Grandpa and the Goats

I can't recall a time when Grandpa didn't have goats. They were his babies. He named everyone of them and they adored him. 

Every morning he headed to the goat barn calling to them as he carried his milking buckets. They all answered back in unison, bleating and calling to him with their goaty little voices. They propped their split hooves up to the fence and watched as he came close and closer and then they crowded around the gate and made a ring about him as he entered and made his way to the barn. Some of them nibbled on his shirt as he petted them and talked to them. 
We all knew GRANDPA LOVED GOATS!

He went around to the back of the barn were the feed was and scooped up small buckets of grain to pour into each stanchion. The goat ladies new exactly what to do and hopped into there places up on the wooden boards and waited. When they got their grain treats they nibbled and stood still while he washed of their udders with warm soapy water from the house and dried them with a cloth. Then the milking began...  

All his grand kids loved to help take care of the goats. We learned to milk them and spent lots of time playing with them, especially the new babies. 

Danella, Grandpa and Melody in the goat pen - 1975

I love the fact that we kids were barefoot in the pen! I don't recall ever wearing shoes in summer, yet it seems now that it may have been a good idea at times. I don't think it ever crossed our minds. As I recall our toes got stepped on a time or two, but worrying about goat beans appears to not have been an issue.  

Grandpa with his Goats - 1975

The stories of the goats goes way back in our family history and most likely has its original roots somewhere in Switzerland where Grandpa's family came from.  

Faith, Jeanne, Sharon, Evelyn and Johnny   ~ 1947-1948

MEMORIES FROM JEANNE

This picture was taken when we lived on Harvey Lane in Paradise California. Grandpa built a small, one room cabin and little goat barn. The white Saanen goat's name was "Elsie" and the black Nubian was "Blackie." We loved to play with the goats in the goat pen and used to jump barefoot, off the barn roof onto a big pile of manure, stacked up from cleaning goat beans out of the barn. 

Yes, Grandpa Davis loved goats! When he and grandma first got married, in September of 1940, they lived on grandma Hamburgh's ranch, in Raymond,  California.  Grandpa tried to make a living with his goat dairy of around a hundred goats. This is where they still lived when I was born in August of 1941. It was during WWII when things were financially rough for everybody.

They moved to Mt. Shasta, Calif....to be near Uncle Herman and Uncle Ray, his brothers,.....and work in the timber.  

This is where auntie Faith was born in December of 1942 in a nearby hospital in Weed Ca. 

Of course grandpa still had a couple nanny goats and a huge white Saanen billy goat, he named Shagnasty. 

Grandpa and another Saanen billy goat years later - Oakhurst 

One morning we heard wild shouts in the goat pen. Grandma came running out of the house to find grandpa dangling from a tree limb, where Shagnasty was furiously ramming him with his horns, while grandpa yelled and kicked at him with his cork logging boats. I can remember grandma grabbing a heavy garden rake and coming down on his head over and over, until he finally decided to run off with what was left of his brains. 

That was the only ornery billy goat that grandpa ever had. All others were very gentle and safe for us kids to be around.

He had to sell his goats when they moved to Idaho and rented a small house, while Auntie Faith was still a small baby. She was very thin and cried a lot. Grandma didn't seem to have enough milk to nurse her properly. Grandpa knew just how to fix that problem. He brought home a nice milk goat. They kept it hid in the bath tub until grandpa could get a pen fixed. 

Auntie Faith thrived on the goat milk and became healthy again. I can still remember them filling a baby bottle and pulling the rubber nipple onto the top. 

Oakhurst, 1975

MEMORIES FROM DANELLA 

As a child we only drank goats milk and there was a LOT of it! When I was very small ~ 1971, Grandpa paid me a nickle for every glass of goats milk I drank. He would tell me that "It will put hair on your chest!" He gave me a small, green glass Mentholatum bottle with a screw on lid to keep my nickles in. I carried it around and took the lid off and on and counted my pieces of money. For some reason that eludes me now, having hair on my chest was the next best thing to goats milk.  

Grandpa and Cheyenne - In the goat barn (~ 1987)