Sprouting Sprouts

I recently read an article on feeding sprouted grains to livestock. The theory is that whole grains contain an enzyme inhibitor and it takes a lot of the animal's energy to digest them. However, sprouted grains no longer have the inhibitors but now contain the proper digestive enzymes so the animal can utilize the nutrition. Sprouting also increases the nutritional content of each grain. 

I used to raise sprouts years ago when I had rabbits. The goats and chickens ate what the rabbits didn't finish but I really didn't pay attention to any benefits realized from the sprouts, mostly because I wasn't looking for any.

This time I wanted to see just what difference sprouts would make in milk production. All but one of my does are nursing kids so it's impossible to tell if their milk production has increased, but the one gal who isn't nursing has almost doubled in production. I didn't test the milk before the addition of the sprouts but it now has a yellowish color and my customers have commented that the milk is a lot creamier. An added benefit is that the picky eaters in the group are no longer picky eaters. They all devour the sprouts, which I have replaced about 1/2 their grain ration with, and the picky ones have increased appetite for even their dairy goat sweet feed.

Here's my experience with different types of sprouted gains so far:

Corn seemed like the easiest to try but I found it takes a long time to sprout and the goats didn't really like it. So I fed it to the chickens and they took a long time to eat it as well.

Oats sprout easily. I soak them covered in water for several hours, rinse out the dirt and put them in a tray, rinsing them several times a day. They are ready in about 3 days. I don't wait for green shoots because by that time the roots would be a jumbled mass. The protein content of oats goes from about 13% for the raw berries to between 15 to 28% sprouted. I'm not sure why the big range in %. Perhaps someone reading this will know and share their knowledge with me. (Edit: I found an article that states sprouts are at about 18% protein when the white shoots are about 1/8" long. The highest protein would be from oat grass but you would only harvest the green fodder, not the roots. That's way too much trouble for my setup.)

Rye seeds sprout very quickly, ready in a day or 2. The goats absolutely love them when they just break through the seed hull but not so much when they get beyond that to the point where their roots get tangled. While the 15% protein is not as high as oats, the benefit is that they are ready quicker if you should be delayed in the oat sprout production.

I haven't tried any other sprouts as here in the north country that's about all that's economically available.

Here's the sprouting process I used. First I filled a 3 qt grain scoop with the berries. 

Then I soaked those for about 12 hours in a bucket of water. I added a few handfuls of sunflower seeds as those sprout at about the same rate as the oat berries.

After rinsing, I put them in a tray that I had drilled small drain holes in the bottom and larger drain holes in the cover so they drained from one through the next when stacked. (Edit: You can also put them in a bucket with holes. That might save some space but I found the tray is easier to scoop a measured portion from. Whatever you use you'll have to periodically disinfect it, and the ones below it, because the tray begins to grow mold after several uses.)

I rinsed them with water several times a day. The top tray drains down through the 2nd, through the 3rd or 4th and into the bottom tray which doesn't have drain holes in the bottom so it acts as a catch basin for the water draining down through. I put a small piece of 2x4 under one end so the water drained better. Each day I start a new tray after I use one so the trays were started on consecutive days. (Edit: I gave the drain water to the chickens as I imagine it has a lot of nutrients in it. Being chickens, they love it!)

I used these trays from amazon.com

https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B06ZZDC235/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o03_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1 and they are just the right size for a full scoop of berries.

So far I'm thrilled with the sprouting project. The goats love them, milk production has increased, milk seems to have higher butterfat, and I'm feeding 1/2 the amount of grain. If you try this process please comment to let me know how you're doing with it.

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Charlie"s Journal - Day 14 - Freedom Tastes Like Goats and Revenge

Dear Journal,

Today… it happened. The cone is gone.

THE. CONE. IS. GONE.

For two weeks I have lived in plastic purgatory, burdened by neck floaties and the weight of betrayal. I have suffered the indignities of gorilla tape repairs, sympathetic head pats, and more than one very public bathroom break involving a cone full of leaves. I have knocked over chairs, bruised shins, and been mistaken for a satellite dish at least twice.

But this morning… the humans said the magic words.

“Charlie, let’s take that cone off.”

At first, I didn’t believe them. I stood there, frozen. I’ve been burned before. I remember that first day when they said I could go outside to pee, but meant on a leash? Yeah. I wasn’t falling for that again.

But then—they unbuckled it. They removed the neck donut and the cone. I shook. I spun. I zoomed.

And then I saw THEM. My goats. My herd. My purpose. My slightly confused woolly friends who have spent the last two weeks being guarded by… another dog. Honestly, Journal, I think one of them tried to unionize in my absence. After all, that other dog wasn't ME!

I ran to them, free at last, with the wind in my fur and the overwhelming need to sniff every single one of them just to make sure no one got funny ideas while I was away.

The humans clapped and called it “adorable.” I called it justice.

They think I’m healed. They think I’ve moved on. But deep down, I’ll never forget. I’ve been through a lot. I’ve been snipped, stitched, stapled, and shackled in shame plastic. I’ve known the pain of betrayal. I’ve licked the edge of the cone and tasted despair.

But I survived. And now I am FREE.

If you need me, I’ll be out in the pasture—head held high, tail wagging strong, keeping my goats safe from every shadow, squirrel, and suspicious breeze.

And if anyone tries to come near me with a cone again? They’d better bring a LOT snacks.

Forever victorious,
Charlie, the Restored
Protector of Goats. Breaker of Collars. Survivor of The Snipening.

Editor’s Note:
“Charlie’s Journal” will return in the event of porcupine encounters, skunk diplomacy failures, mysterious barn snacks, or any future medical interventions requiring inflatable accessories. Stay tuned. It’s only a matter of time.

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Charlie's Journal - Inmate #728: Mugshots & Misery

Tricked, Snipped, and Framed

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Charlie's Journal - Day 7 of Cone Confinement

Dear Journal,

It has been one week since The Great Snipening.

They continue to insist this is “for my own good,” but I remain unconvinced. Nothing good has happened since. I’m still wearing the cone. Still wearing the neck pillow. Still being kept indoors like some kind of overgrown, emotionally fragile houseplant.

I used to have a job. A purpose. I used to bark at hawks. I used to chase shadows in the pasture and pretend they were threats. I had goats to guard. Now? My days consist of being told “No, don’t lick that” and knocking my cone into every wall, doorframe, and human shin in this house. I'm a once-fearless guardian now reduced to a hallway speed bump.

The humiliation is endless.

I tried to mount an escape attempt on Day 5. I pressed my cone against the door, pawed at the handle, and made my saddest howl. They thought it was “adorable” and filmed it for Instagram. Instagram, Journal. I was betrayed twice in one week.

I have not pooped in peace since this thing was attached to my head. I have lost peripheral vision. I have learned what a “baby wipe” is. No dog should know these things.

My humans have taken to calling me “Donut Dog.” Sometimes “Sir Licks-A-Lot” when they catch me trying to sneak around the cone. The shame is unbearable. I was once a noble guardian. Now I’m a cautionary tale for puppies.

The goats have probably forgotten me. Maybe they’ve hired a goose in my place. Or worse—a mini donkey. I shudder to think of it.

I shall continue my silent protest by dramatically sighing and flopping to the ground every time someone walks by. And if I get one more “boop” on the nose while I’m trying to sleep? I will file a formal complaint.

Please send snacks. And maybe bolt cutters.

Desperately yours,
Charlie, The Conehead Avenger
(formerly of the pasture, now of the couch)

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Charlie's Journal - Day 3 of Captivity

Dear Journal,

I write to you from the confines of this…prison. Once, I was a proud and noble livestock guardian, patrolling the fields, barking at rogue butterflies, and valiantly protecting my  from imaginary threats. But that life—that freedom—is gone now.

It all began last week on a sunny Tuesday. I was so excited. They said, “Wanna go for a ride?” and I said, “HECK YES I DO.” I jumped into the truck like the good boy I am. Oh, the wind in my ears! The smells! Adventure was calling.

Little did I know… I was being betrayed.

We arrived at the vet’s. A place I had once loved. Treats! Pets! Weird little dogs in sweaters I could sniff! But this time was different. They left me there.

They. Left. Me.

When I awoke, something was… missing. I won’t go into detail, Journal, but let’s just say the family jewels had been repossessed.

I returned home wearing what they call a “cone.” I call it a “satellite of doom.” I can’t lick anything, I can’t go anywhere without knocking over furniture, and I have not successfully navigated a doorway since. It’s like trying to live with a lampshade strapped to your soul.

I did manage to remove my stitches, which felt like a win at the time. But then came the vet trip at night. The emergency place. They stapled me shut like a used Amazon box and gave me an even bigger cone. I removed those too. (I refuse to be held together by your human office supplies.)

Now I wear a ridiculous inflatable neck donut. I look like I’m about to board a red-eye to Florida. And I still have the cone as well. It’s like they’re stacking shame on top of shame.

They keep me indoors now. Indoors.
No goats. No mud. No air thick with the scent of chicken poop. Just... the couch.

My only solace is passive-aggressively sighing and flopping dramatically in the middle of the hallway, where they’ll trip over me and feel the full weight of my suffering.

I don’t know how much longer I can survive like this.
Send help. Or beef jerky. Or both.

Yours in suffering and inflatable accessories,
Charlie, the Formerly Intact

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Stitches? I don't need no stinkin' stitches!

Charlie went to the vet’s last Tuesday to be neutered. He’s a little over a year old now, which is the canine equivalent of being a rowdy teenager with a learner’s permit—old enough to get into trouble, and just young enough to think it’s a good idea.

He jumped into the truck like we were headed on the greatest adventure ever, tail wagging, tongue flapping, not a care in the world. He strutted into the vet’s office like he owned the joint, sniffing every corner and introducing himself to everyone. “Hi, I’m Charlie. You smell like a snack. Wanna be friends?”

And then it hit him.

“Wait…you’re leaving me here?” he asked, ears back, eyes wide with betrayal.

“Yes,” I said, channeling my calmest mom voice. “You’ll be fine. I’ll pick you up later.”

Well, the dog we got back that evening was not the same confident explorer who’d leapt into the truck that morning. This one looked like he'd sat on a wasp nest and was absolutely certain it was our fault.

Then came the infamous Cone of Shame.

Even with that, by Wednesday Charlie had pulled all his stitches out, and broken the cone, and ripped it off his head.

“Charlie, what did you DO?” I gasped.

He looked me dead in the eye. “Stitches? I don’t need no stinkin’ stitches!” (Yes, that’s paraphrased from Blazing Saddles, but it was definitely the vibe.)

To top it off, his regular vet was on vacation. Of course they were. It’s a universal law: if something can go sideways, it will, and the vet will be sipping margaritas somewhere out of cell range. So off we went to the emergency clinic, where they gave him a bigger collar, a generous helping of staples, and a round of antibiotics. Surely that would do the trick.

By Thursday he’d broken the collar again (you’ll notice the gorilla tape in the photo) and pulled the staples out too. This dog is part livestock guardian, part Houdini.

I called his regular vet’s office again, and they gave me the ol’ shrug. Since he was clearly on a mission to remove anything foreign from his body—no matter how many times we reinstalled it—they said putting more staples in would be “pointless.” The wound would eventually granulate and heal on its own. (Granulate. Fancy vet word for "It’ll scab up if he stops acting like a maniac.”)

Their one helpful tip? A blow-up pillow collar that looks like one of those neck pillows people wear in airports. It's supposed to keep the cone from collapsing and maybe keep him from turning himself into a DIY project again.

So now poor Charlie looks like he’s wearing a neck floatie and the Cone of Shame. We’re keeping him inside to avoid fly strike, and he is miserable. What should have been a few days of recovery before he was back out with his goats has turned into weeks of indoor incarceration, complete with wardrobe. He has lost not only his dignity, but also his masculinity and his freedom—all at the hands of the humans he once trusted. He’s taken to sighing dramatically and laying near the door, like a Victorian lady yearning for the sea breeze.

Please send Charlie your thoughts, prayers, and maybe a new cone made from steel-reinforced titanium.
He’s going to need it.

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Best Laid Plans!

We had quite the day here on the farm.

A friend brought her two goat kids over for disbudding. Along for the ride were their mama goat (in the back seat), and her adult son, who has Down syndrome, rode shotgun. She had thoughtfully lined the back seat with a big towel to catch any stray poops. They’re Nigerian Dwarf goats, so they don’t take up much room. The towel would have been a great idea… if the next thing that happened hadn’t happened.

You know what they say about best laid plans.

She pulled into our parking area, turned off the car, got out, shut the door, and walked over to let us know she’d arrived. You see where this is going, right? You can probably already hear the ominous music playing in the background. She left the keys in the car. Her son, who is deathly afraid of dogs (and honestly not too keen on the goats in the back either), heard our dogs bark and did what made the most sense to him—he locked the doors. All of them.

She tried everything to get him to unlock them. Nope. Not happening. I think he was pretty sure that if he gave her an opening, she’d try to make him get out and enter the Land of Barking Dogs. He’s nonverbal, but he understands some sign. She signed for him to unlock his door. He pointed at her door like, “Nah, you go open yours.” She signed back that her door was broken and she needed him to open his. He stared her down, then turned his head like, “Nice try, Mom. Not falling for it.”

So we called the police. They don’t cover our town. Gave us the state police number. Called them—they don’t unlock vehicles anymore, but they’d happily send a wrecker if we wanted. I called my neighbor up the road who owns a tow truck—he’s in South Carolina visiting family. Of course he is.

This, friends, is why God invented AAA.

The first thing they did was thank me for my 21 years of membership. Very touching. But what I really wanted was someone to come unlock a goat-filled, poop-sprinkled vehicle. They agreed to send someone—about 45 minutes away. Not ideal, but at that point, we weren’t exactly in a position to be choosy.

So we waited.

She kept going back to try to coax her son into unlocking a door, any door. The goats started getting restless, stomping the towel all over the place, and—surprise!—goat berries began migrating into every crevice of that back seat. We ordered pizza and waited for the AAA guy while watching the steady progress of poop distribution.

When the AAA guy arrived, he looked confused. He saw someone in the passenger seat and assumed we’d gotten back into the car but had forgotten to cancel the call. She ran out to stop him from leaving and explained that no, the person in the car was not there voluntarily. Nor were the goats in the back seat.

He got to work and in less than 10 seconds, popped the back door open, and was face to face with three goats. I don’t know what exactly went through his mind, but I’m willing to bet he was questioning all his life choices that led him to unlocking a car full of goats, and maybe praying to never be dispatched to this zip code again.

And here’s the kicker: one of the back windows had been left cracked open about an inch. My husband had tried earlier to wedge a pole in through the gap to reach the front door lock—but couldn’t quite get to it. Turns out, the AAA guy just dropped his tool straight down and popped the back door lock in one try.

Hubby admitted he hadn’t even considered that. In his defense, maybe he couldn’t see past the goat heads pressed to the glass, nibbling on the pole like it was a buffet stick.

We tipped the AAA guy for braving freezing rain, my friend gave him a big hug, we finished our pizza, and eventually got down to the original task of disbudding the goat kids. She made it home safe, though the roads had definitely gotten worse while all the chaos played out.

The rest of the day was calm. Honestly, kind of boring by comparison.

But I’m willing to bet she’ll be discovering goat berries in that back seat well into the next season. And that next time she'll remember to take her keys.

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No Kidding? Yes, Kidding!

The 2019 kidding season has begun with the arrival of triplets on Monday, April 1. They are mini-Nubians, mom being Nubian and dad being Nigerian Dwarf. It's cuteness overload with 2 females and 1 male. These pictures were taken when they were only hours old. I'll update with more pics in a few days, if I can get them to hold still! Mom and kids doing well. And how am I, you ask? After a day crawling around the floor of the milk room helping them get born, drying them off, and getting them nursing, I'm exhausted. Only 5 more does to go before this kidding season is over. I can do this!

Stanley - male

Mona - female

Melody - female

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It's Been A While!

Wow, I can see it's been a while since I've blogged! My intention is to get back into it. A lot has changed, such as - I have more goats, I don't have sheep anymore, we had to send our old Pyr over the rainbow bridge, our older gal is now retired, and we have 2 Pyr pups to replace them. Life does go on.

And I just created a farm website! Yeah, OK, so that's a long time overdue. Being technologically challenged, things like the internet strike fear into my very being. With the help of an awesome friend who went to school for 3 years to learn how to design websites, and some really cool free software she found, I was able to do it with minimal help. Well, I thought it was minimal but maybe awesome friend thought I was a pest with all the questions of how to do this or that. Anyway, it's up and running, although still a work in progress. Check it out at americanwayfarm.com.

Of ongoing interest will be sales of mini-Saanens and mini-Nubians toward late spring and during the summer. So if either of these areas interest you check the "For Sale" page often.

If purchasing goats doesn't interest you, then maybe you should consider getting one or two. After all, maybe your life needs more of a challenge just keeping these critters fenced! Have you ever wondered why, when something aggravates you, you say that really got your goat? Never that it got your dog, or cat, or even cow. No, always a goat! There's a reason for that. If you need more aggravation in your life, then definitely get a few goats. Of course, they're also fun, personable, intelligent, and affectionate, not to mention the cuteness factor of the kids.

I hope to reconnect with friends I've lost touch with. Please re-subscribe to my blog if you've unsubscribed or, if you're still a loyal follower who thought I had dropped off the face of the earth, leave a comment and say howdy!

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