My life with goats

Have you ever really wanted something on accounta it was just cute?  I fall prey to that quite frequently.  Especially if it has anything to do with critters.

And so my life with goats began.  I wanted some. I mean I really wanted some cute little bouncy goats!  But in my life I also have a husband.  A husband that takes a lot of wearing down before he will concede he has lost the battle.  It took over two years . . . I am nothing if not persistent.

I finally located some goats for sale relatively cheap.  In retrospect, cheap might have been the key word.  So we packed up the truck and drove 60 plus miles to pick up three goats.  And a very mixed bag they were.  Not really the cute "little" goats I had planned for, but they were goats.  And you can't

"Treats please!"

back out once you have won the battle.  So after much haggling and numerous people engaged in catching the little buggers, we were on our way.

We had prepared an enclosure for the goats.  What we were not was very "goat savey" at this point.  Jerry got the first one out, put her in the pen and she promptly jumped the gate and headed off into the wild blue yonder.  One down.  Number two was a little squirrelier and managed to slip out of Jerry's cold, wet hands.  He headed through the yard running over the cat who was so shocked he fluffed up like a basketball with four little legs and didn't leave the house for a week.  Number two went over the river bank.  He was free to wallow in blackberries all he wanted but we were not going there!  Number three made it to the pen, locked behind the gate which was now nailed in place!  The steam was literally rising from my husband's collar.  By this time it was raining and dark and we were both cold, wet and smelled like goats!

Hence began the great goat round up.  Between us, the neighbors and various contraptions, we spent days trying to corner the escapees. They had no idea where "home" was or who these wanna-be cowboys were that chased them from here to kingdom come.  Eventually we cornered one in the barn and got him locked up.  We finally just gave up on the third one.  After three days of being chased by people, cows and dogs, she resigned herself to stand at the gate pleading to be let in with the other two.  After that whole  fiasco, they had no desire to ever leave home again, even if we left the gate open.

But the great goat learning curve was not yet over.  I also found a purebred pygmy goat that I purchased for my herd.  Lacy was cute, little, bouncy and pregnant.  And I was so excited to have a

Dinner time for Whizzer

baby goat!  We watched and waited until she finally went into labor.  We waited and waited but nothing happened.  Turns out the kid was breech and did not survive.  But we were not sure if she was actually done since most of the time they have twins.  So I called the former owner and she said to bring her half way and she would meet us.  So at midnight we did a goat pelvic exam in the parking lot of the gas station.  No baby.  I left Lacy with her former owner for treatment.  On the way home my droll husband says "We really ought to go out more often."  Really?

Not yet done with the learning curve, we did not understand that goats are browsers not grazers.  So all this lush grass we offered up to them was met with much distain.  They would rather stand on their hind legs and snip the leaves off the nearby trees.  Which was not a problem until Molly leaned a little too far over the fence and became tangled in the wire and hung herself by her hind leg.  By the time I found her she was in shock.  We got her untangled only to find the foot was broken.  I mean really broken....as in you could turn it all the way around broken.  Neither on of us wanted to haul the very cheap goat to the veterinarian.  So we put it in place as best we could, used popsicle sticks for splints and taped it up with duct tape.  The vet was coming by the next day and we told him to stop and be prepared to put her down.  He seemed to think our "doctoring" was okay and went on his way.  The whole escapade had not slowed her down one little bit, not even a limp.  She had no problem standing on those hind legs and challenging me with her ten inch horns.  Now I understand the meaning of a "tough old goat".

All in all, it was a wonderful few years.  We arranged for a "borrow the buck" program so had a couple of batches of adorable babies.  One does not want a buck around for too long as they tend to

Maisy on her playground.

be a little "ripe".  The neighbors were always on the down wind side . . unfortunately for them.

 But the time came when we could not care for their feet anymore so had to find a new home for them.  It was hard to see them go, even harder to go out to their pasture and not have anyone come running for treats and attention.  But I have the memories of our adventures and misadventures to carry me through.

So long little goatlettes.  I miss you!

Just writin' on the River Road