Smokey Mountain Breakdown

Today I received a Chinese curse in my fortune cookie. I didn't eat it in hopes of it not coming true. I don't want my life to be any more thrilling than it has been. Scott almost got into a fist fight in the middle of the Chinese. Not his fault, the guy just wouldn't leave him alone and seemed determined to start something. Luckily, a sheriff's dept. employee was there to keep the idiot off of him.

On the way home, I saw a whorehouse they had painted then turned into a church. The placard on the outside said, "Jesus redeemed us from the scourge of the law." Am I the only one who sees the irony in that?

Happy Sunday.

I was still asleep when she started hollering. But I'd left the balcony door open for just such a reason, so she woke me up. It's her first time freshening so she was pretty indignant about it.

So, Rose Goat ends up having this hugantic buck. He's basically Leonard with a white topnot. He did absolutely nothing to help--I did have to give a few tugs to get his enormous head out. Betsy stayed on the phone with me to talk me through it, since I sort of thought for a moment there that we would have a hard time of it.

But everything was okay. He's got all his parts. Rose has plenty of colostrum and he's been filling up. It was a nice morning for a kidding.

I couldn't resist doing this forever, I guess. This will be going up on The Friday Ark at the Modulator. Lolcat translations courtesy of Speak Lolcat. Nod to I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER? If for some odd reason you want to use any of these on your own blog, go ahead, but give me a linkback. The new Technorati is murdering my blog.

I give you--The Baby Lolgoats--courtesy of Betsy at Glastonbury Farm where I spent this afternoon getting my baby goat fix.

My ex-goat Didi, dropped two buck kids in the wee hours of the morning at Hidden Haven Homestead. I must say that I'm disappointed that Leonard's doe-fu was overcome. He did such a good job last year, showering us with doe kids. But they are handsome little lads.

Peggy says the delivery was very difficult. It happened in the wee hours of the morning and Peggy and William had to valiantly go in and turn the kids. Didi is okay, but it was rough on her and the two boys. Everyone is resting up right now.

Go over to Peggy's and check out the new babies. I'm a little partial to the one that looks like he's got a mop on his head and a smudge of flour on his nose. Her dreadful delivery story is pretty hair raising. Much worse than mine from last season.

Yesterday Sonya, my ex-goat, had her very first kid! Peggy called me all excited. Sonya dropped it in the field, but all was well. A little buckling. He's a nice combination of Leonard and Sonya. He has Sonya's eyes and spots, and Leonard's stripe down his back.



He's in the house now being spoiled rotten. Peggy says Sonya and he did very well at the mother and baby thing. It looks like this may be the beginning of Peggy's kidding storm. I expect that Didi won't be far behind in her delivery--and Peggy's Sammi is about to pop any minute now.

If you want to share the anticipation of the kidding season, do head over to Hidden Haven Homestead for all of the adorable baby goat cuteness you can stand!

Happy Sunday!

For Friday Ark

at The Modulator

I went out yesterday and sat in the pasture with my camera. I was alone for a little while. It was really warm and everyone was shacked up in the cool shelter where it is dark and sunless. It takes a while for the goats to get used to the heat. They pant like dogs, eyes glassy. I'd freshened the water earlier but everyone just wanted to stay out of the sun and keep cool.

Soon, they all gathered around me. The adults thoughtfully munching my hair. The babies playing "queen of the mountain". I am the mountain. I end up with pictures like the above shot when that happens. They can't get close enough to me, despite the heat.

I've got everyone but Vi-vi and Bridey off of the bottle and teat. Blinkin' is weaning her lot off slowly. Bridey is tall and thin so I don't mind her still downing so much milk. She is using it to grow more. Vi-vi needs to be weaned but I've come to rely on her for getting those last bits of milk out when my hands hurt too much to milk. My lupus has made my hands grow sideways and they freeze in position sometimes. The milking is good to keep them from freezing up. I knit for the same reason. As long as you can keep joints moving it's a good thing. But sometimes my hands hurt.

"Vi-Vi!!!" I call. She knows the drill so well by now. She's mother's little helper.

But I feel sort of guilty. Vi-vi is getting fat. She has little spare tires behind her widdy elbows.

She's become something of a terror around the does. She just wanders around snatching a guzzle of milk from any of them that get cornered in a tight spot. I'm wondering if I need to enroll her in some non-food related goat activities.


Phoebe is the youngest and the biggest. She's really huge, but very sweet. Her mother, Harper, spent last summer here. Harper is a giant of a doe who is a prodigious milker. I have really high hopes for Phoebe. Harper was supposed to come here from Betsy, The Goat Yoda, in trade for Maggie, "the bitch". But Harper got an udder injury and I am forced to hang onto Maggie, "the bitch", a bit longer. Hopefully I can get a doe kid out of her. Though Maggie has been suspiciously sweet recently. Except for eating my hair.

Take a bow, Phoebe.


I have closish neighbors again. My neighbors who have a cabin above my place have moved back after an absence of several years. They use my upper farm road to get to their house. Nice folks, Jeff and Phyllis.

Guess I'll have to stop mowing the grass in the nude now. I'm considerate that way. Really I am.

I've been getting together a basket of goatie goodness for them. A quart of lebneh, a gallon of milk, some homemade soap and some fudge.

I just developed a new goat milk fudge flavor...Coffee and Cream. It's every bit as good as I imagined and that's what I'm going to take to the neighbors. I don't have it up on my order page yet. But if it strikes your fancy, you could just write it in.

Maggie "The Bitch"

She freakin' should look sorry. Rotten kid.

And now, for another installment of the popular "Goats in Chairs" series. Same goat, different chair. We will resume the "Friend Scott" story cycle on Monday.

This is for The Friday Ark Carnival...a couple of days late...since...well...you all know what I'm doing on Fridays.

The Goat Yoda and I took a journey into K-town today with Daughter Dorie. Betsy was delivering a handsome little Nigerian Dwarf she had sold to a fellow and his family. We also had a little doe kid who was being delivered to a Mennonite family. And I was going to get two Shetland sheep from the same Mennonite family.

I'm telling you...you don't know what fun is until you are heading down the interstate in a mini-van with three chicks and a couple of goats.

We met up at Tyson Park where an SCA tourney was taking place.

The Society for Creative Anachronism is the group where people get together to study and re-enact skills from pre-17th century Europe. It's what the nerds were doing before computers.

I used to be in the SCA...like 25 years ago. Back then, I was much slimmer and fitter...not to mention lupus and scary clotting disorder-free...so I really enjoyed donning my fighting gear and wailing the hell out of other people with a rattan broadsword and lugging around that big shield. I thought myself quite the badass. The SCA was where I first learned to make armor. A skill I parlayed later in life in the theater.

We sat on the grass with the baby goat who drew the expected crowd of sweet faced children. One little boy was really excited and going on about "Kitty! Kitty!"

He got within three feet of little Lizzy and ran screaming in terror. Musta been the eyes. Goat eyes. They'll get you every time.

We took a detour by Betsy's Greek Orthodox Church. It's a homeless ministry but was really wonderful. They had some very cool relics and stuff. I want Betsy to take me back there for a service.

I mentioned that we were on our way to pick up sheep. One of the older homeless men's face lit up at the mention of sheep. He used to herd them back in Utah. Big herds of them. It was a happy memory. He liked sheep.

I stopped myself from asking, "Like in Brokeback Mountain?"

But that was what went through my mind. Because I'd seen the movie, I sort of knew the kind of job he had once had. Probably without the romantic interest, but still.

So, I'm back home with two woolly buggers on the back porch. I'll keep them there until they get a bit more used to me. I promptly forgot the names the Mennonite family had given them. I don't think they know their names anyway.

I've been calling them "Mutton" and "Chops".

I have a really wonderful Food Porn Friday for you today. Betsy aka "The Goat Yoda" and I began our eatery tour this past Tuesday, starting at Wanda's wonderful Barbecue Garden and Cafe.

Unfortunately, the Canon Craptastic A40 is holding these amazing barbecue photos hostage for the moment. I think I have a barbecue ribs shot in there that blogger may censor. Please don't flag my blog when I finally get it up. It's very explicit. A "money shot". Very wet and drippy with sauce.

The idiot battery problem has reared its ugly head.

So I call Canon and try to find out what they will charge me to fix Craptastic. I explain the problem and politely mention that I have a Nikon used during the Vietnam war that still works great and I was sort of hoping to get more than five years out of the Craptastic. She tells me, for a digital, that the Craptastic is positively ancient and is probably just wearing out.

Then she tells me they have a program called the Craptastic Upgrade Program that I qualify for. Basically, I send them 125 bucks and they send me the New Improved Craptastic A610. It's to reward my loyalty for staying with the Craptastic brand.

I say, "Sweet!"

So, as soon as I have the bucks, all I have to do is call Canon and give them my phone number and they will have the new camera to me in two days. Cool. So now I only have to supercharge some batteries that can keep the Craptastic going for the five minutes it will take me to retrieve the food porn shots I took on Tuesday.

So we will hopefully have a Food Porn article on Saturday. Cross your fingers.

In other news. Didi is up and running, but Violette is back on the porch. No biggie...she has an eye infection and I want to get her a little more friendly. She has a shot lump that needed some attention and I'm giving her antibiotics for the eye and the shot lump. Her nose looks funny again. But I think that's just scar tissue. She may end up having a disturbingly human looking nose. I hope she grows out of it. It's sort of creeping me out.

Vi-vi is in so many ways the type of goat I want to breed here. Polled (no horns), pretty spotted coat, sturdy, good keeper. She is the only one who is obviously Beacon's get based on her outrageous spots. Unfortunately she seems to have inherited Beacon's tendency to get shot lumps. These are infections that pop up after you give a goat a shot. Basically it just means she has overly sensitive skin that gets infections easily. That is not something I want.

So, the plan is to go ahead and let her dirty old uncle Leonard have at her when it is time to breed her and see if we can get Leonard's good, hardy skin back in the mix without losing Beacon's outrageous spots. Her two sisters, who are probably Leonard's (yes, you can get a mixed "litter" if somebody goes in for sloppy seconds), do not have this skin thing going.

But for now, little Violette is on the back porch. She has an unfortunate voice. See Bat Boy? Vi-vi sounds like you would imagine Bat Boy sounding. I'm not kidding. That's exactly what she sounds like. And she won't shut up.

Did you know they made a musical of "Bat Boy"? That is just something I've got to see. Or at least get the soundtrack to. I hope it's gloriously bad. Damn. I love a bad musical. Just doesn't get much better than that.

The youngest of this year's crop of kids joined us on Friday. Betsy came over with two new Nubian does, Sonya and Didi, and brought Phoebe as well. Phoebe's mom, Harper, was supposed to come along, but is still recovering from an udder injury.

Phoebe is a bit young to be leaving her mom, but I said to bring her along. If I couldn't get her to take a bottle, I could always take her back. And there is the size of "Li'l" Phoebe. At one month, she's the size of a two month old. She's frankly enormous. Harper herself is rather outsized and both of my boys seem to throw really big kids. So Phoebe got a double dose of the really big goat gene.

She's the color of cream shot with espresso and has a coffee colored stripe down her back. When I was a child, my nanny would bring me a cup of hot milk in the morning with a little bit of coffee in it so I could feel like part of the family who were busy drinking coffee and getting ready for work. Phoebe is that color. You can see from her picture that she has adorable goat lips.

Phoebe spent her first night on earth curled up with Betsy's daughter, Dori. Dori says she whispered her name in the way baby goats do sometimes. Now that I've met her, I must say it suits her. And it appeals to me since it is another name for Artemis, meaning "the bright one."

Her sweet and easy personality has quickly won me over. After only a few tries, she was eagerly slugging down bottles of milk. Despite her size, she's fairly well behaved in the house. Bridey and BossyToe have been largely banned from freely roaming the indoors due to their tendency to jump on the furniture...including furniture not built for jumping on. Phoebe placidly follows me around and will curl up on the floor at my feet. She comes when called. We did her disbudding this morning and she was very laid back about the procedure and quickly forgave me for hurting her. She seems to have transferred her affections fairly easily over to me and doesn't seem to miss her mom much at all. She is bonding well with BossyToe and hopefully will not become too corrupted by my current bad girl.

I've been very busy with farm work the past few days. This morning I woke to a dusting of snow. I realized while I stared out from my balcony how the snow seemed to fall upwards, driven by the winds coming up the cliff from the holler. It really did look like a snow globe.

Scott came by to visit Friday and Saturday. Saturday, I saw his truck drive up and he seemed to be taking a long time coming inside. I went out to grab a stick of firewood and find out whatever he was doing out there.

The wind was howling and making the windchimes sound with loud music.

Scott was standing in the yard facing the wind. His face turned upwards and his arms outstretched. The wind had blown his shirt up exposing his belly. His hair, almost always perfectly in place, was flying away from his face. The expression on his face was like that of a Renaissance saint in sculpture.

A more pure example of a religious experience, I have never witnessed.

It's why we live on these high places.

It was a few nights ago that I woke up to thunder and lightning crashing across the mountains in the distance. It lit up my bedroom with that eerie blue light that makes your skin itch. It is another harbinger of spring. I quite enjoy lightning storms. Unless I'm out pounding metal T-posts on the other end of the farm and have to skedaddle back to the house.

As you can see, Bridey is doing exceptionally well. She's as tall as the other kids now but still very delicately boned and "dairy". That is a good thing for the type of goat that she is. I'm afraid I need to re-do her disbudding. What I did doesn't seem to have taken. Violette is strong and stodgy and thick again. One of her eyes is a bit weepy and I need to see what she's gotten into this time. Looks like Violette is going to have a bit of a learning cure as to what is safe to get into or not.

Yesterday, I began the task of re-routing the fence lines. Pounding T-posts is very hard work up here with the rocks. I also went up and made repairs to the grain storage. Lucky, when he was still here, had used his horns to pry off the boards of the structure. I pulled out the grain bins and cleaned them out and left them to dry. Somewhere in the middle of this, I ran out of steam and had to go back to the house for a nap. I hate leaving tasks in the middle of things, but sometimes I just have to go and give the body what it needs. A nap.

I overslept and woke up to the darkness and howling wind. Since I live perched atop a 300 foot cliff, the wind gusts sometimes reach 60 miles per hour. My little house sits on a double foundation to absorb the buffeting winds. My closest neighbor who is just above me, built his cabin without such a foundation. The wind moved the entire house 10 feet one night. I've seen the wind pick up rocks here.

I then remember my feed bins. Damn. I'd meant just to lay down for a bit then go back up and fill the bins and put them securely in the repaired enclosure. The enclosure is designed to keep goats out and feed bins from flying off the mountain. So now, both feed bins are blown away. I was able to retrieve the bins, but the lids are probably somewhere between the here and the cow pasture 300 feet down. And it's not like I can go buy new lids for them. They are useless without the lids.

But it may be time to move on to something more secure anyway. The dogs have evidently loaned the goats the opposable thumb they use to get into things. I'm now having to put a padlock with a key on the milk goat's feed. The cabinet has a perfectly serviceable latch. But this morning I come down to find that they have opened it up and feasted on goat milk enhancer. To do this they had to, first, open the latch to the cabinet. Then remove the lid that is securely bungeed the bin inside the cabinet.

I am soooo taking that damn opposable thumb away once I find the smart ass goat who has it.

Even Mondays on the farm can be sort of crappy.

I never really had jobs where Monday reared its ugly head and I had to drag myself into a 9 to 5 gig that my heart wasn't into. That's because I was stupid. It is largely this stupidity that led me to my current wonderful if penurious existence. If you are smart, you put up with a bit of discomfort at a job that doesn't completely fulfill you.

It's why they call it "work".

It allows you to do the stuff you really want to do. You've completely misunderstood if you think work is something you want to do.

Money isn't everything. I'd just like an opportunity to empirically prove this statement. I'll need lots of cash to do this.

No, my jobs were exciting, rewarding and ultimately damaging to my health. That's the bad thing about jobs you love. You don't know when to quit.

I get up this morning and go to get the milk for the bottles and check on my charges.

Violette meets me at the door of the dog crate projectile vomiting. Goat vomit is not a pretty thing. They usually do it when they've eaten something they shouldn't have. In Violette's case it looks like too much alfalfa chaff.

So now, my poor little possum not only has a freakishly bulbous nose, but is very sick to her tummy. This is serious. Most goat deaths involve their digestive tracts. So, I shoot her up with C & D Anti-toxin and give her some orally and some mylanta. I hold her on my lap with her head slightly lowered so she can continue to upchuck all the nastiness in her belly. There is a lot of it. She looks like she's feeling slightly better so I let her have a nurse on her mom. I leave her out there for a while then bring her back in.

Rinse, shampoo, repeat.

We get to do it all over again in another few hours. This has been the sum total of my activities today. Hold baby goat's head while it throws up.

I'm covered in goat vomit. I've gone through a stack of towels that she's puked all over. I think we finally got it all out and now I'm keeping her happy ass inside and giving her Pedialyte until I'm sure her rumen has recovered.

The Goat Yoda was helpful as always. She has taught me well. When I called, she said I'd done exactly what I was supposed to do.

I wonder if I'm clear to take a shower yet?

****************************
Thus Speaketh the Goat Yoda!

Speaking of the Goat Yoda!!! She has joined us in the Blogosphere to preach her righteous and wholesome message to the Goatitudes. Here's her "about me" blurb:

Betsy aka 'the goat yoda'

I was raised in Kingsport, TN and decided that the city was not for me. My husband and I live in Cosby, TN with my goats, our dogs and cats and a flock of chickens. Our girls are grown and gone, so we have to have something to occupy our time! Time to grow our own food, and be sustainable on the land. We support ideas like permaculture and bio-dynamics, as well as community supported agriculture and all natural gardening techniques.

Woke up this morning to a good four or five inches of snow on the ground. This was the view off my balcony upon rising.

The kids have been having a glorious time playing in the snow. I kept little Violette inside last night and will probably do so again. I'm a bit protective of her since a polled goat is a relatively rare thing that can hopefully have polled babies.


I, of course, had to go out and get some photos of their amazing cuteness.

I wanted to get some good shots of Bridey and Goata for Anne and Erica. Goata is no problem and poses quite sedately. But Bridey is forever in motion. Running, jumping and twirling like a little dancer. And for some reason she felt that the camera's appearance meant it a perfect time to dominance hump her big brother.

I was afraid that I would have a very sad post for you today.

Yesterday morning I called the herd in for some hay. They had skittered down the mountain to drink from the creek. All came back except Pearlie.

The night had been milder than we had had in a while and I decided to leave wee Bridey out with her mom to get a full 24 hours of milk on her mom. She's so tiny. I just wanted her to grow more.

I called and called for Pearlie and finally she came up. Without Bridey or Goata (thanks to Erica for naming Bridey's brother). Pearlie wandered around all day looking like she'd left her car keys somewhere. She would stand by the front porch and bleat up at me. The white goats are really sweet but they are not the brightest of goats.

Pearlie is the original dumb platinum blonde of goatdom. She has large expressive eyes that follow you and have a sort of curiously vapid expression. She's very mouthy and a bit whiny. When she talks, you're pretty sure she's saying very blonde things. But she's very sweet and vulnerable, and like most blondes, you can't help but love her and want to protect her.

Cameron Diaz once said, "I've been noticing gravity since I was very young." That's the sort of thing I imagine comes out of Pearlie's mouth on a regular basis.

I drove down to The Fifteenth and tried to spot the kids on the cliff side. I knew it was an exercise in futility. Both Bridey and Goata are perfectly camouflaged. I stood on the cliff and called for Bridey. I thought I heard her a few times, but I couldn't be sure. Sound behaves strangely here. And BossyToe always answers so I couldn't be sure if the kid cry I was hearing was from BossyToe over the the far pasture or from Bridey down the hill.

As we were losing light, I made one more futile gesture to reclaim the lost kids. I marched Pearlie and the rest of the herd over to the trail head that they had come up from that morning. And I sent Pearlie's happy ass back down the mountain. I figured the least she could do is go down there and feed them. Her udder was tight and painful by this point...a reminder of what she was missing.

At sunset, a tired looking Pearlie with the two kids emerged from the opposite side of the farm. She had found them and this time realized that she had to walk them back along Big Creek to the place where the slope was not so vertical.

No more nights outside for Bridey. She's sooooo grounded.

BossyToe was overjoyed to see her best buddy. She danced and leaped around her wanting to know all about her big adventure. Those two are as thick as thieves. I see them getting into loads of trouble when they get big.

Today I finished up the disbudding of the doe kids. I thought I would have two more including Bridey. The other being my moonspotted Violette. I wasn't looking forward to doing Violette. She is the most athletic of the triplets. Blanche is the largest, but also the laziest. Rose is the small, dairy one. I managed to sneak up on Violette and catch her...just barely. And wonders of wonders...a completely smooth forehead. Violette is polled like her mama. She will not grow horns and is gorgeously spotted as well.

In other goat news....My darling buck, Leonard, sidled up to me today with great affection. And peed on my shoe. It's official. He's in rut. So far, Bolly the wether, is bearing the brunt of his affections. I'm not thrilled about this. I wanted to get the buck pen built before we went through this again. Having kids in hot weather isn't much better than having them in cold. The babies will probably all have to come inside in the air conditioning. Damn.

So, today, I hurried to get as much farm work done while we had temps over 50 degrees. I got the round bale of hay moved on the trailer and tarped up the hill. I fixed the fences and got them really nice and hot. I disbudded little Bridey. Set up a new water tank and got the water situation ready for this week's snow and freeze.

In short, I pushed my body a wee bit past its breaking point. Betsy had asked me if my lupus was flaring and I bravely said, "No, I'm just really tired."

I don't know what she saw. Or how she saw it. I don't believe in many of the things Betsy believes in. I'm a skeptic. I don't like to think I'm giving off lupus vibes.

But I'm feeling it. I'm feeling it sneaking up on its little wolf paws. Growling and baring its little teeth.

I upped my pred and downed some pain pills to see if I could nip it in the bud. I'm too damn busy to be sick right now.

I have too much life to be living to deal with this shit. So it just better go away.

Don't know why I was ever concerned about how these two would get along. Max has fallen under BossyToe's spell. Max is my self-appointed cocker spaniel stock dog. This basically means he chases the goats back in the fence when they get out. Unless one of them decides to make a "stand". In which case, Max yelps like his tail is on fire and runs back to me. A few of the goats have taken note of this behavior and more of them are giving Max the finger...or hoof...as the case may be.

I did my first disbudding today. I nabbed Rose, the smallest of the triplettes and I think I did a pretty clean job of it. It's a dreadful job. I held Rose on my lap in the porch rocker and each time she started to freak out, I'd stop and rock her. This seems to calm her down much as it does a human child. We took our time, but the screaming was terrible. When I was done, the entire herd had left the property. Even BossyToe.

Goats are smart. If torture is happening and you can leave....Leave.

No worries about Max though. He's turning into a right nice goat daddy. He's licked BossyToe from one end to the other. He's having a bit of a hard time translating dog play to goat play and I've had to remind him to be gentle. She's putting up with it. She's not thrilled about all the dog slobber all over her where Max keeps licking her.

The long underwear needed to keep me warm has just not been invented yet.

At least the sun was out today. I took my craptastic Canon A40 out and took the four photos it allows me to take before completely draining the batteries. Yet another damn thing I need to replace. I know it's time. I know in this throw away consumerism world that five years is a lot to ask of a digital camera. But I really resent that stuff doesn't last as long as I feel like it should. I've taken lots of really great photos with the damn thing and I really don't want to step onto another learning curve with another digital.

I take BossyToe's bottle and go and sit in the sun with the kids. The idea being that the triplets will eventually come around to seeing me as just another herd member and start coming up and playing with me as Bridey and BossyToe do.

I sit there and the two of them play "king of the mountain" on me. Bridey is much better at it. She stands on my shoulders like a pirate's parrot before diving off of me to twist and dance in the sun. BossyToe tries, but she's much bigger and a bit clumsy. Both follow me around the pasture twining between my legs like cats and bumping my knees with their heads.

Betsy came by today and delivered a much needed royal bale of hay. We pushed it from her pickup truck into my trailer. The goats were really excited. After she left, they swarmed around it and tore off some chunks. But they really want the alfalfa.



This is Bridey's unnamed big brother of the amazing ears. Betsy says he has great ear control. He's very Yoda that way. He was curling his lip up today while laying in the sun with his ears pricked and stretched behind him. And the great whopping white blob of a kid snuggling with him is Kidzilla. I sort of hate to get rid of Kidzilla because I just want to see how frickin' huge he's actually going to get. Rockit, these kid's granddaddy is as big as a damn pony. I'd never seen a goat that big before.

Betsy left her disbudding iron with me. There is going to be much wailing and gnashing of kid teeth here in the next day or so. But the horns must go and this is the time to do it. I watched the vet do it on Bolly and Lufu. It's going to be my first time trying it. Not fun. You have to burn the horn nubs off of their skulls. It leaves just bare bone showing when it's done right but the iron cauterizes it so there isn't any blood. The skin heals over and leaves no scar. But I'm not looking forward to it.

I'm glad it's cartoon night.