THE BEST LAID PLANS PT. 4

 

 

        Then, came the goats. A series of conversations with my then hairdresser on the subject led me to acquire from her Boer goats that had been headed for the auction and, probably, slaughter. I couldn’t stand that thought. Why should they have to lose their lives just because they were too small to be good breeders? Though, I wasn’t really set up for goats, and in spite of the fact that I knew nothing about them either, a clear trend was emerging. Besides, I’d been wanting a goat or two. They seemed liked they’d be good for clearing up brambles and such around the acreage and I was all for any kind of a helping hand or hoof we could get.

 

 

     On a warm Sunday afternoon in late summer, Mocha, Sweet Pea, and String Bean were delivered to me and I was entranced. I was also quite surprised. I had thought I was getting just Mocha and Sweet Pea. I hadn’t realized at the time that Sweet Pea had a twin brother, albeit one who refused to let her go without him. When I was asked if I minded if String Bean stayed, too, I was delighted. Of course, he could stay. 

 

     Owing goats was a much bigger undertaking than chickens or ducks, but I jumped right in. Because Mocha had just weaned a pair of twins, her udder was full, so I tried to milk her. In my then ignorance, I attempted to place a quart sized glass measuring cup beneath her and then carefully squeeze her teats in the way I remembered being shown by a neighbor years before when I was a child. Mocha would have none of this and I finally had to give up or get killed. I was bummed. I really wanted to be a farm girl and milk the goat!

    There were other things to learn about caring for goats as well, such as how to trim hooves. The goats’ former owner came over and gave me a lesson while making it look quite easy. I’d had no idea that goats needed their hooves trimmed and, when I attempted to do as she had done, I fumbled terribly.

    Subsequent hoof trimmings were rather noisy affairs as my sister would struggle to hold the goats still while I trimmed and tried to avoid bloodshed, and we both yelled. One such session resulted in Mocha giving me a swift kick to the ribs. To say it hurt would have been an understatement, but I somehow managed to catch my breath and continue.

 

 

     Another day found me becoming entangled in a lead that was attached to Mocha while simultaneously (and accidentally) wrapped around Sting Bean’s horns. The next thing I knew, I was being dragged, on my back, for several feet before I was somehow shaken free and left to lay in the dust, a mere object in the way of their destination. My right shoulder and my right elbow suffered some nasty abrasions and I was breathless from the shock of such a violent method of traveling, but none the worse for wear. It was all a part of learning, and there was so much to learn that couldn’t come from a book. Goats don’t have upper teeth!? Wow! Who knew that, and who knew a goat would steal your apple out of your hand and eat it themselves? That was rude! And, there was even still more to learn.