As the days turn to fall, the days shorten and dusk falls earlier each night. The goat still needs to be milked. Tonight, it was just me with Faith Hill who easily went to the stanchion. As I sat to milk her, 3 other goats nudied my legs for treats. Then, I felt something breathing on my neck. I jumped, turned and met the gaze of ADHD Sam, who licked me on the cheek. At least he didn’t make those crazy mating calls. I gave him an apple treat, and he headbutted Connie Francis. Rita Rudner laid her poke-berry stained head in my lap and Betty White nibbled at my apron. I only screamed a little when the old barn made creaking noises and a barn cat streaked by my feet. Weirdo goats.
In all those years of 4-H cow showmanship contests, I garnered white-participation ribbons and learned to appreciate 16th place. Now, decades later, the skills paid off…in goats.
Catching goats is worse than herding cats. With their sharp horns and cheetah-like sprints, we quickly tired of grabbing horns and chasing them like a rogue version of a ninja warrior television show. Animal scientist, Temple Grandin calls goat horns the “no-fly zone” for human touch.
There had to be a better way. Faith Hill weighs at least 45 pounds and the other night, I picked her up, and she smacked her horn into my jaw. I thought I was going to lose a tooth.
That night, I watched a video by K-N-S Farm of the lady using a dog harness for her blind goat, and I finally saw the light. A quick trip to Tractor Supply after work the next day, and I scored a goat halter, lead, and a medium dog collar. We cornered Faith Hill in the barn, and I added the pink collar. She allowed me to walk and coax her to the milking stanchion.
Once we had her head secured, I added the halter. She stood for milking and when we released her head, I held the lead, walked her down the stanchion, and around the pasture.
This small success involved an ancient trick of bribing the her with a bowl of feed and a treat. My technique works now, but all those years ago, judges in the fairground exhibition ring found my tactic to be completely wrong. As a youngster, I watched in frustration as all the other 4-Hers easily maneuvered their cows into straight lines like dog handlers at Westminster; my stubborn calf wanted to find the nearest bucket of feed…in the stand with the spectators. Mortified, the judges handed me a white ribbon, and I think one may have muttered something about not coming back. That calf, known by her number ,”583″, grew up to be a milking cow who was always first in line at milking times, and she didn’t mind being handled by us humans.
I certainly would have never imagined that all those failed attempts at cow showmanship would one day be a shining moment in our milking time with goats.
After my next trip to Tractor Supply, it’s going to be like an Oprah Winfrey car-giveaway-episode on the farm when I go to the pasture saying, “You get a collar..and you get a collar…and you get a collar!”
“What is that smell?” I sniffed the air, then my arms and hands. “It’s me! I smell like a goat!” I grimaced at my rain-soaked shirt drenched in sweat, dirt, feces and goat milk. It was July 4th, and the humidity was rising to fierce levels.
It had been over 20 years since I smelled that combination. It’s a smell that hid in the recesses of my mind once I moved away from the dairy farm as a young adult. Now, with a small herd of goats, the smell engulfed me. My brother Kelly and I spent the morning walking the fence line, cutting tree limbs off the fences that had fallen during the previous night’s storm.
My goat named Faith Hill had just given birth to a buckling the previous week, and he was only nursing on one side.
Goats have an udder with two teats, but the milk is compartmentalized, so if the kid only eats on one side, the udder is lopsided and full. If not milked out, i feared that the goat could develop mastitis (an inflammation and infection of the udder). Without a stanchion to hold the goat, Faith Hill refused to stand still so I could relieve the pressure from her udder. I looked at Kelly and said, “If I grab her, will you hold her while I milk her?” He said, “Sure, why not.”In one quick motion, I grabbed the nanny goat by her horns, and Kelly lifted her on to a crate. He held her, and I milked into a jar. Unlike cows, the goat lifted her hoof, pawed at my arm and knocked my cup of warm milk to the ground. “Crap!” I exclaimed. Kelly said, “Hold her leg.” I said, “eww, it’s wet and covered with dirt!” He laughed and said, “Mamaw used to milk Susie the cow, and it had stuff in it before she strained it.”
I muttered, “How do I know she’s finished?” Kelly replied, “You’ll figure it out.” Sure enough, a few minutes later, the goat’s teat and side of her udder felt flaccid and withered. She was done.
A few weeks later, my friend Joci came to visit the goats, and I realized that Faith’s udder was once again filled, because the buckling was not nursing from both sides. I looked at her and said, “Here, hold my goat.” I grabbed the nanny, and together we lifted her to the crate. I repeated the process of milking that smelly gray and white horned animal. This time, she patiently stood while this stranger held her horns. With her back leg, she scratched my wrist and her own udder… which required a quick spray of Blue-Kote… the same magical spray that I’ve used on myself!
In August, my friend Lisa stopped by for a surprise Sunday visit. When the rainstorm stopped, I looked at my teenaged godson and asked, “Want to hold my goat?” He looked up from his phone and said, “Aunt Janet, I think I’m really tired.”
I laughed, “aw, c’mon, you know you want to hold the goat.”
Finally, we convinced him to go outside and he did hold the goat, for about 30 seconds. Then, Lisa took over and we laughed as 3 goats tried to eat snacks and I milked out another 1/2 quart of milk.
Now, it’s September, and Jim just finished the goat stanchion last week. It’s a daily thing to milk the goat now. Stay tuned for more of the goat milking adventures!
Raised By A Village 
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