Say Sister, Can You Spare Some Swedish Fish For a Fellow American?*

It occurs to me that i have only posted one picture of the lovely and talented Chickory Blossom.

This is a travesty for which i humbly apologize.

Chickory B is a Legacy daughter, and mother of The MarAUDer.

And we share a birthday.

She likes alfalfa hay, Swedish Fish, Twizzlers, any kind of fruit or cookie, and me.

She has a sassy personality, is spoiled rotten, the original "lap goat," and i wouldn't trade her for anything.  Doesn't hurt that she has the best teats in the doeyard, either. 

Chickory was a summer kid, and we had a terrible time getting her up and running, but has since turned out to be the star of the doeyard, and my personal favorite.  Chickory and i have a special relationship. 

Because of all the difficulty we had in the beginning, she trusts me completely. 

As you know, we do not vaccinate here, and do things as naturally as we can.  We purchased Lace from a vaccinated herd, and learned just how important it is to do things the way we do.  Lace had NO immune system whatsoever.  The first year she was here, we had a major bout of something every month, it seemed.  During one spell, her rumen shut down.  I had been waiting for the tell tale sign that it was time to do a cud transfer to kick start the rumen, and, in typical goat fashion, she did not give the sign until three o'clock one morning.  I had gotten up and gone out in my nightgown to check on her, not expecting it to be the moment, but there it was.  I was standing there with no gloves or syringes or another pair of hands or anything.  I was deciding who i was going to wake up to help me, and whose jaws i was going to pry open to steal the cud.  I turned around, and there was Chickory, looking up at me with love in her eyes, chewing a wad of cud like it was bubble gum.  I reached into this goat's mouth with my fingers three times to retrieve cud and then inserted it into Lace's mouth.  Lace fought it like a goat, but Chickory just let me reach in and steal her supper every time.  Never fought me, never ran from me, never tried to bite me (and those molars made for grinding branches are vicious, folks.)  She totally trusted me, and let me do what i needed to. 

Up to that point, Susan and others had teased me for how spoiled Chickory was.  That nite, i decided that it was okay, and i will always keep a spoiled goat in the barn. 

Or a couple.

(*Yes, we watched Treasure of the Sierra Madre recently.)