We've Got A Goat

The Assholes rescued him from Asheville. It was last summer sometime, when the Assholes were actually behaving pretty well. Their yard was picked up, there wasn't more than one trash can full of empties outside their house, and no one had run into a ditch in months. They found the goat in Asheville somewhere, in somewhat sqaulid conditions. Someone with five or six goats and some ducks and a few rottweillers, all fenced in around a trailor somewhere around Enka. The Assholes decided to rescue two of the goats. They brought them up to S**'s, let them roam around the little cabin they had fixed up for hunting season.
But the Assholes disappeared when winter started. One of 'em got fished out of a ditch, again, by EMT and wound up in detox. Another voluntarily checked in about a week later. No one's heard from the other ones. The goats roamed around the hillside between the cabin and S**'s house. They'd never cross the Creek and go to S**'s - they just stayed around the cabin and grazed in the field where we're gonna put the greenhouse. K** could see them from her kitchen window. She worried about them a lot, and sometimes would tell S** to go give them some hay. They'd come visit with us when we were unloading greenhouse materials. They were both very friendly. They'd climb all over the trailor and into the bed of the dump truck. They'd follow us when we left, baaing, chasing the dump truck to the edge of the creek but never crossing.
Last week we'd only see the one. He'd come up to us every day, but we never saw his buddy. We denied the worst, at first, but finally accepted it as the only possibility. And we started to say to one another that the same thing would happen to the remaining goat, if no one did anything.
That's when I started to think about taking him home to I*. A kid needs a goat, I said to myself. They'll be cute together. I ran the idea by S** and K**, and S** fired up the tractor. We hitched the wagon to it, crossed the creek, and brought the goat home. That was this morning.
So here I am sitting in front of a computer with a goat next to me, chewing on the Mtn Express. The goat, not me. This is 21st Century organic farming, I guess. It feels kinda good, though. Now that I think about it, this is really my first farm oriented post. I've been meaning to write a little about ordering seeds, or getting my greenhouse ready for spring planting, or the chickens or the strawberries or ... something, but it hasn't happened.
But here you have it. A little blog vignette about life on the farm - I'm sitting in my living room with a goat.
I brought it up to RM's this evening, so she could give it the once over and tell me he's a healthy little goat. She just snickered. Or maybe it was a giggle. Then I brought him over to T* & S*'s house, and he chilled on the porch while we watched a video.
I* has already hugged him and they should become good friends.
The little goat seems healthy. He's a happy little goat, and he's really friendly.
I put him in the chicken coop today while we went down to Waynesville to disassemble D*'s new greenhouse. I figured he'd be safe there. He tried to get out, though, by butting his head against the gate. He managed to cut his ear and was bleeding when I got back. That's when I got introspective. What am I doing? Do I know what I'm doing? What do I have a goat for, anyway?
I started with the best of intentions, of course, but he still got hurt. Is that what it comes down to? I go out to save a goat and succeed only in making him bleed? Who am I, the United States Army?
I figure I'll move him into one of the old Volkswagens. Build him a little pen. Make him a feed trough. Tie a bell around his neck. Take him for a walk sometimes. Maybe start thinking about getting him a little playmate.
(Speaking of little playmates - No. I'll leave you hanging.)
I* will learn to feed him and comb his hair and shovel his poop and do whatever you do to goats. We started with bees. That was years ago. Then came the chickens. Then the babies. Now this. The trend seems to be one of ever increasing size. I need to draw a line before we end up with a bison.