we'll get some goats/and trim their hooves/and make our garden gro-o-ow

Since Saturday was such a lovely day, we decided to have ourselves a good old-fashioned hoof trimming. Goats who are out in the wild, running around on mountains butting their heads together and fighting off wolves with Lambert (I know it was sheep, but I'm taking artistic license) are able to wear their hooves down on rocks and whatnot. Goats who spend their time in an alfalfa field converted to a goat pen do not have that luxury, so their hooves, like our fingernails, continue to grow and grow, and will eventually look like genie shoes if they're not checked. Minus the bells on the toes.

We don't trim our goats' hooves nearly often enough, and Catwoman especially was starting to look like nobody loved her. She inherited Finola's wonky feet, and the inside of her front hooves grows much faster than the outside, which exacerbates her bulldog legs. A goat-raising neighbor of ours said that calcium supplements might help her legs straighten back out, so we'll see how that goes. I can just picture it, me sitting out there in the poop, feeding Catwoman her Caltrate wafers. Yuck. I always make fun of those people who treat their pets like hairy people, and now I am one!

This is Traci's nasty hind hoof. Mud and poo and hay and straw all mooshed up in it. And it's way overgrown, like I said. We suck.

Here's a shot of John in his goat clothes. Traci is chowing down on some grain.

Why is the grain gone? Why is the grain always gone?

Catwoman is eager for her turn.

Traci is looking for the bucket of grain.

I had to hide the grain, because Traci kept ganking it out from underneath the milking stand and shoving her fat face in it. She's the herd queen, and has a place in our herd until death parts us, because she is so calm. She's also wicked smart, and tests our fences regularly. If there's ever a weak spot in the fence, Traci knows about it and is out in the yard eating our trees.