The Phoenix show is in the books. Now, we are kicked back in the motel lobby watching football and playing cards. Laid back. The goat show went well, real well. Bree won the light & middle divisions and ended up grand. Duke won a class. Chancery, Madison and Chesley all had seconds. All made the sale. We have ate real well. Brandon the Bruce allows that he has gained weight at this show. We even got him to eat some Chilean sea bass at Pappadeauxs last night. The Bruces have been like the Jefferson’s this week– they moved right on up to the penthouse. Huge suite for the same money. Big Bill has a sack of ice cubes, a bottle of water and some monarch. He might need some help. Time to get laid back.

We made it to Phoenix, finally. The drive was fine until 50 miles north of Phoenix. Friday evening, I-17 southbound was closed for about 3 hours. With thousands of others, we just sat there, waiting. Finally, traffic began to move. We were the last trailer allowed to unload at the fairgrounds that night. As always, the hospitality at the ANLS is excellent. We ate the complimentary steak, bacon, sausage, eggs & biscuit breakfast this morning. Way good. Show hogs later today and wethers on Monday. The weather is a bit nippy. “Extreme weather alert” as the temps are in the mid 30 s at night. Still, not bad.

     Saturday was a not-so-fun day around the Kelln Klan’s piece of paradise.  I was hooked up all day, sorting does, building pens, moving does and babies.  Duke was trying to work his barrows that will show at Phoenix next week.  It wasn’t a fun day working barrows.  Yorkie, the best one, was limping.  Couldn’t find anything wrong with him.  Then, Smoker, the big blue barrow was puking.  Afterwards, Duke took Poodle the Duroc outside to get some sun.  Duke hollered and said something was wrong. Sure enough, Poodle didn’t want to walk.  He was locked up and wouldn’t/couldn’t walk.  He wasn’t breathing hard or stressing.  He just wouldn’t move.  Sometimes, things just don’t go right.  But they can always get worse.  

There has been a pair of miserable looking Spanish recips residing at our residence.  They have been hard to get very close to.  They didn’t look bred, but finally the black and white spotted one started showoing signs of potentially having babies.  She dropped twin doe kids an Saturday morning.  I got her moved into the kidding barn.  I left this crazy beast of an animal alone with her newborns.  

       Several hours later, I came back to check on her.  The babies were up, but she didn’t look like she had been nursed.  This fine form of a female does not have the best designed udder.  So, I decided to get in the pen to strip her teats.  I pulled the gate shut behind me.  I got her cornered and held her head with my left hand while grabbing a teat with my right.  Sure enough, they needed stripped.  I got one teat, then reached for the next one.  Obviously, there was a launch button located on the next one.  This rip went over the top of me, without touching me.  She hit the gate and “Ohhh FUUUUDDDGGE!”, I hadn’t locked the gate.  And I hadn’t shut the alleyway gate or the door to the barn.  She noticed this as well and was outside in less than 2.1 seconds.  

      She blew by the grainaries, by the big pine tree and across the road.  I headed her off at the cattle guard.  Now she headed straight south and right to the pasture gate, which was closed.  Then straight west to the big barn.  Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, but the air wasn’t flowing through my lungs like it did when I was younger.  I stopped, called Duke.  He actually answered.  Now, he and I spent the next twenty minutes trying to steer her towards an open gate.  No Go!  She wanted to head North.  There is nothing but 5 wire fence for miles.  In other words, if she gets across the road, only a bullet will catch her.  

       On another trip around the garage, I got her to cut back across the front yard.  This took me past the gator.  I now had wheels to chase her.  This worked to an extent.  She understood angles and how to accelerate, decelerate and change directions, much in the same fashion that Barry Sanders used to do.  FInally, she and Duke rounded the corner of the wether barn at the same time.  This caused the half-crazed Spanish recip to briefly stop, which allowed me to park the gator on her.  Duke grabbed her.  He put a halter on her and took her back to the kidding barn.  She wasn’t even out of breath.  Me, I was gasping for air and I am now sore.  As soon as she was back in the pen, the kids went to nursing.  She wasn’t fazed at all.

     Saturday afternoon, Duke and I looked at the fawn colored FULLY crazed Spanish recip.  All visitors have made fun of this tight gutted, high headed, fine boned, wild eyed, nutty, vertical horned recip that had ZERO bag, no body and NEVER looked bred.  Duke and I kicked her into general population in the pasture.  She would later get a free ride to the sale barn.  Now, fast forward to Monday morning.  I heard a baby in the pasture.  Guess what?  She had a live kid.  I would have bet a $1,000 cash money that she was NOT bred.  Show’s what I know.  

    Duke gathered the baby and headed across the pasture, through the corralls, into one pen, then another and right into the kidding barn.  This rip followed him and the baby like a pet dog wanting a biscuit.  She still doesn’t have an udder, but she does have milk.  I checked her teats.  But, I shut and locked all doors and gates prior to entry.  She didn’t try to jump me.  She laid down and would not get up.  I greatly dislike these recips. 

      Now, we are just waiting on one first time doe to kid and then we are done for awhile.  I’m ready to be done.  Poodle is walking better, Smoker is back on feed and Yorkie still has a bit of a hitch in his giddy-up.  

      I’m not as good as some at a few things and better than most at some other stuff.  But one of the things that I can do is count.  After checking does about 1:30 AM, I knew that something was going on with tag 152.  At 2:20 AM, I decided I better investigate a little closer.  OB glove on, two fingers slid in, then a little farther…yep, there’s some feet.  Time to get serious.  

      I haltered tag 152 and tied her to the fence.  This is to keep her from biting and head butting, which she had already proven herself succesful at doing.  Once, she was haltered.  Two OB gloves and a set of pulling chains were in my prepared hands.  I did the finger scrunch to make my hand as slender as possible.  Entry was made.  I now used my fingers to count.  One foot, two, three, one head, four feet, five..(now think Scooby Doo), “ruhdt rho!”  One of the things that I do know is that goats have four feet.  Quick Kelln math and I realized that there were two goats trying to exit this incubator at the same time.  

     Now, I had to figure out what feet went to what goat and maneuver them around.  This took a bit of time and I wasn’t quite sure that I had it quite right, but my patience was about done and I knew that they needed to get out.  I wrapped a chain around a front leg and pulled.  I changed the angle of the pull and pulled again, here it came.  Not a hard pull, but a pull none-the-less.  Splat.  

      Got that kid laid over to the side.  He looks done.  I looked back at the exit of tag 152 and there was two feet of the next one.  I grabbed those feet and pulled.  Here it came.  This one was sputtering and making noise.  I cleaned his mouth, nose and held him upside down.  This dude was raring to go.  I laid him under the heat lamp.  Turned to look at the first one….and…he was trying to breathe!  I just knew that he was just like this semester….DONE!  I was wrong.  I cleaned his mouth, nose and then shook him like Nicki Minaj shaking her a..donkey.  He was starting to fire.  

     I thought, “Self, we’ve already been invasive.  Let’s make sure that there isn’t anything else in there.  All clear.”  So, I took the halter off tag 152.  I stripped her teats.  I got bit.  I wish I would have waited to take that halter off that rip.  I then checked more does.  Made sure that these two BUCK kids were acting right and then stumbled to the house to catch what was left of Law & Order:SVU.  It was 3:45 AM.  I tried to go to sleep but didn’t.  

      Now, let me tell how I like to deliver kids.  I can do this real good.  Check the barn at 4:30 PM.  Come back to do chores about 5:30 pm.  Well, lookey there.  Old LIsa had dropped triplets.  Two does, 1 buck.  Cleaned off and firing.  I cleaned out the bedding, stripped her teats and went to doing chores.  That, my friends, is how the good LORD intended goats to be raised.  This doe is a proven maternal machine.  Her mom is proven, her aunt is proven, her cousins are proven, grandma was proven.  A thing that I can do to advance the genetics of Kelln Livestock is to keep at least one of these doe kids out of Lisa.  

      Another thing that I can do is add dollars. And I have noticed, that in the goat business, that no matter how good they might be, live goats ALWAYS out sell dead goats.  You build a herd from the maternal side.  Kind of like a 401K plan, you just keep investing, keeping it safe and right down the middle.  You gamble with the male genetics.  Find what clicks.  I’m pretty sure that this was Tammy’s plan.  Most can’t be as lucky as her and get a stud to sire a daughter like Kela and a future herd sire like Duke.  

      One more thing that I can do, is realize that it is time for me to quit.  Have a good day and a better tomorrow.  Here’s to horseshoes and shamrocks for all of you.  

     Sometimes, the goat is an animal associated with the dark lord, satan.  I firmly believe that it is not just any goat but, specifically, a doe goat.  There is not a more evil, destructive animal than a doe goat.  Baby, pamper, provide them with excellent shelter, hay, feed, clean, fresh water and how do they repay you.  By crapping in their water, their feeders, destroying kidding pen panels, hitting kids that stick their heads near or through the panels.  If you can’t tell, I want this set of recips gone…far, far away. 

     First, they weren’t cheap.  Second, they have been well cared for.  Thirdly, they were supposed to have twins.  Nope.  And last, they are destructive, worthless satanic wrenches.  

     I have never had a Premier brand heat lamp broken.  Bulb, yes.  Cords chewed on, sure.  But broken?  In the past eight years, not even one.  Until this week.  And we are up to THREE!  RUKM?!  For Christ’s sake, it is the Christmas season.  Can’t they be decent for a few days?

     This flush deal is expensive to begin with, but when you have to start adding in broken heat lamps at $40 apiece, broke panels and then the mental suffering and frustration of dealing with a doe that you wouldn’t normally have on your place, well.  It just makes sit back and think about things.  

    I guess it could be worse.  I could be a UPS or FEDEX driver.  Those poor son-of-a-guns are run ragged.  I think this whole internet shopping is wearing them out.  

    About getting old.  It is official!  I am OLD!  I knew that I was getting older, but I hadn’t gotten the memo that I was officially OLD.  Well, it came today.  It was delivered during 7th hour class.  I asked a student if she knew the theme song from the Beverly Hillbillies tv show?  She looked at me with a blank look and shook her head “no”.   What?  Lots of re-runs, even a movie or two, cultural icons?  WTH?  RUKM?

      She did NOT know who the Beverly Hillbillies were, are or the theme song.  Of course, the whole class got to listen as I played it on the “big” screen–some high tech HD plasma tv with touchscreen capabilities that is hooked to my computer.  Yeah, it’s cool.  

     We probably need to have some of this new generation watch some older TV programs.  Bonanza, Leave It To Beaver, Happy Days, MASH, the Carol Burnett Show, Hee Haw, maybe even some Barney Miller–yep, those were the good old days of tv.  Yes, I even sound old now.

      Here’s a goat question for you.  What Lynyrd Skynyrd song comes to my mind when dealing with goats?  Can you name it?  The correct answer would be “That Smell”. Every time that I burn horns, I get that song in my head–Oohh, that smell!   That smoke infects eyes, nostrils & clothes.  Sometimes, you just want to burn your clothes after you are done.  I don’t understand it.  It isn’t the same as branding iron smoke when branding calves.  With the disbudding process, there is an added pungent odor that just permeates everything it touches.  It’s the kind of smell that makes me wish that somebody would “Gimme 3 Steps” to get away from it.  Maybe, it’s like being at a Skynyrd concert with all of the smoke during “Free Bird”.  It sure doesn’t make me think of “Sweet Home Alabama”.  But then again, I’ve never been to Alabama.  

    Now, guess what I did this evening.  You would be correct.  I disbudded and vaccinated some ~2 week old kids.  

     And further proof that I might be getting old:  it is a song from 1977 that comes to mind when I smell that smell.  

Here’s to hoping that all of you can become a millionaire in your own backyard, like the Clampetts.  Old Jed’s a millionaire.   

RUSM?  How do they not know the Beverly Hillbillies?  

      Got a set of natural bred does that are due starting this Thursday.  One of them decided to go several days early and had kids on Monday afternoon.  I normally don’t llike to lose a baby, but this time it might have worked out for the best.  The mother actually had triplets.  One was an under-developed still born still in the sack.  Another was a fully developed doe kid that just didn’t make it.  Which leaves a buck kid, alive and ready to go.  I was questioning one side of this doe’s udder.  Sure enough, it was bad.  So, it is actually a good thing that she only has one kid to raise.  And at least it is a buck kid.  

      Keep fresh water out for those show goats.  Give those wethers some grass hay a couple of times a week.  Keep salt and mineral available.  And keep those show goats warm.  Layers and layers of blankets.  

      Maybe my memory is a little bit foggy, but I don’t ever remember it being this foggy, this often like it has for the past month here in Oklahoma.  It seems like several days of the week have been foggy.  We’re talking less than 1/4 mile visibility, on a regular basis. Maybe, all of this moisture in the air will eventually jumpstart a rain for this part of paradise.  Maybe, just maybe.  

      Recently, a barrell of oil has gotten cheap.  It is nice to pay around $2 for a gallon of gas, but $60/barrel is not good for the economy.  $80 to $90 oil keeps things going without fuel prices getting too stupid. 

     Your government still can’t get stuff done.  The section 179 tax law should have been renewed back in 2013.  Now, at the end of 2014, they are still trying to decide what to do. I wouldn’t hold my breath on those clowns getting it passed anytime soon.  Congress=big floppy shoes & red noses.  Then, there is your president.  

       Speaking of problems, how come there is always that liquid stuff that comes out of a mustard bottle.  It doesn’t matter what brand of mustard or if you used the mustard just yesterday; you can shake the bottle, then squirt some yellow gold, but nope, there is always that dab of liquid that comes out first.  It just bothers me.  

       Talked to Tyke this afternoon while I was driving home from OKC.  I called to see if he was picking Dirt up today.  NOPE!  Turns out there was a dog attack south of Shattuck this morning.  He lost 5 does and had several more injured.  They shot one dog, but didn’t get the second one.  We had a bad pit-bull attack back in 2007 and lost a pile of does, plus abortions.  It isn’t fun.  We don’t have dogs that visit around here.  I’m miles from any neighbors with a dog, so if some canine shows up here, he’s up to no good.  They have a phrase for that kind that shows up here–dead.  I love a good dog, but despise a bad one.  I hope Tyke finds the other culprit.  Once a dog gets a taste, they almost always come back for more.  Raising goats are kind of like dating a hooker–you need all the protection that you can get.  Protection from weather, parasites and predators.  Kind of one in the same.  

      Time for me to walk away from the keyboard.  Have a good night and an excellent weekend.  

    I sit here at this computer, wondering if I should write, what to write, while an absolute goat industry GIANT, huge in stature, stands only feet away from the keyboard.  Maybe, we need a guest author tonight.  Maybe, not.  Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to call it a night.  

      People, we have real problems developing right in front of us.  The first problem is not just relegated to goat producers.  It is a REAL 1st-world problem.  We have too many logins and passwords.  Heck, I had to try 4 different times just to login into my own website.  For email, school, work, online auctions and other non-personal websites, I try to keep my logins/passwords somewhat similar.  But, some sites need a cap letter, others a number, while others need a set amount of digits.  

      On a lot of my work related crap, I don’t even come up with a user name or password.  I just login, do what I need to do and then next time, call and play stupid.  Everybody can relate, so they just take care of you.  Or click on the FORGOT tab and go from there.  For example, on Wednesday morning, I was the last teacher to the “teacher” meeting.  I didn’t have my login crap. So, I sat down to the computer at 7:34 am, clicked on the forgot password tab, got it emailed to me, immediately.  Then, I filled out the little BS government bullcrap form that the school needed me to do in order to fulfill some cock-a-mamey governmental bullcrap kind of deal.  I clicked exit and I was the first teacher DONE.  I was out in the halls BSing with the custodial staff while the rest of them were still trying to figure out their passwords.  I’ve got more important crap to do than try to remember 57 different combinations of logins and passwords.  Granted, this is a problem that only happens in 1st world countries.  If you are starving, in a civil war, fighting ebola, or some other 3rd world maladies, then you really don’t care if you remember your password or not.  

      Now, as goat breeders, we too have real problems facing us.  And we know it.  It is a HUGE problem.  WE are getting ready to cause ourselves–BIRTHING DIFFICULTIES.  

     Every judge wants more bone, bigger ribs, more width in their chest floor and wider skulls.  Throw in does that are leveler from their hooks to their pins and we are making a natural process such as giving birth a problem.  We are pulling more and more kids.  There are more and more C sections being done–properly and improperly.  Heck, for that matter, with all of the flush work being done, we are seeing two and three generations of “great” ones that have NEVER had a live birth.  Pull em as babies.  Grow em out.  Breed em.  Flush em.  Let the recips have these wide made, big boned bastards.  “Oh, he’s out of old such and such.  We’ve got to keep the nuts in him.  Even though he will be a doe killer when his babies come.”  

      This isn’t new territory.  The clubby cattle market has fought this for decades.  And when a great easy calving bull comes along…..JACKPOT!    The sheep breeders have been fighting it.  The hog breeders are plum ass sideways.  They have been cutting pigs out, killing sows and getting litters of TWINS for the past couple of years. They’ve got a mess on their hands.   

      How do you fix it?  1–Keep your females moderate.  This is a time tested truism.  Keep the women moderate in terms of frame, width, bone, muscle and respect maternal abilities.  Let the male add the power.  Then, get out of the way and let the female do her job.  2–Get better judges.  Breeders know better than anybody. Have breeders judge shows.  They, more than anybody know that if one looks too good to be true, it probably is.  Look at a list of major show judges.  Almost all of these judges are county agents/ag teachers or livestock judging team coaches.  Most are quality.  Most are NOT breeders.  

       Like Jay Z, goat producers may have 99 problems, but we don’t HAVE to HAVE this female dog as a problem.  We can see it coming.  Stop it.  Don’t wait until the trend goes to far.  

       Have a good day, a better tomorrow and stay flexible but not limp.