This Goat needs Therapy

I love this time of year, springtime, its so full of promise. Our sheep are in the goat house ready to give birth to new dinners, I mean, to pretty little lambs that will soon frolic amongst the daffodils on Willow Rise (one of our fields) or charge amongst the primroses on Oak Bank, our other field, before being banished to the common to grow fat on free grass until its time for the long sleep in Mr Whirlpool the chest freezer in the workshop.

Our small flock of Ryelands, the ideal smallholders sheep are lovely sheep and the first livestock we bought when we moved in in October 2006. The breed is an old Herefordshire breed dating back to Roman times, smaller than the average ewe, stocky, hardy, slow to mature, good natured and known to grow fat on green concrete. In other words they eat anything green and seem to thrive.

Leominster, a local market town used to have a massive sheep and wool market and the wool from Ryelands was referred to as Leominster Ore due to the high prices the farmers got for the fleeces. Since we had them they have been the least problematic of all the stock and Rita, Roxy and Rosie produced our first lambs last April. We bought Easter and Springtime, both pedigree Ryelands off Mike (he of concreting fame) last summer and so this year we could have up to 10 lambs from the five ewes all sired by our pet Ryeland Ram Cherwell Crispen, or Crispy for short.

We did wonder if we were going to get lambs this year as Maggie the goat formed an unhealthy attachment on Crispy last year soon after her Mum died. Every time she came into season she tried to persuade Crispy to do the dirty deed, even though she was plainly not his type. Undeterred she persisted and drove Crispy’s harem away making sure they got the point with her horns. This went on for weeks with Crispy getting increasingly frustrated and Maggie increasingly desperate for love. Somehow Crispy managed to break free from the amorous advances of the deranged goat and did what a Ram has to do to ensure his bloodline reaches my dinner plate.

I was actually happy that she took up with Crispy as she had for weeks been bothering me, she’s definitely got a thing about men or males. She would wait on the windowsill until I went out to work and she would spend all day following me around until I returned to the house when she would take up post on the windowsill once more. If I took the dogs for a walk she would walk by my side. Quite often walkers coming the other way would remark what an unusual dog I had, I began to tell them she was a Radnorshire Terrier. Given the chance she would get in the house to find me. Once she was found hiding behind the TV. I was being stalked by a goat. It was unnerving taking a shower and turning round and finding a goat pressed against the window, watching. So when she dumped me and turned her lust on Crispy I was relieved.

Once it was obvious that he wasn’t interested in her Maggie took on a new role, that of sheep botherer. She would round them up in the morning and drive them out onto the common, whether they want to go or not, and in the evening she moved them to one of three sleeping areas until first light when she would lead the charge to the food trough for breakfast in the yard.

The only time she would deviate from this routine was when she got stuck. Now goats as you can gather are rather complex creatures, and Maggie is more complex than most. She’s a cross between and Anglo Nubian and Boer, she is an expert climber, able to get onto the house roof, car roof and cliff behind the house. Once she climbed high onto the cliff and looked for all the world like she was stuck. Pitiful bleating alerted us to potential problems and there on a ledge at the back of Rock HQ she was balanced precariously. Now, before gaining 60 odd pound of excess muscle around my waist I used to be a good climber so I clambered up to the ledge, ignoring the vertigo and potential for death to rescue the mongrel goat from its perch. As you have probably guessed already, as I got there she managed to extricate herself and with a hop skip and jump she was back to munching greenery whilst I contemplated goat murders and remembered that climbing down was much harder than climbing up.

But she does get stuck.

Often.

Her Achilles heel are her horns. As intelligent as she is she often forgets about these weapons on her head. She should have had them removed at birth but the people who sold her too us didn’t bother. Occasionally she does use them in aggression, once she got me accidentally, I was reaching into the feed bin and she pushed under my arm to get a free mouthful of goat mix. As I realised the potential danger and tried to stand she panicked and pulled her head out and in doing so her horns punctured my jacket and cut me across the chest. I still have a six inch scar.

So what happens is she sees a nice tasty morsel of green and pushes her head forward, through the wire fence. Then she tries to pull her head out but her horns now trap her and she has to stay there until rescue. I have lost count the number of times I have had to return to the workshop and get the bolt cutters to cut yet another hole in the fence. So often in fact that our cheap Chinese wire cutters broke and we have had to resort to hedge loppers, tin cutters, scissors, swearing and brute force to extricate the goat from the perimeter fence. It usually happens when we are in a hurry, just before work, that type of thing, you know, when you are dressed for dinner and want to stay clean. Always these events confirm the rules of smallholding, especially the one stating your tools are never where you left them or where you need them.

As the sheep are now shut away she has had to find a new interest. We introduced her to Geisha the new goat and she was seriously unimpressed so we are keeping them separate as Geisha is an unarmed version.

So guess what Maggie is now.

Currently she is a dog.

She has taken kennel number six next to Poppy, the Golden Retriever. She has not given up her sheep goat duties entirely though. As I type this she is on watch outside the goat house, Springtime is about to give birth, I better go and see what progress is being made before Maggie assumes the role of midwife.

I love living here.