Daryl died over spring break, leaving his brother, also named Daryl, quite lonely. It was suggested by many people that Daryl might need a friend, or two, or three. These well-meaning people did not understand that goats can really be a nuisance when you’re feeding chickens. They slip into the coop while you have it open, they run through gates when your back is turned, they even tear down fences and rip out chicken wire. They can really be a pain in the butt.
On the other hand, I’d always wanted to have more goats. Both Daryls were a bit long in the tooth and had been castrated, so they weren’t any good for breeding anymore. I kind of envisioned a herd of goats that could keep the brush down on the farm and maybe make babies that I could sell occasionally. I’d been offered money for both Daryls at various times, after all.
And goats are so cute. I don’t care about the pain in the butt the Daryls were, and still are. They are adorable and I love them.
In the quest for additional goats, though, both Laura and Mom counseled against it. Perhaps I had complained a bit much about their antics, especially when they broke into coops and tore down fences. But their little mouths chowing down on smashed pumpkins or them running up to me when I went into their pasture were a constant source of joy.
Anton, however, was 100% in favor of more goats for Freethought Farm. “Maybe I’ll buy you some goats,” he said one evening while we were at the fire. “I’ve got enough animals to take care of, though, I said, “I’d be fine with some more goats but I can’t put any money into them right now.” A few weeks later he said, “I think I found you some goats. This one guy I met has a bunch of goats he’s trying to get rid of.”
“I’d be happy to take them,” I said.
I didn’t think much about it for a while. Free baby goats didn’t seem like a very realistic prospect and Anton, ever the optimist, has expectations that my pessimist tendencies don’t always trust.
So, one day I’m sitting on my couch watching TV when the phone rings. It’s Anton. “What’s up?”
“Hey, come out to the pasture. The guy with the goats is here!”
What? I hadn’t been expecting goats at all, let alone without any warning. I leapt into my boots and headed out to the goat pasture. Sure enough, there was Anton and an older gentleman talking at the tailgate of a pickup parked right outside the gate. How did I miss two vehicles driving up to the pasture? And where were the goats? All I saw was an empty dog crate in the back of the pickup truck. I was expecting some sort of horse trailer.
As it turned out, the dog crate wasn’t empty, a fact that became apparent when I approached the tailgate.
I was not expecting the goats to be so small, or so cute. They were tiny, actually, not even knee-high, though the man assured me they would get that big. They looked to be twins and already came with names, Frilly and Socks. They’d been named by his daughter. “I hate taking them out of the cage,” he said, “Because I can’t stand to hear them scream. It’s traumatizing.”
I wasn’t sure what he was talking about; I’d never heard a goat scream.
“I like to give them away,” he said, “Because if I sell them, you can do what you want with them. If I give them to you, you can still do what you want with them, but I would hope that you’d honor my wishes. I hope they’ll be pets and have a good life. I don’t want them killed or eaten or anything like that.”
“Oh,” I said, “I assure you, these little babies are going to have a great life out here. I mean, if I were going to kill and eat a goat, it would be that one.” I pointed to the corpulent Daryl, watching our proceedings from his rock. “And I’m not going to ever kill him or eat him. I couldn’t. He’s like family!”
“Well, shall we?” he asked, then opened the cage and withdrew a goat, which he handed to Anton. It did, indeed, scream, very much like a person in the worst state of distress imaginable. You would have thought we were murdering them. The ten seconds I held the kicking, screaming goat felt interminable. I placed her as gently as I could, considering her struggling, on the grass of the pasture.
We tried to assuage their anxiety with the goat treats the man had brought, but these two were used to being part of a big herd. Whereas Daryl will run right up to you and rub his head against your knee to get some pets, these two were as skittish as chickens. There was no approaching them. Now that I think about it, I wonder how the man got them into the dog crate in the first place, as I have yet to even pet either of them after several months at Freethought Farm.
Daryl was immediately impressed, and he ran around like a mad goat once the two baby girls were in his territory. They didn’t take to him right away; it took several weeks, perhaps even a couple of months for them to finally become good friends.
For a long while, the babies slipped into the chicken coop. I had to stop feeding the chickens in there for fear of Frilly and Socks ending up corpulent like their new uncle Daryl. Don’t worry, I didn’t stop feeding the chickens altogether, just not IN the coop. The goats would also go into the coop and sleep at night. As time went on though, they got used to Bella and Bella to them, so I felt comfortable leaving them together at night. Nowadays, I keep them locked out of the coop at night.
Frilly and Socks are a constant joy for me. I love watching them frolic and play, and though they run up to me with Daryl, I don’t think they understand that they’re supposed to get pets, too. Maybe someday. They are a great addition to Freethought Farm, definitely increasing the cuteness.
Freethought Farm 