' Never Picture Perfect: Goats 2.0

I awoke at 5:45 this morning, ready to get my morning chores done and onto the tasks of the day. Em had snuggled in bed beside me as she often does when her dad is out of town. She is just a week away from her thirteenth birthday, how time flies. I lay for a minute and listened to her gentle breath, a sharp contrast from Steve’s heavy snores. I stepped outside into 45 degree weather to fed and water the animals then headed up to the garden to get some hoeing done.

A thick cloud hung over the mountain and dropped down into the valley below. It has rained for the past two days now. The air was heavy with moisture. Drops of dew lined up from one end of the clothesline to the other and covered every blade of grass. This was a good morning to hoe the garden. As I set to work, I could hear the lonely cry of a train in the distance; amazing since the nearest tracks are two towns away. I could hear it steadily chug along, working its way across town toward its destination, the moan of the whistle slicing through the thick cloud. I steadily worked my way through the garden as well, leaving small piles of grass, dirt and weeds behind me.

As I hoed around a tomato plant, I unearthed a fork. Yet another piece of history from the old mining shack that once stood where my garden is. God must have known how much I dislike weeding my garden; He gave me the pleasure of unearthing artifacts along the way. It sure makes the job more fun. I picked up the fork and turned it over in my hand. I stood for a minute contemplating its past. If only I had the ability to give voice to inanimate objects. I wonder who it had the privilege of nourishing. I picture it setting beside a tin plate and cup on a primitive table, next to a fire that heats the meal about to be eaten. Could it have belonged to a family or perhaps a miner and those who worked along side him? Undoubtedly it silently took in conversation about the weather, the joys of a successful hunt and the sorrows of a loved one lost to illness or accident. I’ll never know the secrets it guards, but it will take a place in my growing collection, another piece of the unknown history and the unknown people that walked the very spot I do.

As I work, the new goats gently m-a-a-a-a-a in the background, hoping I’ll come spend some time with them. I feel like such a sissy farmer at times, I don’t have a tractor yet and I cry when my animals die. Last Thursday I lost Piglet to bloat. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, she was fine when I went to check on them at 3:30 and by 5 she was dead. I saw her on her side and ran down the hill to the pen. Her tongue was out and her face was cold to the touch. I covered her nose with my hand, hoping for the slightest of breath. But it was too late, she was gone. I yelled to Em to grab a knife. Too late to tube her or insert a trocar and cannula, I at least hoped that I could save her baby. Unfortunately, that also was not to be. The doeling was all black with a white blaze down her face and long white ears. She looked like a Nubian cross. I sat and cried, waves of failure washing over me as I held her lifeless body in my arms. It all happened so quickly. I felt the hot tears roll down my face and tasted their saltiness. Unable to bear the thought of her being eaten by coyotes, I grabbed a shovel and buried her, covering her grave with stones to keep the animals out. Although I should have, I couldn’t bring myself to dress Piglet out and put the meat in the freezer, so we took the 4-wheeler and hauled her carcass up over the ridge. Steve said he wouldn’t eat it, not 100% certain of what killed her, but nature will gladly take care of that.

Not one to give in to setbacks, yesterday the kids and I went to the goat dairy and got two replacements. Tigeris is Alpine Saanen cross and ready to drop her kids at any moment. Cheddar is Nubian Saanen cross and was one of the dairy’s top milkers last year. However she didn’t catch this year and they only breed once a year so wont spend the money to feed her for a whole year while out of production. I hope to get her bred this fall. Being the computer guy he is, Steve refers to the new ones as “Goats 2.0”. He commented that every time he leaves town, I get more animals. I think he is glad to be coming home tomorrow.

Piglet

Tigris, my alpine saanen cross. Every time I see her, I think Sound Of Music, "...High on a hill was a lonely goat yodel ay, yodel ay, yodel ay, he hooo."