I want you to look closely at this little goat. He is not cute (actually, he is). He is certainly not stronger or more willful than me (actually, he is). I did not think it was funny that he refused to be led along down the road we were walking on (actually, I did). I'm trying to be angry at this little goat, but it's not working.
On Fridays, we talk about farmers, and one of our planned activities is visiting the goats, sheep, and ponies to pet and feed them. Last Friday was very cold and windy, so our plans were scuttled, and we were penned up inside the dining hall coloring. The kids were growing restless with an hour left to go when I had the bright idea to go get two of the baby goats and bring them up to the dining hall to visit the kids. I asked Sarah, one of my fellow Kid's Club wranglers, to go with me to get the two baby goats. We laughed to ourselves that we were probably biting off more than we could chew, and we were right.
We chased and leashed the two little goats and got them outside the pen when their mama began to notice their absence. We had mama goat and both babies fighting to get closer to each other, and you'd be surprised how much fight is in a 30-pound baby goat. About this time, one of the horse wranglers shouted out to us that we'd have a much easier time if we took mama, too. I looked at mama's size and decided that I'd rather fight it out with the two babies than juggle mama, too.
We got about twenty yards down the road (in 10 minutes), and it was a constant cycle of pull, coax, bleat, choke, release, and repeat. Frustrated but laughing, we quit caring about their muddy (and poopy) feet and picked them up to carry against our chests, but they craned their little necks and started chewing our hair. Defeated, I turned to Sarah and told her that I thought the wrangler was right: it was time to go get mama. I returned to the pen, picked out a 'mama' (there were two identical female goats), leashed my choice, and headed down the road toward Sarah and the two babies. Mama goat weighs a good 90 pounds, I'd say, and I had to wrestle her away from several flower beds between the pen and the place the babies stood.
The babies followed 'mama', but hesitantly. I have named the particular goat pictured "Flopper" because he continually jumped straight in the air, hooves kicking, and flopped down on his side to avoid walking in the direction we were going. In the end, all three goats reached the dining hall, and the kids were quite pleased to pet them and feed them grass from the pasture. It was not until I returned the babies to the pen, and they ran straight to the other female goat to nurse, that I realized I'd chosen the wrong mama. Oh, well.
In other news, I found some really great boots at the thrift store when we got here, and I'm so proud of them that I want to show them off. We wear boots three days out of the week here, so we made it one of our first missions on arrival to find some good second-hand boots. With no further ado, I present the best boots a girl can hope to find second-hand:
Now, those are ranchy.
Lynda
