I have milked a goat!

I’m outside enjoying a goat milk caffe latte for breakfast--from yesterday afternoon’s milking--while looking out over at this view.  From the balcony off my room, I see the same view though it’s somewhat blocked by the persimmon tree that’s growing right outside my door!  On the cascina (the common word for “farm” in this part of Italy; podere is used more in central Italy), I’ve already seen several trees growing that I’d never seen before:  persimmon, pomegranate and a fuzzy apple-like thing that I think is quince.  There are walnuts, hazelnuts, pears, figs, peaches, and plums, as well as a standard vegetable garden.  Oh, and grapes for wine of course!  (That is, “certo!”).  If all of this is a little too idyllic sounding, does it help that I had to pick out a piece of probably-urine-soaked straw from the milk while it was heating for my latte? 

I helped milk the goats this morning; the sheep are harder for me, so I'm waiting until I get proficient with the goats.  And still I'm twice as slow as the other American WWOOFer who's only been here two weeks!  I guess that means there's hope for me.  It kills me how hard you have to squeeze and pull.  I'm sorry, but...ouch!  The goats don't seem to care, however.  Can you imagine that all these random people come in every few weeks or months and learn by trial-and-error how to milk on YOUR udders?  Was that a little too graphic for everyone??  OK, basta.

As we all expected, and some of us knew (that's a shout-out to my in-laws), the goats have way more personality than the sheep.  Sheep act like, well, sheep.  To indicate that the shepherd has the same attitude:  all the goats have names, and none of the sheep do.  I'm reminded of the joke about Massachusetts...I'll leave that as an exercise for the reader (and I'll have to add that I don't agree). 

This one is adorable, but not the more common breed they have here.  Most of the goats are brown with black markings, but I haven't managed a good picture yet.  The really cute one is a younger one (named "Puttalina" - not touching that one) who really thinks she's a lapdog.  While you're milking the others on a platform, she’s on the ground below leaning into your legs like a dog, and I can't get her picture because she always comes toward me when I squat down to take one at eye level.  In fact, she actually tried to climb in my lap!  I'm sneaking her into my suitcase when I go.