Yesterday Dr. Sarah came to give the goats their annual shots.

Hello Boys, said Dr. Sarah.

Pip smiled. Caper wagged his tail.

The Goat Maid said, Dr. Sarah, please be honest with me. Do you think that the goats are overweight?

Dr. Sarah felt behind Pip’s elbows. I can feel a rib, she said.

Dr. Sarah felt along Caper’s back. I can feel the hipbone, she said.

She felt Pip’s belly. He does still have a thick winter coat, she said, and stood up.

These goats are not fat, said Dr. Sarah.

Pip looked at Caper. That’s what I told the Goat Maid, he said.

So did I, said Caper.

Do you think that the Goat Maid will feed us more? said Pip.

No, said Caper. The Goat Maid doesn’t listen.

She never does, does she? said Pip.

The goat boys watched Dr. Sarah’s truck disappear down the driveway.

But we could try asking again, said Pip.

Let’s, said Caper. You never know.

Bacon seems to be turning up in everything these days, from muffins to ice cream. It’s delicious. It’s got that trifecta of salt, sugar and fat. But, I care too much about pigs, farmers, health and the environment to eat bacon unless I purchase and cook it myself. I won’t go into a lecture here, but of all of the meats, I believe that where you get your pork from matters the most. I’m fortunate to be able to purchase bacon from pigs that graze in pastures and root through nearby woods. It’s expensive. It’s worth it, and I know how to make a little go a long way.

This is how the bacon is packaged when I purchase it from the farmer at her farm stand.

This is what bacon looks like when it comes from content pigs that had a good life and then are processed at a small slaughterhouse.

I don’t like frying bacon on the cooktop. It splatters grease everywhere. It smokes. It’s dangerous. Instead, I bake it in the oven. Here I’ve laid it out on my favorite rimmed baking sheet, which is sturdy and blackened with use. I put the bacon into a preheated 400 degree F oven for ten minutes until it’s about halfway cooked. It’s swimming in grease.

I carefully pour the fat into a grease can. The perforated top traps the bits which I discard. The grease is so useful, and having spent a lot on the bacon, it’s worth setting aside. I save it in the refrigerator in the can and use it for such tasks as browning potatoes. I’ll also sauté vegetables in bacon fat before adding them to soup, which gives me the smokey flavor without the ham hock.

Once the baking sheet is (imperfectly) drained of grease, I put the bacon back into the oven and bake for 5 more minutes, which is all it takes to crisp up until almost perfect. Almost.

I turn off the oven and leave the door open to let the oven cool off a moment. I put the bacon onto an oven-proof plate or baking sheet lined with a paper towel and return it to the oven, where it stays warm and dries a tad and its texture becomes absolutely perfect: crunchy and yet not overcooked. This transformation happens in five or ten minutes (depending on the oven and thickness of the bacon) but you can leave it in there for longer as long as the oven isn’t too hot. Check to make sure it’s not browning the bacon further.

This batch of bacon became dinner for three. We had fried egg, bacon and lettuce sandwiches. There was fresh asparagus from the garden on the side, and blueberry smoothies to drink. In the end, that costly bacon became part of an inexpensive meal.

And I still have that bacon grease to cook with.

Teen hangout.

Checking in with the chaperone.

When you have only three or five or seven hens, each one stands out as a distinct personality. That’s not as true in a larger flock. My two Rhode Island Reds, Garnet and Ruby, look identical. They even act the same, although when free-ranging I can sometimes identify Garnet because she and Jasper seem to enjoy each others’ company and roam together. But not always. I put a blue band on Garnet’s leg so that I could tell the RIRs apart.

In a larger flock like the group of Gems, some hens make their presence known. When I open the door in the morning, Etheldred leaps up with hungry enthusiasm. This is despite the fact that I never feed them as I step in – specifically to dissuade the bad habit of crowding and pecking. Some hens, like Jasper, are friendly and curious and are usually underfoot. Some hens, like Florence, are aloof.

Then there’s the unassuming hen, the one that you don’t notice. The one that goes about her business, never bossy, but not timid either. This hen flies under the radar. (Pun intended. You’re welcome.) I take photos of my hens almost daily, and yet when I looked through iPhoto to find a photo of Onyx I had to go back to December 2012 to find one.

She’s a beautiful Barnevelder. And yet she is easily ignored.

But, not by Siouxsie. Siouxsie, despite all of her cluelessness, recognizes that Onyx is unperturbable (not a real word, but so applicable here.) Siouxsie has decided that Onyx will be her friend.

The Gems are a tolerant and peaceful group. Having Siouxsie in their midst has tried all of their patience, but none so much as Onyx. Once in awhile she rolls her eyes at the annoying pouf-head that is following her around.

But, otherwise, she puts up with her new shadow. I’ve undervalued this unassuming hen. What a good girl she is.