The White Mixing Bowl
Have you ever had an item, object, etc, that brought back fond memories? By simply looking at it, you saw those past events floating through your mind once more? Me too. When I look at this white mixing bowl, it brings back memories when I was much younger (I was going to say smaller, but I haven't grown much since then..*ahem*)...
We had a fair sized goat herd that roamed the ranch, causing all sorts of havoc. For instance, crawling through the tiny chicken pen door, eating all their food, smashing eggs, and stepping on chickens. Then, when they saw you coming, they would high tail it out the tiny opening and back out into the pasture, going "Baaabaaabaaa!" all the while. I'm convinced they were laughing, at us.
When big 'sis would go out to milk the cow, she would enlist one of us to keep the goats off, while she milked. Otherwise you would end up with twelve goats of all shapes and sizes, in the feeding trough, gobbling up the cow's food as quickly as possible.
Kidding time came around, and I believe we had half a dozen, or more, nannies due to kid. They of course picked the coldest day, usually a blizzard, or a severe sand storm, to have their babies. Ask me how I know that. *ahem*
But, never the less, we ended up with aprox. a dozen baby goats. Now you're going, hold on there! How on earth can you have a dozen baby goats when you only have around 6 nannies??? Let me explain; one of our nannies, Dot, would always have quadruplets. Always. Without fail. Several had twins, and very few had just one. You end up with a lot of baby goats, trust me!
The problem was, that year it was several nannies first time to kid. And they had no earthy idea what was going on, or what the heck was coming out of their be-hind, and they absolutely-positively did not want a single thing to do with that fuzzy creature that was screaming at the top of its lungs. No sir!
So guess who got to play Momma Goat? Your's truly.
Once they all kidded, I was bottle feeding seven baby goats. Yes seven! Oh, and did I mention I was also bottle feeding a bull calf at that very same time? Yes, I most certainly was!
Talk about a bunch of noisy, messing, drooling kids! I fed them two, or maybe three times a day. Each morning I would get up, grab my white mixing bowl, whisk up some formula, pour it into two bottles with a smaller nipple for the baby goats, and head to the barn.
I would feed the baby goats first, two at a time, while trying to fend off the calf, who was, in no uncertain terms, very pushy when it came to his bottle. He also weighed a couple hundred pounds, which was a lot more than me! After both the bottles were drained empty, I would head back to the house to fill a bottle for Blackie, the calf. Then back out I would go. This time I would fend off seven baby goats, most of whom, had horns, while feeding Blackie. They were good times; waking up every morning, pulling on your warmest clothes to brave the wintery wonderland outside. Going out to hear eight babies screaming their lungs out for you to come feed them. Yes, it was paradise! I'm lying. It got very annoying, very fast. But, I did enjoy it immensely! And often wish I had some darling little ones to bottle feed.
I also remember how smart my little babies were.
How they found out which room I lived in, I will never know! But somehow they did. And they slept under it, every.single.night. And they would let me know when they were hungry, and wanted Momma to come feed them..usually at the break of dawn.
I always had a caravan of followers, let me tell you! I could walk out the front door, and instantly be surrounded by eight starving wolves..err..I mean, darling babies.
It was a completely normal sight to see me outside with seven baby goats, and a calf right behind me. Where ever I went, they followed.
The day we sold all our goats, including all my bottle babies, broke my heart. I loved them all so much, and had spent so much time in their company, that I grew terribly attached to them. But the day Blackie, my darling bull calf got hauled to the sale (to be turned into hamburger), I cried for a week.
After I raised him up, and weaned him off the bottle, we branded him and turned him loose out in the pasture. I didn't see him for six months. When it came time to gather up calves that fall, Blackie was among them. I saw him in the pen with the many other calves, and wondered to myself if he would still remember me?
I climbed over the fence, and softly called to him, "Here Blackie! Come to Momma!" He took one look at me and walked right up, and started licking my hand, like he had done when he was just a tiny tot.
The last I saw of him, he was going down the road in a trailer, heading to the sale barn.
To this very day, I can plainly see that heart wrenching scene, clear as a bell.
Yep, that white mixing bowl brings back lots of memories, not all of them fond, but it brings them back, none the less.
Now I'm going to go find a tissue.
Do you have something that brings back memories whenever you look at it? Do tell!