We had so much going on with construction, renovation,
moving and Mom’s estate that I planned to get my horse his very own goat some
time this winter. Probably after the
first of the year. I wanted things to
settle down and our existing family to all settle in first. I think it doesn’t
pay to ask animals to accept too many lifestyle changes in quick
succession. We had sold the farm, but retained lifetime
rights to live in a little three acre keyhole in the middle, on the lake.
The biggest shocking
change to us is that hunting rights to the farm, which is mostly thick woods,
have been sold, or leased to a hunting club.
This is a very hard adjustment as ducks, deer, geese, squirrels and all
other wildlife have had a safe haven here for over fifty-five years. More about that later. However, the hunters are very nice and as accommodating
as they can be and still kill for pleasure.
The head man raises goats, which was some little comfort, as I figured
at the least I could pick his brain about practical goat keeping, and at the
most, I might be able to negotiate for a goat.
At our first meeting I raised the subject, and showed him my
set up, and told him of my studies.
Waylon was very open and friendly, and it was clear he loved his
goats. Eventually, (probably five
minutes later) I inquired about the possibility of getting a goat from him or
someone he knew sometime in the future. His
main concern was that a single goat would be lonely, since goats are herd
animals. I tried to explain that my plan
was that the horse and goat would form their own little herdlet. I could see he was skeptical, and he
mentioned that he just happened to have two
little half-grown girl kids that he might be willing to let me “have”. Once again I made my argument about a
horse-and-goat herd. Pretty much the
next thing he said was that he might just bring me some goats (??) one
afternoon. Ahem. What could I say? “Thank you, Waylon”, seemed the best
answer!
Late that afternoon the dogs raised a ruckus,
and here came Waylon’s pickup with a large crate and two very unhappy goats in
the back! “Um, thank you, Waylon”. He drove into the pasture and extracted them
from their crate, while I tried to keep my very curious horse at bay. Willow thought this was the best entertainment
in days and was already too charged up by the strange smells and sounds to be
caught, so I was reduced to playing horsey keep away, with limited
success. Eventually I conceded and he
snorted his way up to the truck. The
little goats were horrified and immediately climbed up on the truck’s roof,
where their tiny hooves made a racket as they stomped anxiously. Waylon couldn’t stay all night, and I caught
Willow so he could leave. The goats
followed as fast as they could behind the truck as it went to the gate, baa-ing
piteously. They were a sorry sight, and
I felt worried for them. I held Willow
for a while but I wanted them to have plenty of opportunity to get acquainted
before dark. When I turned him loose he
wanted a much better look at them, but they were having none of it. Thank goodness there were two of them, so
they could each catch their breath a little!
Willow’s used to playing tag with the dogs, it’s enjoyed by both
species, and since the new fence kept the dogs effectively out, he was spoiling
for a game. He’d already been fed, so I
couldn’t really distract him. To be
honest, I was afraid I was going to have to call Waylon the next day with some
bad news, as Willow pursued the girls at a high trot. Several times he bore down on them, and I
thought he’d trample them for sure,
snaking his neck with pinned ears. I guess I should’ve given him a little more
credit though, because each time it seemed they’d be goat-burger, he carefully
avoided trampling as he overrode them.
When it got too dark to see, I retired to the house,
muttering dire warnings to my horse. I’d
like to think they mattered, but I know they sorted it out themselves, as
animals usually will do if given a chance.
By the next morning an uneasy truce was in place, although it was days
before the Goaty Girls, as we’d begun to call them would occupy the same space
as Willow. Within a couple of weeks they
had formed a little herd, usually to be seen in the same quadrant of the field
as my good gelding.
| The happy herdlet now |
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