Goats are asses
I’d hate to have to donkey-sit.
Because goats are sort of asses. Or else they have the perfected the will of a tw0-year old.
So my three goats, Mama Goat, Ordbog and Nudansk were in there pen. I decided to let them out to play withthe girls and I. Mia was naked running through the cilantro field with a carton of raspberries. Sula was on my back. We were enjoying the warm valley sun, the smell of wild grasses and the nay of the horses grazing. We were making up songs about being on the farm, “old Mia Rose lived on a farm, e-i-ei-o”. We were truly enjoying ourselves. I figured lets get the goats out and play. One big family. They immediately ran over to the electricity pole which is surrounded by acorns. The ravens and crows pick them off the oak trees which surround the farm and then bring them over to the pole to munch. They end up dropping a ton around the pole and it becomes a haven for the goats (who die for acorns just as deeply as I die for dark as night chocolate).
A couple hours pass. The sun is getting hotter. Sula needs a nap. I need to turn the compost. The cat has not been fed. I could use a swim in the river. Time for goats to go back into the pen.
I grab some goat crack (some mix of grains saturated in corn syrup) and put it in a plastic cup. I use a cup of it to lure them across the property back into their hilly, shadey and quite lovely enclosed home. I was told this would do the trick. I was also told to watch out after they got a few bites of it because like I called it ‘goat crack’ it apparently wires them all up.
I shake the cup.
“Here, here Mama Goat. Here. Over here.” She looks at me and moves on. In the opposite direction.
“Come on Nudansk. Goat crack. Yuuummm.” I shake the cup under her nose. Nudansk is about 2 months pregnant. I lure her half way to the pen. She’s gotta be hungry. She hears me and she runs full force towards me. Shit. She has horns. I am wearing Sula. I give her some of the grains. They go straight to her blood. She starts to act like me on a a couple shots of espresso. Shes jumping all over me trying to get more of these corn-syrup laden grains. I scream. Sula laughs. I end up throwing the cup of crains 10 feet away. I had to get that goat away from me. She goes over to the cup of spilled goat crack and finishes it up. Then off she runs across the field, farther away from the pen. Shit.
Next I try for Ordbog who is also 2 month pregnant. The same thing happens. She jumps on me to get the crack. Nobody told me this is how it would be. I was told that they would trot like good little goats to me and I would sprinkle a trail and they would follow. No problem.
Ordbog jumps on me trying to grab the new cup of graincrack with her mouth. Her horms come like an inch from my eye. Sula laughs. I scream. Throw that cup like 10 feet away. She goes after it.
This happens like 5 more times with Ordbog but I finally lure her into the pen. Now it should be easy. the others will want to be with her, especially Mama Goat, the mother of both goats, she’ll want to be with her pregnant kid. I am wrong. FOUR hours later, I am crying on the phone with my man.
“What do I do? These f-ing goats will not listen to me! Little pricks.”
“You better just get them in the pen before dark. Coyotes. You don’t want it to get dark and have them left out for the coyotes. You can do it baby.”
After trying to lasso them with the rope from the hay bales, I give in. I am running around the 5 acre property trying to get these little shits back into the pen. It’s like playing a 1-sided game of tag. It’s like trying to get my 2 year old to bed. Except they are faster, stronger, horned, scared and only speak Spanish and Danish. Something else has to happen.
I go to the landlord, the farmer, the dude who owns the property. Salvador owned the goats before my friends bought them. he was going to have them slaughtered for cash and my friends couldn’t let that happen. Salvador is not the most connected-to-the-animals type of farmer (another story all together) and I know that he would get a switch to their behinds to get them in the pen. I don’t like that method for anybody or anything but I was desperate. I had to get these goats in. My kids needed to eat and sleep. the sun was setting behind the mountain. Coyotes would be smelling them and drooling. So I walk to his place and knock on the door. He tells me no problem. He’ll do it.
I go in the house and don’t look at what he does. Within 5 minuntes I can hear the goats, all three of them, talking within the pen. they were secure. And they were also grounded. And I let them know that they lost all roaming priveldges. No goats will be let out to roam unless there is someone else here to help me round them up. Period.
More lessons in patience need to be learned.
Here is Nudansk
