lovinarabs
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- Nov 16, 2006
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It all started this spring when I said I wanted a little pygmy goat for the farm. Imagine my surprise when the husband said, “No”. He did not say, “I’d rather you didn’t” or “let’s talk about it” or even “I don’t like goats”. He said, “No”. Perhaps it was my inner teenager rebelling against the authoritarian tone or perhaps it was the women’s libber in me saying no man is going to tell me what to do. Whatever it might have been, his emphatic “No” only made me want a goat all the more. Of course I had the backing of our two beautiful and charming daughters, but still I was meant with a resilient and defiant “No” at every coercion tactic I tried. Now to be fair to my husband, he has been the most understanding of men as far as farm animals goes. He has been patient with me through dogs, cats, fish, horses, donkeys, chickens, ducks and calves. Seeing as he had been so compliant in the past, his stubbornness at the mention of the word ‘goat’ was most perplexing.
Months passed and we did not let up in our attempt to soften him up to the idea. It came to fruition the day I had the bright idea to bring my daughter’s to the local livestock auction. I figured that my youngest child would especially be entertained by the variety of animals that came through the swinging gate and I was not disappointed. The sales ring echoed with her joyous laughter and delighted squeals of ‘Pigs!’ and ‘Look at the baby calf!’. We entertained the crowd with her excitement at the thrill of seeing all of Old McDonald’s animals right before her eyes. And then it happened, in came a ring full of baby pygmy goats. Eleven, all told and in many colors. To say they were adorable would be an understatement. They were precious. The bidding was so low, just a dollar a goat, but I knew we could not bid on 11 goats. We were set up to take home 2, maybe 3 goats, never 11. So even though I had two pleading and woebegone faces begging me to bid, I remained firm in my resolve not to bid. As the bidding ended at a mere $5 per goat the girls turned to me with desperate faces, “Why didn’t you bid?” I explained that you weren’t allowed just to buy one and that we just couldn’t take all 11. As fate would have it, the lucky winner of the 11 baby pygmy goats happened to be sitting right next to us.
“I’ll sell you one baby goat,” he said. With no excuse not to buy the goat now I sat contemplating my course of action.
“How much?” I asked, still trying to chose between making my children happy or making my husband angry.
“$5”. I looked down at the girls’ excited, yet anxious, faces and I had no choice.
“Ok.” Admist the cheers of the children and the laughter of those around us I realized we had a problem. “Girls, wait. I have no way to get the goat home.” Again the gentleman was the girls’ champion.
“You could just carry it home on your lap. It will be fine.” Great, now I am carrying home the goat in the front seat of the minivan. This idea is sounding better and better, I thought with sarcasm.
“Well, let’s go pick out your goat,” I said as the girls and I stood up. I turned the helpful young man and told him I would be back with my checkbook as I only had $4 in cash on me and he quickly said not to worry, that $4 would be plenty. So out to the back of the salesbarn we went, where another nice young man helped us pick out a young white and brown female goat from the lot. He explained that they had just been weaned that morning and that she hadn’t been handled much. I hope you are all able to see the picture as I paint it here. We’re standing in the aisle of a bustling salesbarn with all varieties of farm life being shuttled from catch pen to catch pen when he hands me a wiggling, maaing, scared goat with tiny sharp horns protruding from her head. With a weak smile and a mumbled, “Thanks” we headed out to the van. All the while I was thinking, “What have I done?”
Remarkably; the little goat rode very well the 15 miles home. She was very scared and very loud, but other than that she rode like a champ. When we arrived home I was stuck with the task of where to put her. We had a stall that might hold her with a little reinforcement. So we put her down and I set off to get the trusty saw and drill to make the stall more secure. In a matter of minutes, the little stinker had slipped between two boards and was loose in the yard. She raced around the pony pen, was chased by Libby’s large pony who had murder in her eyes, crossed the creek twice and escaped onto the highway. At this point I feared all was lost and I drove past my daughter who was crying her eyes out as I chased after the goat, now named Jasmine, with the minivan. I managed to cut her off and head her down into the ditch. Slamming the van into park, I leapt from the vehicle, tore down into the ditch and did a flying tackle on the tired and sodden goat.
Two very relieved little faces greeted me. At that point we fitted wild Jasmine with a dog collar and leash so that my oldest, Libby, could keep a hold of her while I fortified the stall. Upon completion we left the leash on her for easy catching and stood outside the stall to watch Jasmine get used to her new home. She was clearly upset and I began to think we should have purchased her a friend. We waited however, for Dad to get home and used to the idea of one goat before finalizing the plans to go hunting for a pygmy friend.
Dad arrived home a few short hours later. He quickly noticed her adorable little face peeking through the boards and chuckled to himself. “You got a goat, huh. Alright, let’s meet the little thing anyway.” As soon as he reached for the door I hollered, “Watch out, she’ll try to escape.” But it was too late. He swung the door open wide and Jasmine dashed out for freedom again. It was unbelievable as I watched history repeat itself and she was soon on the highway again. As I ran for the van, Dad ran for the four wheeler and we both headed off to chase down the goat. Again I cut her off and she headed for the ditch. But this time Dad was there and she took a different path. Straight up the hill and into the woods; the heavily laden with brush and thickly overgrown woods. I knew that beyond the acres of woods were acres of tassled out corn fields. I also had a sinking feeling that finding Jasmine in that woods was going to be impossible. But we searched anyway. For 2 hours we searched, and searched. I was scratched and pricked and bleeding when we returned home to tell the girls that their goat was lost.
The girls were heartbroken. Libby cried and cried about her poor lost goat and for 4 days every time the horses would look off in the direction that Jasmine had fled she would dash outside to see if she could see the goat. She was sure they were able to see or hear her in the woods. I tried to explain to her that we had several downpours of rain, 6 inches the night she was lost, and that the coyotes were very active up in that woods, but she was the eternal optimist. On Tuesday night Dad came home with an amazing surprise in the back of his pickup. He had not one, but two young goats for the girls. One for each of them. They were black and white and named Cricket and Elvis. Libby claimed Elvis for her own and Sophie chose Cricket. We gave them several fun things to climb on and started spoiling our new babies.
A week had passed since Jasmine’s great escape and with the help of their new friends the girls were getting over her loss. We attended the wedding of a friend only to come home and find a message on our answering machine. It seems a neighbor girl had found Jasmine caught in a bush in the ditch. We went flying down the road to look for her and couldn’t find her anywhere. Just up the road are the inlaws and they explained that when they couldn’t get a hold of us they had gone to rescue her themselves. However she was so scared of them that she started jumping and running and managed to free herself from the bush only to escape back up into the woods. As quickly as our hopes were raised, they were dashed. While we were thrilled to hear she was still alive, I now worried about that collar and leash becoming too tight as she grew and causing her to be in a lot of pain and suffering. The girls and I doubled our efforts to look for her again.
After another week of taking long walks in absolute silence, praying for any sign of her, we began to lose hope again. Exactly two weeks from the day we both gained and lost her, my mother in law showed up at the door again. “She’s stuck on the rock face of the bluff,” she told me, “Get in the truck.” Off we went down the road, the girls still in their pajamas. We arrived to see her half way up the side of the rocky bluff, caught in a scraggly tree that managed to grow out the side. I began climbing up the rocks and they kept slipping and sliding beneath my feet. As the rocks crumbled I heard my mother in law warning me to be careful and not to get hurt. But I couldn’t slow down as Jasmine was frantically trying to free herself again and had already managed to break the limb she was tangled in. Luckily the tree was green enough that it held on by a sliver of bark. Finally, hanging from the trunk of that little tree, I grabbed onto the stick and pulled Jasmine toward me. I gathered her up in my arms and slipped and slid back down to the highway. Jasmine was caught!
Upon arriving home she was greeted and eventually welcomed by Cricket and Elvis. She is still spooky and scared, but I feel with time she will come around. We’re so glad to have her back safe and sound. Instead of one goat we ended up with three. Dad’s okay with it though, what is one more for the funny farm! Besides think of all the people who will be amused by what we will go through for a $4 goat. :lol:
