two runty does, a bred doe that miscarried. The goat that delivered the little buck was part of the herd she wanted to show in competition, but now due to the government health agencies managing scapies (a mad-cow related disease that goats and sheep can get - pardon the lack of a link, but I couldn't find a good one), she probably won't be able to take her because she kidded less than a month before the fair. She bred this doe specifically so it would have a kid at the fair because the board paid a premium for does with newborn kids on display for visitors - but the rules suddenly, and apparently recently, changed. So not only can she not display this pair because of the buck dying, but the government would have kept them out of the fair anyway.

And now is appears that this same doe is going into heat again - even though it is being milked twice a day. Go figure that one out. Or, my oh my that was a fast recovery. Take your pick.

Aside from being late to work for burying the little buck and consoling wife and daughter on Friday morning, I also spent too much money at the local Tractor Supply - all the food ran out at once - dog, cat, rabbit, chicken (feed and scratch), and goat (goat feed, sweet feed, and oats for the kidded doe).

Killer. Sometimes it's killer.

But it's still worth it, in an odd sort of way. I think I'd get suspicious if things went perfect all the time.

Oh, and a week ago Saturday we went to the State Fair so my daughter could take her knot tying project. It was just like the county fair, only bigger.

Here's a look at what I needed to accomplish this weekend, and what I actually did.

• Oyster shell for the chickens (this means finding the aluminum dog food bowl I was keeping it in and a trip to Tractor Supply).
  
  
• More scratch grain and layer feed for the chickens (as long as I'm going to Tractor Supply). Plus sweet feed for the goats and oats to "clean out" the doe that just delivered. Unless my father-in-law beats me to these latter two.
  
  
• Taking down what is left of the repaired goat gate on the milking room - it was repaired at one time but goat interest tore it down again. Bring in the ready-made too-big gate and make it fit somehow.
  
  
• Mucking out both the goat stable and the milking room. And the concrete part of the barnyard.
  
  
• Pull a scur off of the head of one of the cart goats so he's presentable for the fair.
  
  
• The usual maintenance stuff, like changing the fly paper in the coop.

Eggs (week ending 8/12): 16
Eggs (year to date): 41

The second full week of the hens laying gives a total of 16 eggs, down one from last week. I'd say someone was slacking, but I'm so happy to have laying hens again that I'll gladly overlook this.

This morning while going to let the birds out, I did my usual diversionary tactic of putting a can full of grain into the manger for the goats. On the way out from doing that, I glanced back into the goat stall and saw a small, dark kid staggering around. Great, I thought, the little runt goat is in trouble. Then I saw one of the does licking it and it struck me: that goat is too black to be the runt.

So I went to investigate. The last of the does to be bred delivered her kid this morning. This is a change because every other doe born here (including last year from this same mother) was born in the late afternoon (and were discovered by yours truly just after I got home from work). This one is black with some white highlights on the face, and dark brown and white socks on all four feet. So my daughter now has a newborn kid to take to the fair in a couple of weeks (I guess the fair board pays a bonus for this because city folk love to stop by and go "ooh-ahh" at the babies). This new arrival comes on the very day that two of my daughter's yearlings go off to their new home with a farmer wanting a couple of pet goats (actually, he only wanted one, but goats are best kept in pairs - my daughter, the salesman).

The next projects on the Accidental's list:

• Oyster shell for the chickens (this means finding the aluminum dog food bowl I was keeping it in and a trip to Tractor Supply).
  
  
• More scratch grain and layer feed for the chickens (as long as I'm going to Tractor Supply). Plus sweet feed for the goats and oats to "clean out" the doe that just delivered. Unless my father-in-law beats me to these latter two.
  
  
• Taking down what is left of the repaired goat gate on the milking room - it was repaired at one time but goat interest tore it down again. Bring in the ready-made too-big gate and make it fit somehow.
  
  
• Mucking out both the goat stable and the milking room. And the concrete part of the barnyard.
  
  
• Pull a scur off of the head of one of the cart goats so he's presentable for the fair.
  
  
• The usual maintenance stuff, like changing the fly paper in the coop.

The game I'll be playing this weekend is, "Let's see just how much of this I can actually get done..."

It's time now to pick up a calendar and start making weekly egg entries like I did before the coyotes came and plundered the flock. The eggs are now coming in twos and threes, depending on which one is is off that day. One, the first laying bird (the Australorp, I suspect) consistently lays in the bucket. The two Golden Comets lay in the cubbyhole that's been the preferred laying place of many of my chooks.

The eggs collected have passed the two-dozen mark. In the days since my last post, it looks something like this:

8/3 - 2
8/4 - 3
8/5 - 2
8/6 - 3
8/7 - 2
8/8 - 2
8/9 - 2

That's a total of 16, which puts us well on our way to our third dozen since mid-July. Two of those ended up going to Ripley because of thin shells that cracked on the way to the house. Time to dig out the oyster shell.

Meantime, I had to teach the rooster to roost in the coop again. The coop had been a hard sell since the varmint attack that took one of my Easter Eggers and cost him a few tailfeathers. Over the weekend he found a piece of drainage tile (about the size of a cinderblock) that I'd been using as a doorstop in the barnyard and decided that was going to be his night perch. So over the weekend and through Tuesday, I had to take him off of the tile and put him in the coop. Last night he got the idea and settled in the coop.

Other ongoing things:

The two kid does were tattooed by a family member the other day. He was going to disbud them, but their horns have gotten so big, we're going to have to have the vet come do it. My daughter has been feeding them in the tack room since we weren't sure that they've been getting enough milk from their mother. Now they try to get in whenever I go in. They're kind of runty looking, and now we're wondering if the mother didn't know something we didn't back when she was neglecting one of them.

Ripley has the "shake hands" trick down thanks to my wife. We're working on her herding talents, but she gets a little too enthusiastic, so now she's learning "Easy." She also has too much fun chasing the chickens, and was a threat to the rooster when he was trying to roost on the tile. Time for the spray bottle and some leave-the-chickens-alone lessons.

Coming soon: taking my daughter and her knot project to the State Fair. And wondering if I'll come home with any more livestock. We talked about bringing a pig home from the swap meet... but that's another story.

Today is my wedding anniversary. Since my wife and I are both busy tonight, I decided to take her to dinner last night, but not before doing a few romantic things first.

Before the dinner:

• Gathered eggs - two! From, I suspect, the Comets. The Australorp took the day off. But she worked Monday and the Comets didn't.
  
  
• Found the place in the coop where the predator - now I suspect a raccoon - got in, then cut a piece of rabbit fence and tacked up to prevent future entries.
  
  
• Got the two kid does and fed them in the tack room because my daughter forgot as she was having a girl party. We've been feeding the two kids separately because we're not sure they're getting enough milk from their mother.
  
  
• Fed Ripley, gave her her evening pill, took her with me to the barn to do chores, fussed over her, hooked her back up.

And then after the dinner:

• Went to a romantic grocery store, where I bought, among other things, three small tins of cat food.
  
  
• Got the live trap down from the tack room, baited it with one of the tins of cat food, put it in the room the predator used to gain access to the coop.
  
  
• Caught the barn cat and put her in the kennel because I didn't want her to get caught in the trap.
  
  
• Let the kids out of the tack room because my daughter forgot to let them out because of the girl party.
  
  
• Went to lock up the birds to find only one in the coop. Chased the other six out of the goat stall and into the coop using a broom and Ripley. It wasn't funny at the time because I was sweating buckets because of the sticky heat.
  
  
• Fussed over Ripley and hooked her back up.
  
  
• Took a shower, put astringent and antibacterial ointment on my cat scratches (barn cat was not happy about the whole kennel thing).

Like I said, romantic. After giving my wife her Anniversary card this morning, I went out for chores. No predator in the trap - it had taken the tin of cat food, though. This was my bad because I'd had problems setting the trap last night. It's kind of a good news/bad news thing: Bad news - no predator. Good news - predator does not fear trap, will be back and when it does the trap will be properly set. Bad news - no way I'm ever going to catch the barn cat again, and it may get caught going after the cat food. Good news - after releasing the cat from the predator trap, it will never be tempted to go back in again, in which case I'll snag the predator.

I also wore my .22 pistol out this morning in case there was a predator. I was a real gun-totin' maniac. A romantic gun-totin' maniac.

___

*I've been listening to a lot of Sufjan Stevens of late and apparently have picked up his penchant for long titles.