I was in full homestead mode when our youngest was young, toting him as a baby around in a backpack, cell phone on my hip and goat feed loaded in the back of the pickup.
In his first year of life, our son got to bond with the goats every day while I milked. I’d sit on the stand which elevated the goats and let him pat the doe’s shoulder while I milked.
While I sat on the milking stand, my back was to the goat’s head. Of course, my son in the backpack had full access to the goat. He patted them, laid his head on their back, tried to pull their ears.
When he was old enough to graduate from the backpack, he still had to come with me on our trips to the barn.
One day as I milked Riggy, she shifted her weight. Not a big deal with some of our goats, but Riggy never lifted a hoof. Odd but everybody twitches once in a while, right?
Then she did it again.
And so I looked over my shoulder at her head, where she had a nice box of sweet feed before her.
Sweet feed is a mixture of rolled grains. Oats. Corn. Wheat. Barley. With a molasses coating.
It sort of looks like granola.
Too much like granola, actually. For there was my young son, his head also in the feed box, chowing down the sweet feed.
He’d put his head in, Riggy would butt his head away – hence the shifting weight – and they would alternate bites.
This was the same boy who, when he was still riding along in a backpack, would lick the goat’s shoulder when he could.
I know, I know. The number of germs that boy ingested is mind-boggling.
But, to be honest, he has a great immune system with no allergies. Maybe thanks to Riggy.
