Somehow our girl caught the Farm Bug.
Throughout the freezing winter mornings and chilly, early, dark and low-visibility evenings, Moo was the one we trusted to make sure chores got done.
She's our worker and this weekends springlike weather was the sweetest reward for work.
As I spied on her from the house, I saw her talking, clapping and laughing with the goats.
They've stollen her heart like nothing before.
If I had to guess, I'd say our goats are Italian.
They LOVE dry spaghetti.
And the Goat Maternity Ward is coming soon.
As Willow continues to swell from side-to-side, we've begun researching kidding pens, nutritional needs and signs of labor as we await the arrival of Ross' 4-H project.
Lord help us.
Meanwhile, that bag and udders are starting to fill.
Willow is our nervous goat- aka: our Trauma Goat.
This photo could have been better, but I could tell she was already feeling violated.
Oh Goats.
Your adorable, stupid, easy, friendly, and most importantly, your poop doesn't stink.
What have you done to us?
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