It doesn’t matter how busy I am, what I have to do later, or what’s already been done, time is suspended when I visit the goats.
The Critteraid herd boasts seventeen magnificent goats, most rescued from the dairy industry, four born on the property a couple of years ago. They share the pasture area with ducks, chickens, pigs, llamas, and the volunteers who visit the farm.
Sometimes, more specifically, they struggle to share with the cars. You don’t know the meaning of driving extremely slowly, and with particular care until you encounter a goat jam.
Goat jams last as long as they last. Sometimes all the goats MUST walk in front of your car, at their speed, going up or coming down the driveway. Sometimes they will suddenly divide, and you will have to crawl your way through a gauntlet of goat eyes, asking why they aren’t getting cuddles.
That is one of the chief inquiries of the herd besides, perhaps, “is it time to eat?”
I have known and befriended goats before, on other farms when I was young.
Never have I met goats like these.
Rosebud and her babies
As I walk toward the Chestnut tree, the ground a grey-brown haze of stirred up dust and dead grass, Rosebud raises her beautiful face towards me so I can rub her cheek bones, gaze into her deep brown eyes, and kiss her nose. Rosebud is the tiny mama of Pearl and Lacey, born in the goat barn on Canada day two years ago.
Rosebud’s babies
They are the only babies she has ever been allowed to keep and raise herself.
Rosebud nursing her baby
She and the girls are constantly entwined. They finally stopped nursing when they were literally lifting her back legs off of the ground, they had grown so big!
Indy and her boys
Graceful Indy is next for greeting. With her long ears and delicate face, she has a favorite rubbing spot, right by the base of her jaw, and seems to glow with contented benevolence. Her twin boys – Twotwo (her 22nd baby) and Treasure (the last treasure she will ever have to bear) – are now tall, handsome lads with gorgeous, swept back horns. They have inherited her sweet disposition and will crowd out the others for their turn at cuddling. These three, mother and sons, can also be found napping together – Indy’s nose on Treasure’s back, Treasure’s head on Twotwo’s neck, or some similar variation.
Indy’s nose on Treasure’s back
They are the only babies she has ever been allowed to keep and raise herself.
Indy and her boys
Seeing their bond, I cringe at how easily humans separate babies from their parents.
If I wait too long to make my rounds, someone will come looking or love, maybe Tabby with her black-on-beige/cream markings. Tabby: who gets fed up with flies and will stamp around in effrontery at their persistence; who had half an udder amputated after terrible, neglected mastitis; who somehow still has affection for humans; who reaches her head down low and goes completely still when I pet her just so.
Or maybe Tawny with her black-on-gold/tan coat, her long, elegant face, and gentle demeanor. Tawny: who is constant like warm sunlight; who sports an impressive spine-mohawk when she faces down the bear or coyotes across the fence; who tries to discipline Pearl for being too pushy.
Meet Tawny
With one or both of these girls I usually find Tassy, the black beauty of the heard. She is fine boned and, with her dark hair, cuts a dashing silhouette. Like a shadow, she will silently arrive at my side and smoothly insert herself under my hand whenever she sees an opportunity.
Tawny up-close
Often, all of them at once will come for cuddles, and I will find myself dreaming of a second set of hands, or a prehensile tail, any mutation to be able to properly demonstrate my appreciation and affection for them.
These friends of mine, smelling of sweet hay and dust, are always welcoming, are always interested in what I am doing, are happy to just lean against me or use my back pockets and belt buckle as a scratching post. They help me keep my hands strong massaging and brushing them. They appreciate even my singing and will accept the in-the-moment compositions of praise I offer with half closed eyes and the slow breathing of one lulled into a relaxed doze. Looking out over the pasture with a goat on either side, the busyness and stress of my days suddenly become less consequential. Sharing their world – in “goat time” – is one of the greatest gifts they could ever give to me.
P.S.
Yes, this mentions only nine of the seventeen goats. I promise I will introduce the others in another post soon!
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