I do not, I said I do not, get up anywhere near 4:30 am like The Pioneer Woman and her kids do. And there’s no way my children would allow their bodies to get anywhere near upright at that hour either. I admire her. I just do not do it.
I, however, am an urban farmgirl, and I get up anywhere from 6:23 to 6:42. On school days.
Weekends and holidays, I sleep in, since, I rationalize, the goats don’t have to be milked every 12 hours on the dot. Plus or minus a few hours doesn’t hurt. I mean back when I was nursing, it was no problem if my babies slept a couple hours longer and I didn’t get milked on schedule. Right? There was no excrutiating pain. No mastitis. No leaking. I didn’t explode. Have I mentioned that milking goats is sort of, well, pretty much like, milking people?
So anyway, here is what I see when I get up at 6:30.
Pike’s Peak is pink. We can’t see the sunrise from our house, but this is just as good, or even better.
My faithful companion Oso. He sniffs out rattlesnakes as a side job.
And Puffy, a.k.a the Kitty, our cat who has only 3 lives left.
When she was 7 weeks old, in her first 14 hours under our care, she lost 6 of them.
(Another story for another time.)
And they’re off! Canela and Lilac race out of the barn, not to be beaten by the chickens.
Lilac knows she’s always milked first, and she knows right where to go.
Get some wipes. (Unfortunately, Kirkland does not pay me for advertising)
He is a distant cousin of Rudolph. He has lost his flying abilities though, and the other reindeer were too mean to him.
Actually, he has dog Lupus. It’s not contagious to people. It does hurt, especially if someone bonks it.
Get a milk pan under there. Why not use my best soup pan? I mean it gets washed, right? If one of my kids or the Animal Whisperer decided to use it for any purpose other than its actual cooking one, they would be in DEEP trouble. But, I, as the boss of the milking, get to use my pan however I want. And this morning, since I was too lazy to wash the other milking pan last night, I eagerly chose this one.
And no one can get mad at me. I’m the boss.
First squirt looks like this.
No dice sister.
Immediately following this brazen attempt, she got stepped on.
And finally, after all of the previous 10 minutes of distractions and one handed picture taking, I am rewarded with this. (Note: The milk pan is usually not so messy. My aim was definately off this morning.)
And put her back in the goat pen until her next scheduled escape.
She too knows EXACTLY where the food is. Even if it includes conquering her deeply engrained psychological fear of walking past Oso.
Why, yes. I am.
It would make for some rather uncomfortable pants. And for that matter, a terribly uncomfortable bra.
And, the finished product. A really big cappuccino. Minus the coffee.