06/20/2018
Goats are scary smart.... who knew? I imagine anyone who has ever occupied the same space as a goat. Growing up on the farm, I was educated in the ways of horses, cows, hogs, chickens, dogs, cats, and the occasional goose that was supposed to grace the Christmas Day table but instead became a treasured family pet and died of old age. Dad just couldn't kill his friend that hung with him as he repaired farm machinery, and followed him everywhere he went, even though he had fond memories of Christmas goose as a child. You can't eat a friend.
I grew up with no knowledge of sheep or goats. No one I new had sheep or goats. I think that was because our farm was in an area with very productive soils. Goats are hill country animals, finding food other less hearty creatures can't eat, like thorny bushes, shrubs, bitter tasting woody weeds, and plastic. I panicked, completely and totally, the first time I saw Charlie down a big wad of duct tape. I was sure he was dead... intestinal obstruction, gastric ligation... surely there has to be some repercussion, right?? A cow would need surgery, a horse would just drop dead immediately, the delicate things that they are.... well... Charlie pooped the duct tape out a couple of days later, with ease, a quick and uneventful passage straight through.
Back to their intelligence.... I watched Mac problem solve the other day. It took him seconds to eye up a situation and find the easiest way to go about it. I was taken aback, maybe even a tad bit frightened.... I mean.... who is really in charge here on the farm?
Which now takes us to this little story. Jenny went out late last night to do chores. I usually like to hang out and watch the goat chores. The goats make me laugh and smile, and that is needed somedays. But last night after yoga class, with the cold, wet, rain moving in, I had to take an Aleve and sit my butt down instead. She reported back in after chores, relating all of the antics. Mac was especially angry and taking it out on the two new kids.... unusual, that is Charlie's job. Charlie was wired and challenging the dogs, not unusual at all. Our little wisp of thing, Dennis, was showing some signs of life by riding his bestie Frankie, and Frankie... little Frankie... this one just might rival Charlie for future stories. Frankie and Dennis are the new boys, about four months old maybe, and now that they are free of life threatening parasites, they are starting to come into their own. Frankie is Charlie's half brother, brother from another father, and since we had so many problems with Charlie, we picked his sibling out of a group of twenty. It makes no sense, inviting trouble into your life, but the heart wants what the heart wants.
Frankie is a lover, he is one of those lap goats you see on the internet, the ones that made us say... " Why won't Mac and Charlie do that??", and he is insanely stoked about feeding time. Not the feed so much, once it is in his dish, he pretty much loses interest. It is totally the process of retrieving the feed from the garbage can.
At feeding time, Jenny brings the crew up to the house to the front porch where there are four metal garbage cans. One holds bird seed, two hold dog food and treats, and one holds goat feed. Jenny has three little bunks with her, one for Mac, one for Charlie, and a third one for the two little ones to share.
When feeding time comes and I am in the house, I hear their arrival. The cans bang loudly. Goats are jumping on and off of the cans, ramming each other into the cans, the raucus is incredible. I drop whatever I am doing and go out to watch. I grab a porch rocker, turn it to face the house and the cans and say, "Start the show!" And what a show it is. Total chaos. Jenny is so patient. The few times I have fed them, the goats got in big trouble and ended up standing patiently at my feet. I am no fun.
Frankie plants himself on the top of the goat feed can, claiming it all for himself, and when Jenny takes the top off of the can, he is still clinging to it. She tilts the lid sideways and he is still clinging to it. She shakes the lid and somehow... he is still clinging to it. He has to be manually removed from the lid top and then he immediately hops on to the lid of the can next door and tries to crawl into the feed bag. All the while Mac is angrily shoving Charlie all over the porch, it's their own little feeding ritual, and Dennis stands on a can safely out of the way, just looking on with wide eyes that say, "I am living in an insane asylum...."
Jenny, patiently keeps shoving Frankie out of the bag in between scoops, he keeps frantically trying to get in the bag, and eventually, with a little feed always spilled on the cement, she has the bunks filled and off the crew of Jenny, the four goats and the ever-present dogs go trotting off, back to the pen. Fighting and jockeying for position closest to the person bearing the bunks, going on the whole way, with Phryne the dog occasionally scattering goats off north, south, east, and west, just cuz she hates them a little, and it's fun to scare them.
Bear with me here, I am finally at the point where I get to the point, Jenny came in after chores last night, and told me that there is a new step in the routine for goat feeding, and that I should know for when I have to fill in as the feed giver. I said, "You know I am never going to do it, but do tell. What is our new routine?"
One time, now this gets back to goats being scary smart, just one one time, when Frankie refused to go back into his pen because now the feed is in the bunk and it no longer tastes good, so why should I? Jenny went out to pick him up to carry him back into his pen and on the way in, he was now level with the grape vines on the fence that overhang his pen. He reached out and grabbed a mouthful. Jenny was amused and stood there holding him while he munched away. The next night he balked at going back in, Jenny picked him up, she held him up to eat grape vines, and she put him back in. Little did she know she was being played. Frankie now waits outside of the pen for her to pick him up and hold him while he eats grape vines. Eventually he will weigh 40 pounds, just saying....
I expect to someday pass the pen and see the goats reclined on velvet couches with Jenny standing there with one of those big fans, looking abused but tending to their every need.
Goats are scary smart, so I am going to observe them and try to figure out how I too, could manipulate the people around me to do my bidding. Poor Jenny. It will never work with George.
Below... The pic of Frankie sent by the breeder, and Frankie when he arrived here.
