Goats. I have often wondered why the scriptures are
replete with references to separating the sheep from the goats with the
implication that the goats were the bad guys. I think I figured it out when we moved to
Goat Road. Actually, it wasn’t
called that, but it could have been.
Most of our neighbors kept goats for the sole purpose of keeping the
weeds eaten out of the irrigation ditches.
I have to admit that they did that successfully, but I’m not sure it
made up for the drawbacks. For one
thing, goats are, well, skinny as goats.
You can count their ribs. One of
our neighbors liked goat to barbeque, but I’m not sure what on earth he
ate! That was just the beginning of the problems I had with goats. To me, they were all skin, bones,
horns, and attitude.
The biggest problem? Billy
goats stink! There is no kind way to say
it. Their musky smell is only slightly
less offensive than that of a skunk.
Nanny goats aren’t as bad, but I’d never name one of them Sweet Petunia, either. I found a Nanny goat impossible to milk, far more difficult to milk
than a cow. In fact, I never got the
hang of it, no matter how much Carmon tried to tutor me.
Our
one and only nanny goat was one of Carmon’s experiments, wedged as she was between our cows, Sucky and
Dot. He milked her faithfully. He had hoped that the kids would develop a
taste for goat’s milk. They didn’t. For one thing, they’d been raised on cow’s
milk. For another thing, the goat’s milk
smelled just like the goat! Carmon tried with
great patience to teach me to milk her.
I tried with equal patience to do it, but nary a drop. I think the goat knew I didn’t much like her
and she refused to let down whenever I tried to milk her.
Just
as a cow has to be freshened regularly, so does a goat. Apparently this goat was already in progress
because it wasn’t too long after we got her that her twins were born. I helped to deliver them, which was an
interesting activity, one I am in no way anxious to repeat! The
little Billy was the stronger of the two and always the first one to get to mom
at mealtime. The little Nanny was
gentler. She had a sweet little face. Grandma Buntin named her Baby Doll.
Carmon’s
mother had been in poor health for as long as I had known her. For about a year and a half, she lived in a
small trailer home behind our house. She
helped with the garden, gave welcome advice on putting up fruit, pickles, and
jam and not so welcome advice on just about everything else. She made bacon-grease sandwiches for Brandy
and peanut butter sandwiches for Tunk (folded, not cut, with the honey mixed in
with the peanut butter first!)
Grandma
adopted Baby Doll. No other baby ever received better care. In a word, that goat was spoiled rotten! How rotten, you might ask? Wait until you hear! Some of it, you won't believe, but trust me: it's all true!
© Gebara Education, 2001. No portion of this book may
be copied by any method without the express written permission of the author
Picture of billy goat from www.digitaldesktopwallpapers.com
Picture of PU! from www.nih.gov
Picture of twin kids from www.madeinmississippi.blogspot.com
Picture of baby goat from www.loyalkng.com
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