The queen of the flock, Flora (brown head) says "Well how do you do?"
Yes, its true. We've finally lost it. What originally started out as a business venture has now snowballed into a wild obsession. Its amazing how quickly that happened!
We've all got goat fever. Yes. All of us. Dear lil Peanut is found rolling about in the hay and straw (and goat berries) "moooooing" in the afternoon sun. My Dearly Beloved takes shifts checking the "girls" before and after work, filling his evenings with construction projects and operating the tractor, albeit rather awkwardly, to bring them hay. Sweet lil Mama pipes up with her opinions on the goat's names: "Well you've GOT to have a Maude!" My dear, sweet Dad has me up at 6 am and out til 10 pm constructing kidding pens that even I'd be honoured to birth in. He's talking about getting his own herd and expanding into goats. The fever has hit us all pretty hard.
Here we introduce our new Maremma livestock guardian dog, Luna, to lil Peanut. Dearly Beloved looks on with majestic pride while our herd looks on. Luna is named after Peanut's book club selection of the month, the eerily disturbing "Goodnight Moon" hence her name is "Ravenwood's Goodnight Moon".
Luna says "Am I doing a good job, boss?"
Perhaps the fever has hit me worst of all. I've ALWAYS loved goats. ALWAYS. Ask anyone from my high school graduating class what they remember about me and they'll likely say "GOATS" without a moments hesitation. Perhaps they will also remember my fashion phases, including the painfully awkward "Mr. Ferly" stage in which I sought to glorify the wardrobe of the turtle-esque "Three's Company" landlord. I refused to wear anything aside from hideous retro plaid bell bottom courderoy pants and rubber Ducky boots. Thankfully I outgrew the plaid pants, but I am still wearing those Ducky boots. Those lil babies covered my feet while I wore shorts in Disneyland circa 1997 and white water rafted in Costa Rica in 1998. They are a timeless classic. But I digress.
Oh yes, the goats. I am perhaps one of the few who had the lovely caprines mentioned during the actual high school graduation ceremony. I suppose I should have seen the addiction starting then. Or perhaps it was years earlier when I first acquired Demetri, the demon goat that smashed the side window out of our mini van and tap danced all over the hood of the Jehovah Witnesses' car. Now there was a goat with a sense of humour!! Demetri was also notorious for head bashing little kids for peanuts and gum when we took him to watch the local parade, and pooping all over the Dance West float the following year when he was actually in the parade. I fondly remember sharing a sleeping bag with him as I slept in his stall at age 11, til he had a bad case of scours and I opted to sleep in the house. You may recall my fond memories of him donning my BroMo's gonchies to treat gangrene when his nads (the goat's nads, not the boy's) fell off. He loved to dropkick the door and come in for a visit, to taste test Mom's dried flowered arrangement and hop on my bed. He was welcome til he smashed my favourite porcelain unicorn, at which point I banished him outdoors forever. He was also skilled at pulling a sled holding kids or hay bales while I ran alongside him. His communication was top notch as he'd crawl under a vehicle (and thereby remove his passengers nimbly by bashing their foreheads into the car door) when he'd had enough. I guess with a childhood like that it isn't any wonder I ended up "like this".
I suppose it comes as no surprise then that with the accumulation of 26 Savanna goats plus my 4 Pygmy goats that it is fully embracing my weakness and shouting to the world "Yes, I am a crazy goat lady". I suppose its akin to being a crazy cat lady sans the shitty litter boxes, wild bird's nest hair do and flowing moo-moo gowns...well, I guess I've got the hair do down anyway.
I've joined the Alberta Goat Breeder's Association. I volunteered to corrupt, er, convert other children as I've volunteered with a youth goat club. How could I resist when I saw pictures of a girl and her goat in matching tutus? I've ordered 2 dairy goat babies (they are fetuses yet!) from BC, and a Pygmy buckling from northern Alberta. I am anxiously awaiting a phone call from southern Alberta to see if we can get a purebred Savanna buck to breed our meat does. I am researching alternative ways to enjoy goats, from chevon recipes to how to make goat's milk soap to finding a group of people that train their goats to pull carts and do agility. AGILITY!! I am in heaven. Who knew such a thing existed? I guess it goes to prove that I am not alone in my insane addictions. I dream of brushing out their wooly coats, collecting the sheddings and making my own cashmere sweater. Yes, cashmere comes from those humble little beasts as well.
When you think about it, goats are the VW bus of the animal world. When God cooked up the notion of GOAT He did a bang up job. What other creature comes fully equipped with meat, milk, pack/draft/cart capabilities, fibre for your sweet threads and friendly companionship in the meantime?? They truly are the all purpose creature of the world. Even their dowdy exteriors remind me of the humble and functional rolly polly lines of the retro everything-ya-need-under-one-roof-and-shag-carpet-to-boot VW vans. God bless ya, goats, God bless ya.
Tam
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