‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do’
Observer-Reporter staff writer Emily Petsko went to the Lasosky farm in Centerville to see if she could milk a goat. It was a slow start, but Petsko got the hang of it and hand-milked a goat to start, and then used a breast pump to milk the goat the rest of the way.
Miles the cat gets the first batch of milk from the goats at the Lasosky farm in Centerville.
One of the Lasoskys’ goats frolics in the barn. The farm has one goat that is milked, and it produces about three quarts a day.
The Lasosky family uses a breast pump to milk their goat. They said the usual goat-milking machines are costly, and a breast pump does the job.
Barry Lasosky helps Observer-Reporter staff writer Emily Petsko trim a goat’s hoof.
Every one thinks, “I can do that.” O-R Challenge, an occasional series, pits a member of the Observer-Reporter staff against a difficult task.
CENTERVILLE – There’s an Indonesian proverb that declares, “If you go into a goat stable, bleat; if you go into a water buffalo stable, bellow.”
It essentially means, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” but the expression took on a more literal meaning at the Lasoskys’ home in Centerville Borough one drizzly July morning. If you’re there during milking time, like I was, you’d better saddle up to an udder and get acquainted with Blizzard.
Blizzard the goat, that is. She is the only milking goat of the Lasoskys’ 12-member herd, which includes two sets of twin kids. She gets milked twice a day, every day, and she seems to know when it’s time. She voluntarily jumps onto the milking stand on their front porch and chomps away at her feeding bucket.
Lori and Barry Lasosky are not farmers by trade. Lori runs a personal care home in Clarksville and serves as vice president of home health and hospice for ViaQuest Hospice. Barry runs Pit Stop 56, an automotive shop on Route 40.
But they are part of a growing trend that blurs the line between farm animals and pets. The rising popularity of organic food has fueled the movement, but many people just love farm animals and want to keep them at home.
Peters Township revised its zoning ordinance to meet the demand of residents who wanted to keep backyard chickens, and South Strabane Township considered doing the same.
While the Lasoskys live in a secluded area, their decision to bring a dozen goats home in 2008 was an unorthodox addition to their furry family, which includes a cat, three dogs and four horses.
They learned that caring for goats can be tricky, especially when it comes to keeping them in an enclosed pen.
“They’re very difficult to keep in a fence,” Barry said. “They say if you walk up to a fence with a bucket of water and throw it, and it goes through the fence, it won’t keep a goat in.”
When they first brought the goats home, one got loose and traveled from their home on Noble Road to Peach Lane off of Route 40, which is a distance of more than a mile.
“We had to load up another goat in the van to take over there,” Lori said of their efforts to lure the goat back.
“Ain’t no ‘we,'” Barry interjected with a laugh. “It was me.”
Their first goat was killed by a coyote, so they brought home a Great Pyrenees named Koda to scare the predators away. His bark does the trick, but as it turns out, the 110-pound dog is afraid of goats. They call him “The Great White Marshmallow.”
The Lasoskys also hoped the goats would keep the grass low, but they were picky eaters, instead opting for hay, alfalfa, maple leaves and clover. In addition to their selective diet, they also prefer to stay dry.
“The goats we got formed a union,” Lori said. “They wouldn’t work in rain. They wanted better working conditions.”
Despite the difficulties, the Lasoskys have grown fond of the animals and don’t mind the chores, which include feet trimming and daily milking.
Speaking of milking: There would be no bleating around the bush when it came to my challenge. I wanted to find out if I could tap into my Washington County roots and learn how to milk a goat, despite never having milked a cow, or had much interaction with any farm animal, for that matter.
First things first: Clean the udders with a wet paper towel. Next, Lori demonstrated how to hold the udder. You pinch at the top with the thumb and index finger, then squeeze with the other three fingers. I didn’t realize it was a specific technique, and it took a couple tries for me to get the milk pumping. The first few squeezes of milk go into the cat’s dish.
Then comes the easy part, because hardly anyone milks by hand in the 21st century. The Lasoskys could have paid a hefty price for a goat milking machine, but with a little bit of ingenuity, they found a cheaper method.
As it turns out, a human breast pump works just as well on a goat. Once it’s affixed to the udder, the rest is smooth sailing. By the end of the day, the Lasoskys have about three quarts of fresh milk, which they pasteurize in a double boiler at 161 degrees for 30 seconds, then place in an ice bath to cool it quickly. The taste is comparable to cow milk, and some say it is even more nutritious.
Feet trimming is more difficult. In the wild, goats’ hooves are naturally cut down by rocks and rough surfaces. That is not the case for goats kept on grass, so Barry must trim their feet once a month.
The goat knew not to trust me, and she recoiled as I tried to hold her hind leg. Fearing I would hurt her, I handed the clippers back to Barry after a few delicate snips.
Goats are a lot of work, but they are lovable – albeit ornery – animals. While I may not have the opportunity to milk a goat again any time soon, I’ll be udderly ready if the opportunity presents itself.