Farewell, My Lovelies

This afternoon, Blossom and Virginia Slim left, never to return. My goat herding days are done, this time for good.

It is the end of an era that began in 1975, when we bought our first house and with it an orchard, a garden, berry bushes and a few chickens. My mother visited and said "Now all you need is a little goat..." And in a week I had a little goat, only because goats are herd animals I had to get a second goat for company.

Over the next thirty years, whenever we lived in the country, I had a couple of goats, for milk, for cheese, for company. These last two were Nigerian Dwarfs, the reasoning being that little goats would be easier to handle, would not drown us in daily gallons of milk, would require fewer bales of hay, less work. But when I had to stop milking at Christmas because of shoulder pains that are still with me, I couldn't see myself going through the whole breeding/kidding/milking cycle again. The chronic fatigue syndrome that dogs me is not getting better with the years. I finally had to admit that keeping goats no longer made sense.

As I agonized over the process of putting Blossom and Virginia Slim on the market and letting them go to some unknown place, the heavens sent me the ideal buyer--a gentle woman seriously dedicated to building a Nigerian herd, knowledgeable, and recommended by my long-time goat guru. I took it as a sign and went ahead with the deal.

This afternoon I put collars on Blossom and Virginia Slim and led them up the dog-ramp into their new owner's Jeep, where a thick bed of hay awaited them. I took a last look into their bright little faces, those eyes that--unique among ruminants--sparkle with cleverness and intelligence, and wished them well. I know they'll be happy. For one thing, they're going to a farm tht has bucks, and that is what they have literally been screaming for the last few weeks. So they will be fine.

Me, on the other hand...There is no question that I will not miss the 7 a.m. expeditions to the barn in sub-zero weather, nor the milking that crippled my arm so that every move was painful. But oh, the smell of the place, and those bright eyes, and the way they stood still as if hypnotized when I brushed them. I will miss them in the spring, when the dandelions come out and I would let them gorge themselves while I picked blossoms for dandelion wine. I will miss the uniquely peaceful feeling that you get sitting in a field with goats grazing around you. I will miss the milk and the cheese and generally being a goat lady.

But it's time to let it go. I've been reading Buddhist texts lately, which helps. And I remember what Colette said: "On ne possede qu'en s'abstenant." You can only possess by abstaining. If so, I will forever possess Blossom and Virginia Slim--their lithe little bodies, their perfect udders, their long, refined necks, their upright ears, their cleverness.

This time, it's time to let it go for good. I have asked my spouse, if ever he sees that goat-gleam in my eye again, to sit on my head and not let me fall prey to my obsession. To everything there is a season, and my season for goat keeping is past.

I will still have my hens, and that is all I need to provide compost for the garden, which will feed us, and them, and they in turn will feed us with their eggs. With chickens and a garden, you can still have a homestead, right? Those four Buff Orpingtons better watch out--there's a whole lot of loving coming their way.

Homestead Update

The houseplants get a lot of attention from me around this time of year, as I sublimate my gardening urges. I put the big ones in the bathtub and the smaller ones in the sink and give them all a tepid shower, followed by a shot of fertilizer. I prune the rose-scented geraniums so they won't get leggy. My ancient, plain-red zonal geranium has bloomed almost non-stop all season, and is even now putting out new flower buds. In my experience, indoor plants bloom better during snowy winters, because of the reflected light.

Everything looks good, except for the rosemary and the lavender, which are hanging on by their fingernails until it's warm enough to go outside. The floor around their pots is littered with needles, despite my careful waterings and daily mistings. The leaf drop is aggravated by frequent lashings from Wolfie's wagging tail.

In the barn, the battle of the goats and chickens continues. It boils down to this: any opening large enough for the rooster Charlemagne to go through is large enough for Blossom and Alsiki to get into the coop. We've tried taking down the chicken ramp (the goats jump in anyway); putting a bar across the opening to make it smaller (the goats can't get in, but Charlemagne can't get out); making a new, narrow ramp (if it's too narrow for the goats, the chickens won't use it either).

Ed's theory is that Blossom and Alsiki go into the chicken coop to gorge on laying mash, and it's true that they have been looking especially rotund of late. But my theory is that it's more complicated than that. Sure, the laying mash is attractive, But B & A, being goats, they enjoy the sheer fun of bursting into the coop, making the chickens flutter and cackle, knocking down the roosts, and scaring whoever is in the nest trying to lay an egg.

Today Ed went out with a set of calipers and measured the goats' muzzles. He tried to measure Charlemagne's head, but couldn't catch him, so he had to estimate. Then he took the chicken feeder into the basement and nailed pieces of wood across the opening that will keep the goats' muzzles out out while letting the chickens' beaks in.

We'll see. If Ed is right and the main motivation is food, Blossom and Alsiki will stop their forays into the coop. If, on the other hand, their goals are mostly social, as I suspect, we'll have to go back to the drawing board.

Blossom and Alsiki are hardy little creatures. Unless there's a blizzard, they're out and about in the snow, looking for entertainment. Tonight as I was making dinner I saw them standing on the pile of stones provided for their amusement, watching the sun go down. Blossom, the shy one, has discovered the pleasures of the human hand. If I'm petting Alsiki, she'll sidle up to have her belly scratched, and close her eyes in ecstasy. She still moves away if I reach for her, but that won't last long.