Four of my six kids from this years kidding.
Tanngrisnir (aka Tann) and Tanngnjóstr (aka Joss) named after the two goats that pull Thor’s chariot.
Sigrun and Loki are twins, and Loki’s the one being born and covered in mucous. I’m planning on keeping him entire.
Then there’s Sigurd and Gudrun, who I haven’t taken a photo of yet, but my mum has:
Like sewing lamb neck bands on the sewing machine. It’s a pain in the arse, and I hate it, but it’s a lot easier than doing them by hand. It’s used for identifying the parent of the lamb, cause we otherwise have ewes that mix up who their babies are.
Goats are a month out from kidding, and while I’m nervous about it, I also know that the risks of something bad happening are fairly low— and even lower still with the use of lamb woolcovers to help keep the hypothermia at bay. I bought ten of them, and then used one as a pattern to make four of my own from purple polkadot felt. Good times.
One of the worst things about winter in the southern tablelands of New South Wales is the weather warnings and the severity of the wind. I’m glad the farm isn’t in the middle of lambing, when I have no colostrum to give to the lambs that’re born into this horrendous weather.
Last year, in August, we had snow on the ground. This year, I’m kidding in August, and I thoroughly dread having to deal with potentially hypothermic kids, and getting them back to being warm and living. Last year, we had sheep lambing from the middle of June right through until the end of October, and it was an unrelenting stream of hypothermia, poddy lambs, and dead lambs.
So, what’re my plans for winter and kidding this year? Get the goats into their new shed and out of the horrible weather. Put in pens so they don’t kid in a shed with the roof collapsed in at the back of the shed, (a pine tree bough fell on the back section of their current shed), make sure I’m awake when they begin kidding, (even if that means pulling all-nighters to ensure I’m there should there be trouble), and make sure that everything is set up and properly organised.
Introducing White Cedars Lucifer, my new, handsome little buck.
On Saturday, I will be travelling five and a half hours to possibly buy a buck called Lucifer. Being the Supernatural fan that I am, I probably won’t change his name, cause it’s an awesome name.
Applejack’s come and gone, and I’ll have to wether his male kids— they’re not going to be any good, as he’s slab-sided, which means he’s got no depth, and no good spring of rib— which is important in a dairy animal.
Went up to my father’s for two weeks, and unlike the last time I was gone for a month, there were no disasters while I was away. No mastitis, no kids being weaned too early, none of that. Instead, my stepdad was working on my new goat shed, which they should be moving into by August, when the six adult does kid.
This is a photo of my stepdad working on my new shed.
I’m so sick of having to battle mastitis with Betty. It goes a bit like this: one day, milk looks fine, no evidence of the mastitis, the next day, it’s pink and disgusting, the next day it’s back to looking like there’s no mastitis. Getting rather disheartened by this, as it’s her first lactation, and she shouldn’t have it.
Time flies! I can’t believe my kids are already five months old. They’re the same age my first twins were when they came to be mine (Dany and Drogo), and now their siblings are five months old. God, how fast it’s happened. And now Dany’s a year old, and will be joined when I join Sunshine and Daisy.
Not planning on joining Grace again— her temperament is terrible, and results in very flighty kids. Cobby and Betty-boo (as I call Betty), I will join again, because they produce nice, placid kids.
I have a buck picked out— he lives just down the road from our farm, so at least I won’t be spending $450 on a brand new buck, but there’ll be some great genetic diversity, as this fella is not of bloodlines I already have in my herd.
The goats are scared of my best friend, a tall red haired man named Hamish. All the animals are scared of him, and it’s kind of annoying because I wanted them to get along with him. It means it’s difficult having company while I milk the goats, although when my excellent sister in law came to watch me milk them, she didn’t spook them. Go figure.