This is Rosie at left, one of our wonderful Nigerian Dwarf dairy goats. She isn’t interested in having her photo taken unless the camera is edible, so this is the best I could do today. Goats figured out how to get into their treat bag last night and then, having gorged, couldn’t be coaxed to the milking stand this morning. In my pajamas and flip flops with a flashlight at 6:00 a.m., I discovered I had been outsmarted. Although those pajamas look like I lost in a mud tug of war, I did indeed win the battle. However, hairy foot ended up in the milking bucket, so maybe we’ll call it a “draw.” I’ll be making soap (critical not to misspell as “soup,” here) of today’s milk. Basically, the goats and I have an understanding. They get treated like princesses and are bribed with treats, that no doubt preclude any hope of ever being a profitable dairy. I get to milk in peace. There’s also a subsidiary rule that although they know how to open my front door, enter at will and say, eat my September billing; they agree not to. That’s my understanding, anyway.