Wilbur gets his wings and Ollie plays in snow

Sophie was his designated hospice nurse

"Wilbur got his wings!" 
Old Sophie told the goats as she came out of Wilbur's convalescing suite. Sophia had been designated as Wilbur's roommate as he lay in his suite, unable to rise, for the past two weeks.

"Will I get wings too?" asked little Ollie.

"Someday, Ollie, but not now, it is not your time for wings, you have to earn them in your own way," said Sophie.

After two weeks of effort, Wilbur is free of his body.

Wilbur began to show signs of his age this past summer, but nothing alarming. Right around when we learned that Birdie had suffered from the brain worm-something that was new to us- I think it was about this time I noticed Wilbur lay down more, but that in and of itself is nothing to be alarmed by with an older goat. He was not lame, he was not showing any signs of the same worm that crippled Birdie for weeks and damaged her nerves. We fortunately got to Birdie quickly, and learned from our vets the protocol and were able to treat Wilbur for the brain worm too. It could be other things. It could be a tumor or wasting disease/cancer, it could be some other diseases my vet said, or a combination, and it could be old age combined with all those things.

For a good two weeks we have fought together, and his eyes and attitude were with me, he had not given up. Until a couple days ago, I could tell he was just plain tired and uncomfortable. I kept thinking of the story of the llama who was downed for one year, and the couple kept trying, and wouldn't give up, and one day, she rose. But Wilbur could not even put weight on his feet, and they were curved now. Since he was downed, I went in morning noon and night and got him up, cleaned his bedding, sat with him, gave hm water and food. The last two days, his body could not swallow, and when the vet came today, we immediately put him down because he was in clear discomfort. I have found a vet I truly love, and I've been working with her now about a year and have learned so much. There is so much to understand about deworming, not deworming, when to deworm or not to, learning your area, etc-and I've learned this year many things that make me a better caretaker, even after 15+ years you can always learn and grow. I don't think any of it would have saved Wilbur, in fact it probably would have just prolonged his life slightly, if that.

I have spent so much time with him, and I have been putting Sophie with him too at night and during the day. While chores are being done, I let the other Misfits come by and visit, and eat together. The animals already know, except Ollie, what is to come. They say their goodbyes in such a different way. They come and sniff a dying member, and there is no drama, just recognition. It is always beautiful and sad too to be part of these intimate herd moments.

With each passing of one of the Misfits that came to us long ago, and lived out West with us, it is like another string to that floating farm in the sky being cut. I will miss this sweet goat. Once a brilliant acrobat, he could fly through the air with the greatest of ease, and once even had a trapeze-it is said in the barnyard but I never got to see it. To watch an athlete's body disown him, it is hard.

This morning, when I knew the vet was coming, I told him his wings were ready for him, they were right with me for whenever he needed them.

And sometime around ten this morning, he put those wings on and took one last look at me. We all stood together and watched the light of the sky change and the shadows on earth were magnified for seconds.

"Will he come back?" Ollie asked Sophie.

"No," she said.

And Ollie ran outside to play on the snowy compost pile.

Once a day, The Misfits were allowed in to eat and commune with Wilbur

In his younger days-he had the sweetest smile

One of my favorite photos of him in his youth

Wilbur aka The Acrobat Goat...now you know why

The aging of the acrobatic goat

He once flew through the air with the greatest of ease, without a trapeze. Now, years later Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat is turning nine and beginning to show his elder status in both appearance and activity level. The other day, someone chewed his bear off a bit, shortening it.

I looked at all of them, lined up, and asked sternly,

"Who is chewing on Wilbur's beard?"

[Silence}

"His beard has shrunk considerably in the last few days," I said.

Opie stood forward. "It wasn't me but I know who it is," and he returned to the lineup.

"Opie, you are complicit by not telling me," I said.

Earnest came froward, "May I ask what the said consequences will be for the said perpetrator?"

"I will scold them," I said.

"Shaming is harmful to young minds!" Opie screamed.

Everyone hushed him up.

"Opie, I think you know more than you are telling, " I said. "I'm going to count to ten, and if a name comes out, everyone will get carrots, even the perpetrator," I said.

"It's ME, It was MEEEEE!" screamed Ollie in joy and he ran forward to get a hug.

So, I sat amongst them, and we ate carrots. And Ollie chewed on my buttons.

Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat has a party

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Feb 11, 2018 at 8:21am PST

He requested a hay party, no cake, which was somewhat of a relief since the weekend has been full. He is Wilbur, Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat, who came to us many years ago, when we adopted him along with old Granny the goat. I couldn't resist taking Wilbur home too, he was so lovely and a beautiful brown. It was only after he had lived with us awhile that his true nature and talent as an acrobat came out.

Wilbur is nine today. It took me aback. Time is just...fleeting. Perhaps it is the fact too that in a month I will enter another decade, a decade that is the beginning of the end of the party.

"This isn't about you, it's about me, it is my birthday!" Wilbur just yelled. He also did a flip over Earnest the pig...he still is nimble, although he too, like me, is showing his age.

"EHEM! I said this is all about me today, not you!"

So, raise a glass to a fine goat, a wonderful, happy, pretty well behaved goat, except when he' not. We love you Wilbur!

{Wilbur is one of many Misfits we've taken on here and your donations help us continue our work with elder animals, and people. Thank you.}

We're frosty but all is well

Earnest just getting up with bed head

It has been a tad chilly. Okay, it's darn cold.

#$#$&&?!! cold.

All is well. We are not as bad off as upstate North Dakota where my cousin lives where temps have been around 25 below. We have had more like 10 below at night which is a huge difference when it comes to the water buckets.And tomorrow we will have a literal warm up to 25 for a couple of days. One more weekend of 0's and then next week looks more reasonable.

The air is invigorating. My cousin and I were talking about that-that we grew up in cold climates and know how to deal with it. For starters, you wear a hat. I can't tell you how many people I see running around without a hat when it's 10 below. Good grief. Forget about your hair, mate, keep some heat in your head.

The feeling of breathing in on an extremely cold day is one I actually like. It's almost like an instant detox. It could also take your breath away if it is extremely cold and certain people do have to be careful. But there is an invigoration that happens to the body when doing barn chores in this cold. If my hands can stay semi warm, I'm content.

There are also pain in the butt moments-like when your cloves get a tish of water on them from filling buckets and then they stick to the metal gates. The water buckets are the main chore, but also the poop freezes. This is not a big deal in most areas of the farm but in the equine area it is because the poop is big and it is hard for the equines to step on it. Especially Boone who is flat footed. So I like it when it warms up to at least 5 below because I can still get the poop up.

And shall I mention that taking a pee in the barn -which I do often since I can't seem to go more than 40 minutes without a break-has an entirely new meaning on these extreme cold days. Oh my!

The animals are much more stoic about all this. But one has to know their animals, and watch for signs of trouble. Getting water in them is essential, so water has to replenished more in the cold. I was worried about Sophie at one point so brought her into front barn, and she is just fine. I haven't lost a chicken but I never have to cold and they have a good place in the barn were I also lined one section with old sheep sheerings-they like that. They are still laying, about three eggs a day, but I often get there and the eggs have cracked-which means Earnest gets a treat.

Speaking of dear Earnest, today when I got to the barn early, I caught this photo of him just getting out of bed. It cracks me up. What a goofball. I love that pig. Earnest sleeps under his straw bedding and gets up with bed head.

I do have lots of good news to share. Stay tuned....

And another Wednesday begins

We march forward. We play, sometimes. We line up after breakfast and we walk-one step at a time.

We rewind and go back into the barn and rest in the dimming light, until...morning, and we start again.

It's all we know how to do.

Face of a Moose, and Goose, and Acrobat

Sometimes I happen to be out there taking photos of something and the subject matter absolutely must turn to them, as id did last week. Each time I take Moose's photo, it is like he understands that he has power in that lens-all his joyous monkeyness comes out in that slight smile.

It doesn't take long before more smiles surround me, posers per se. It is a short string of moments in a busy day, but those flecks of light captured on camera might lift another in spirit today-perhaps someone bed bound who will look at these faces and remember a time long ago when they too had goat encounters on a daily basis.

When passing a stranger on a city street I have the choice to look up and smile, or pass by with my head tucked into a coat collar. If I choose the smile, I think maybe it lasts longer on the other person's heartprint.

Hey hey we're the monkeys

I put them in a stall last night, after the recent Bobcat scare and they looked out at me like prisoners waiting for their dinner cup, or monkeys hoping for popcorn or bananas.

Benedetto's bobcat

We were working in the barnyard today, securing a certain part of the fence that the White Dogs tend to jump up on. It is with good reason. This part of the fence looks up into the woods, and that is where wildlife pass by. Every night when I leave the barnyard after feedings, Marcella runs to that area and barks for about a half hour. The first thing Benedetto does in the morning is run to that area and check it out.

Of course Benedetto and Marcella were right there with us, watching every thing we did to the fence. I was kneeling down petting one of them when I realized Wilbur was standing next to me. Wilbur is an agreeable goat and not one to seek out mushy talk, but he does like to stand for scratching. So I obliged him.

"Martyn!" I gasped. "Come look at this."

The photo can't mimic what we saw. The claw marks were long and left welts. I'd guess they were about a week old from the condition. They were on both sides of his neck. They were huge. No way were they left by a barn cat, no way. Besides, the two remaining cats that still live in the barn never come in the barnyard, nor do the remaining porch cats-and if they did, this is not something that would have happened as they are tame and elderly. And Benedetto does not tolerate cats. It seems to be his one passion-chasing them.

We started thinking about it, and realized that from the looks of the wounds, this might have coincided with the night Benedetto broke out last week-something I didn't share here, yet. That particular night, we had gone to bed about eleven, and heard Marcella raising a real fuss. Her barks were different than her normal nightly 'Hey, I'm Marcella barking, stay out of my barnyard" barks. We decided we better check it out. And we realized Benedetto was gone. We walked to the nearest property hoping he was there, but no such luck, and decided it made no sense to wander around in the countryside armed only with a flashlight. The next morning a neighbor down the way called and had Benne. He had gone to their house once before, so they fortunately knew him and contained him until morning.

That next morning I saw where he'd gotten out. It was the place by the fence we were fixing today, a place that Benne likes to sleep by during the day. And it's the place the dogs go to bark at night into the woods. It is also the same spot where years ago I encountered a bobcat in the barnyard, calmly walking by at ten in the morning.

As we looked at poor Wilbur's wounds, it was like he was saying,

"Thanks for finally noticing."

I felt badly about that. He had not acted unusual at all and since he still has his winter coat, I didn't see any signs of blood, cuts or discomfort. And he was eating and acting like the little acrobat he always is. But then I remembered that when Benne came back from that nightly outing of a week ago, he had two big scratches on both ears, long wounds that I had blamed in my mind on Earnest. When the dogs get up and moving, they look for any feed that has been left behind, and so does Earnest. It can lead to scuffles, and pigs have very intense incisors that can leave rips in a dog. Marcella has learned this lesson, Benne was learning it, I figured.

But now we really think that that night a Bobcat was passing through, and Wilbur was in the path, or went to investigate, who knows. I leave the youngsters out-Moose, Goose and Wilbur and usually confine the crippled Victor and Sophie, the ducks and Stella in stalls for their safety. If it had been Moose, or Goose, who knows if they would have faired as well as Wilbur.

We thought of a raccoon, but the position of the claw marks, and the space between each claw didn't make sense for that. Nor does a skunk.

This might also be what happened to our beautiful Vivienne the hen, who disappeared not long ago and we never found any remains.

This morning we also flushed out a grown coyote as we were up investigating our upper fields. It is always magical to see a wild creature living in nature, but also reminds us each time that we are just the stewards here, living on their land.

I continue to understand the important job The White Dogs play. Who knows what we don't get to see after hours. I will start putting the little ones in stalls at night, I guess. Even with the White Dogs, it might be wise.

Glance of a Misfit

The Head Troll and Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat demonstrate the glance.

This is often the look I get, the glance, the

"What did you say, are you kidding?" look.

Never the less, the goats provide unending amusement to me even when they are just standing around....giving me the look.

They don't wait, they are

Wilber the Acrobatic takes a moment to stand in the sun and watch the pigs in the distance.

Life always goes on, in some way. The weather is turning very warm and sunny this week after days of very stormy weather all last week. The animals are good role models for living the moment-they aren't waiting for the next big event. Right now, they are in the current event-which is the sun and warming earth.

People have emailed to ask about Pino-the biopsy isn't in yet, or at least I haven't been called. Hoping we hear this late afternoon, but it might be tomorrow. In the meantime, there is today, and all that holds in it. The garden is busy being pig tilled and I hope to plant within two weeks. Plans are underway to fortify an area of Old Barn so Doris and June can have their piglets there once bred. There are so many projects going on, and then there is the new book coming out, and Pino Pie Day–which will be extra loving this year for many reasons.

I am really doing my best to start painting again, and sewing. For some reason I'm at a stand still. But I do know that abstract pieces are in and out of my brain, and lately I've been very drawn to looking at abstracts. Rather than hearing story in my head, I am sensing I need a return, for a time, to wordless wonders of color and shape. I still feel quiet.I've had recurring dreams of my former life in Minneapolis where i am on my way to have dinner with my parents, and like all the past dreams, I'm realizing I need to get back to the farm and Martyn, but am having trouble for some reason. I feel at times my feet are in different realms. Life is a huge wave, and we all know waves go in and out, crash ashore but always return to where they came from and start all over again. it is what it is.

It is today that is glorious. The past makes wonderful material for books and movies, and learning-but it is the present that is my current glory. Maybe that is why the need for abstract paintings, and sewing, both are tactile and grounding.

Today the sun is out. My ride this morning was very nice. Thank you, Boone. And thank you for inquiring about Pino-I will post here the minute I know and we will go forward.

Paco and Pino enjoy the sun as bookends.

Smile of the acrobat

I'll send you off on your weekend with the smile of goat, a Misfit–none other than Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat who we adopted from New Moon Goat Farm Rescue some years ago. HE came here as a youngster and is about six I think. I just swoon for any creature with brown or red coats. And how can one not admire this face, the pencil thin goatee and the impish expression.

I can say that if i had a dime for every time I raised my voice in my best authoritative mother tone and yelled out a name, it would be,

"WILBUR!!!!!!!"

He is a monkey, a madmen, a leaper, a dancer, a bouncer. I tell him he'll be old someday, and then he'll understand what it is like being around a goat in a monkey suit.

He is of course part of the new book.

On any given day

I don't carry my camera at all times - but on any given moment there are photo opportunities all around me. Like the other day when Pearl knew I was in the barnyard and that dinner time was coming but she just had to have a quick nap - strategically located - before supper.

Or sitting the other day amongst the goats and Little Moose and Wilbur side side side, motionless, just cracked me up. They stood that way without moving for about five minutes.

I am surrounded by a bunch of comedians.

And now...the real Wilbur

Since I allowed us all to have a chuckle over Wilbur's head in a bucket episode, I thought it only fair to show you his real face. He is part monkey, part boy, part bully, and he is the youngest of the Barnyard of Misfits. I wanted to have one youngster in the mix to even out the elders. He must be around seven now.

Oh, that Wilbur!

I told him not to put his head in a bucket, especially the tall ones with handles. But nobody ever listens to me.

"I'm stuck!" he cried.

"I realize that," I said calmly. The goat had both front legs stuck, extended to a point where they were stiff and useless. His head was down in the bucket with the handle snug around his head. I tried in vain to pry him loose - it was like pulling a lamb out backwards. He screeched.

"Look, you're pretty much stuck," I said.

"I realize I'm stuck! Get me out of here!" he bleated.

So I went to the barn, amused more than upset, to look for wire cutters to cut through the bucket. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a brown form, two hind legs and a tail, headless except for a bucket, banging around the barnyard. We are not prone to bully behavior here, but this particular chap can get pretty pushy with the elders at dinnertime, so I didn't blame the barnyard for snickering from the sidelines.

As tempting as it was to leave him there to stew over his predicament, I once again came to his rescue.

I was able to pry a leg out by bending it inside the bucket so I could pull it out first. Finally his head was free. What happened next warmed my heart, and amused it too. He just stood there, his head at my knee, resting. Not one to get cuddly, Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat needed me, and it was his way to thank me, I guess.

A busy little Wilbur

A busy goat is a happy goat.

I happened to capture the mixture of busy with happy in this picture.

"Where are you going, Wilbur?" I asked.

"Much too busy to chat," he said.

"Will you be gone long?" I asked.

"My business often leads to other business, so perhaps," he said.

And he was off.

My red carpet

I'd rather walk through sheep droppings to feel the fog with an orange cat and breakfast with a chocolate goat then wear diamonds on my heels and sit on a velvet cushion amongst people with apps.

May September romance

Granny and her much younger man, Wilbur the Acrobat Goat lounge together in their favorite spot. They care little for naysayers saying such a union will never last.

Gift of a goat sunset

The skies were weary and tired. They cried all day mixed with bouts of tantrum winds. I held my head into my coat, whispering to myself, "Please, bring me warm days for my lambs."

A goat walked to me. He smiled the entire way. He's a goat, but he thinks of himself as an acrobat, flying off hay bales like a trapeze artist.

"I will make the sky full of sun and flowers for you," he said as he leapt as high as the barn roof, landing on all fours.

"Are you happy for it?" he then asked, his job finished.

"I am," I told him.

Wilbur and Granny: the young and the old

Wilbur and Granny are settling in to their new world at Apifera. Whether it be Mr. Bradshaw or Chicken Jack, they seem to be easy going barnyard mates.

I think they should have called Granny "The Little Old Lady from Pasadena". She is small and frail looking, but look out, she can head butt with the best of them. I have to crate her during feedings because she knocks Old Guinnias over for his food. She is a cookie monster, and her one long front fang - which I am attempting to photograph and not having much luck at- must be watched during cookie giving.The space between her wonky front teeth make her tongue stick out, quite amusing.

And then there's Wilbur. Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur. I have a goat named Wilbur but he is not a goat. He is Lassie the dog. Wilbur follows me around, and when I move two feet, he is right by my side doing the same thing. And most charming of all, loves to be hugged and kissed...a lot. He is not as much of a trouble maker as I had imagined...so far. Although it is funny having a younger goat...er, I mean dog...around to watch him leap off hay bales and run up and down just for fun. Since everyone else is in a walker or wheelchair, I love having the younger fellow around, it is a nice balance with all the geriatric duties.

Wilbur and Granny [as well as Old Man Guinnias and our dearly departed Gertie and Georgie, were adopted from New Moon Farm Goat Rescue. Donations and art sales helps me bring them home, and a kind volunteer made the 10 hour round trip. You can sponsor a goat too if you'd like.