The Inadvertent Farmer

Mending Fences Sucks

This is my dilema...I need an electric fence with enough 'umphhh' to keep the critters in but not enough that it would it knock my kids on their butts leaving them with smoke rolling out of their ears.  It  is imperative that I keep those darn goats in because no matter how much lucious green grass they have they still spend most of their days trying to find ways to escape and eat my roses. 

I spent 2 hours yesterday with a 25 pound toddler on my back walking the fence line looking for their escape routes.  I had  pliers, wire cutters and extra wire in one hand and a big ol stick in the other to wack the goats along side their  heads when they tried to nibble the baby's dangling toes. 

I found that the last storm had knocked a few limbs and a small tree across the fence down by the neighbors.  Faced with the choice to move the small tree myself or wait till hubby got home and revved up the old chainsaw I chose to move it myself.  I am sooo very glad the neighbors weren't home to here the grunting and groaning that came out of me while I nearly gave myself hemorroids trying to move that sucker.  After much lifting, shoving, and a little begging I got it pushed back over to the neighbors side of the fence, I'll let Dave the neighbor deal with it now.

After many smaller fixes I got back around to  where I had started and darn it if those evil critters hadn't knocked down the wires at the beginning because they had discovered that I had unplugged the fence. I wonder just how long it took them to figure out the fence was off? 

I have learned that goats are curious, friendly, mean, infuriating, but never dumb. 

BTW we named the goats 'He Goat' and 'She Goat'...original huh? 

Next week ...The Humane Society knows a patsy when they see one,  another pair joins the farm. Visit to find out a pair of what!

This is my dilema...I need an electric fence with enough 'umphhh' to keep the critters in but not enough that it would it knock my kids on their butts leaving them with smoke rolling out of their ears.  It  is imperative that I keep those darn goats in because no matter how much lucious green grass they have they still spend most of their days trying to find ways to escape and eat my roses. 

I spent 2 hours yesterday with a 25 pound toddler on my back walking the fence line looking for their escape routes.  I had  pliers, wire cutters and extra wire in one hand and a big ol stick in the other to wack the goats along side their  heads when they tried to nibble the baby's dangling toes. 

I found that the last storm had knocked a few limbs and a small tree across the fence down by the neighbors.  Faced with the choice to move the small tree myself or wait till hubby got home and revved up the old chainsaw I chose to move it myself.  I am sooo very glad the neighbors weren't home to here the grunting and groaning that came out of me while I nearly gave myself hemorroids trying to move that sucker.  After much lifting, shoving, and a little begging I got it pushed back over to the neighbors side of the fence, I'll let Dave the neighbor deal with it now.

After many smaller fixes I got back around to  where I had started and darn it if those evil critters hadn't knocked down the wires at the beginning because they had discovered that I had unplugged the fence. I wonder just how long it took them to figure out the fence was off? 

I have learned that goats are curious, friendly, mean, infuriating, but never dumb. 

BTW we named the goats 'He Goat' and 'She Goat'...original huh? 

Next week ...The Humane Society knows a patsy when they see one,  another pair joins the farm. Visit to find out a pair of what!

Sweet Girl and the goat

Now if only I  could get her to pick every dandelion in the yard for the goats!

   

Goats in a truck

Goats in the car...that's gone to far

Goats in the van...a very bad plan

Goats in the Vette...husband won't let

Goats in the truck...wish me luck!!!    

Saying yes to the two Humane Society goats wasn't that hard...getting them home was another story.

The goats wouldn't fit in the Subaru and goat poop in the mini van just didn't sound like a good idea.  They would probably fit in hubby's corvette with the top off but I liked being married so squashed that thought immediately.  Our old and much loved 3/4 ton '72 Chevy pickup seemed the right choice for getting the critters home. After grabbing some rope I roared off in my old truck feeling very smug that I had found the perfect weapons for my war on the Frankinberries (my name for those freekishly aggresive and incredibly resiliant blackberry vines).

At the Humane Society they took me around back to a delapitated old garage.  Once the door was raised and my eyes adjusted I could see my new charges for the first time.  Now never having owned goats before, I didn't know what to expect but I surely wasn't ready for...Horns!  I knew mountain goats had horns but certainly didn't know that  domestic goats could have them.  These weren't your cool curley Q horns either but stick straight out of your head pointed demon horns.  What if they didn't like me?  What if they decided to chase me with those things?  Getting gored by a goat just didn't sound like my thing.

I must have had that "what the heck"  look on my face and sensing my growing doubt the nice lady rushed to assure me that they really were sweet goats and the horns were no need for alarm, besides I could always remove them.  What?  Remove them with what,  a hacksaw?  I could hear it now, "Honey, can I borrow you hacksaw,? I need it to saw the horns off the goats."  Hubby's face came into view...  torn between horror and pity,  he would belive that his once sane and gentle wife had gone completely around the bend.

While I stood there conflicted the goats stood staring at me slowly chewing mouthfuls of hay.   They did seem rather harmless standing there barely moving except their bearded chins going up and down.  I walked into the garage for a closer look,  hmmm they looked bigger up close,  funny how that works!  The larger was taller than my waist at its head, add the horns and it was closer to chest height.  Who knew goats could grow that tall?  The smaller was only an inch or so shorter, both healthy size by goat standards.   Then again I reasoned,  the bigger the animal the bigger the appetite for blackberry vines.  After letting them smell my hand they both stood very calmly while I petted them, paying little attention to me after that.  First contact went smoothly, suspiciously smoothly, it could not be that easy...not that easy at all  I would find out in the following months...but for now all was calm.

I filled out all the paperwork and two volunteers each leading a goat followed me to the truck.  How do you get a goat to jump in the back of a truck?  The same way you get a goat to do anything...food!  The helpers put a small bucket of grain in the back of the pickup and quick as you like they both nimbly jumped into the bed of my old pickup.  They were both tied to opposite sides of the bed just behind the cab with what we all thought was the proper length of rope,  yeah we thought is just right the goats proved otherwise.

After waving goodbye to the all the Humane Society people, who by the way had huge grins on their faces (which I thought at the time was their "their goes such a nice lady to adopt our goats" grins,  but I later came to believe were their "she has no clue and those goats are gonna run all over her" grins) I started my truck and off we went.

At first all went well, we were in town and were going very slowly.  OK, I was getting a few honks and strange looks from passerbys but the goats seemed nonphased by all the fuss and didn't mind riding in the truck.  I was starting to relax and think this was gonna be a piece of cake,  that was just before we hit the on ramp for the highway...yes, highway!

 I was just beginning to enter traffic on the highway when I heard a loud clatter on the roof of the cab.  What the heck was that?  I glance back to see that the biggest goat somehow had enough rope to let it put its front legs up on the roof of the cab.  I was now driving down the highway with a goat peering out over the cab of my truck, his  beard blowing in the wind.  The smaller goat was leaning out as far as it could over the side of the bed, just like a dog (well without the tongue hanging out) watching the cars go by.  Oh no what if the goat gets all the way on the cab, what if the other goats hangs itself over the side?  Should I pull over and try to tie them shorter?  Or should I just drive as fast as I can and get home hoping they just stay where they are?  I chose the latter, I didn't want to pull along a busy highway and be wrestling in the back with two goats almost as big as me, so I took a calculated risk they weren't stupid enough to jump out at 60 mph. Thankfully I guessed correctly and they stayed put.  At least my fellow travelers found all this amusing, I cannot even begin to tell you the looks, laughs, and near accidents I caused on that thankfully short stretch of highway.  I even got a couple of grins from passing truckers whom I am sure had seen it all ...well now they have anyway!

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful.  Goats dismounted the truck quite nicely.  I found the biggest, baddest patches of blackberries I could and staked them next to those.  Then I sat back on the grass and watched with delight as they started munching away at those monster vines.  As I sat there I was pondering my next dilemna...what am I gonna tell my sweet hubby?  He knew nothing of the phone call from the Humane Society, he knew nothing of my trek into town or the cargo I returned with.  He had no idea that when he came home from work there were going to be two goats in the yard..our goats!

LOL...what is funny is that these two were just the beginning of the critters my long suffering hubby would come home to!

Goats in the car...that's gone to far

Goats in the van...a very bad plan

Goats in the Vette...husband won't let

Goats in the truck...wish me luck!!!    

Saying yes to the two Humane Society goats wasn't that hard...getting them home was another story.

The goats wouldn't fit in the Subaru and goat poop in the mini van just didn't sound like a good idea.  They would probably fit in hubby's corvette with the top off but I liked being married so squashed that thought immediately.  Our old and much loved 3/4 ton '72 Chevy pickup seemed the right choice for getting the critters home. After grabbing some rope I roared off in my old truck feeling very smug that I had found the perfect weapons for my war on the Frankinberries (my name for those freekishly aggresive and incredibly resiliant blackberry vines).

At the Humane Society they took me around back to a delapitated old garage.  Once the door was raised and my eyes adjusted I could see my new charges for the first time.  Now never having owned goats before, I didn't know what to expect but I surely wasn't ready for...Horns!  I knew mountain goats had horns but certainly didn't know that  domestic goats could have them.  These weren't your cool curley Q horns either but stick straight out of your head pointed demon horns.  What if they didn't like me?  What if they decided to chase me with those things?  Getting gored by a goat just didn't sound like my thing.

I must have had that "what the heck"  look on my face and sensing my growing doubt the nice lady rushed to assure me that they really were sweet goats and the horns were no need for alarm, besides I could always remove them.  What?  Remove them with what,  a hacksaw?  I could hear it now, "Honey, can I borrow you hacksaw,? I need it to saw the horns off the goats."  Hubby's face came into view...  torn between horror and pity,  he would belive that his once sane and gentle wife had gone completely around the bend.

While I stood there conflicted the goats stood staring at me slowly chewing mouthfuls of hay.   They did seem rather harmless standing there barely moving except their bearded chins going up and down.  I walked into the garage for a closer look,  hmmm they looked bigger up close,  funny how that works!  The larger was taller than my waist at its head, add the horns and it was closer to chest height.  Who knew goats could grow that tall?  The smaller was only an inch or so shorter, both healthy size by goat standards.   Then again I reasoned,  the bigger the animal the bigger the appetite for blackberry vines.  After letting them smell my hand they both stood very calmly while I petted them, paying little attention to me after that.  First contact went smoothly, suspiciously smoothly, it could not be that easy...not that easy at all  I would find out in the following months...but for now all was calm.

I filled out all the paperwork and two volunteers each leading a goat followed me to the truck.  How do you get a goat to jump in the back of a truck?  The same way you get a goat to do anything...food!  The helpers put a small bucket of grain in the back of the pickup and quick as you like they both nimbly jumped into the bed of my old pickup.  They were both tied to opposite sides of the bed just behind the cab with what we all thought was the proper length of rope,  yeah we thought is just right the goats proved otherwise.

After waving goodbye to the all the Humane Society people, who by the way had huge grins on their faces (which I thought at the time was their "their goes such a nice lady to adopt our goats" grins,  but I later came to believe were their "she has no clue and those goats are gonna run all over her" grins) I started my truck and off we went.

At first all went well, we were in town and were going very slowly.  OK, I was getting a few honks and strange looks from passerbys but the goats seemed nonphased by all the fuss and didn't mind riding in the truck.  I was starting to relax and think this was gonna be a piece of cake,  that was just before we hit the on ramp for the highway...yes, highway!

 I was just beginning to enter traffic on the highway when I heard a loud clatter on the roof of the cab.  What the heck was that?  I glance back to see that the biggest goat somehow had enough rope to let it put its front legs up on the roof of the cab.  I was now driving down the highway with a goat peering out over the cab of my truck, his  beard blowing in the wind.  The smaller goat was leaning out as far as it could over the side of the bed, just like a dog (well without the tongue hanging out) watching the cars go by.  Oh no what if the goat gets all the way on the cab, what if the other goats hangs itself over the side?  Should I pull over and try to tie them shorter?  Or should I just drive as fast as I can and get home hoping they just stay where they are?  I chose the latter, I didn't want to pull along a busy highway and be wrestling in the back with two goats almost as big as me, so I took a calculated risk they weren't stupid enough to jump out at 60 mph. Thankfully I guessed correctly and they stayed put.  At least my fellow travelers found all this amusing, I cannot even begin to tell you the looks, laughs, and near accidents I caused on that thankfully short stretch of highway.  I even got a couple of grins from passing truckers whom I am sure had seen it all ...well now they have anyway!

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful.  Goats dismounted the truck quite nicely.  I found the biggest, baddest patches of blackberries I could and staked them next to those.  Then I sat back on the grass and watched with delight as they started munching away at those monster vines.  As I sat there I was pondering my next dilemna...what am I gonna tell my sweet hubby?  He knew nothing of the phone call from the Humane Society, he knew nothing of my trek into town or the cargo I returned with.  He had no idea that when he came home from work there were going to be two goats in the yard..our goats!

LOL...what is funny is that these two were just the beginning of the critters my long suffering hubby would come home to!

An Accident Waiting to Happen

farm-er n  2:  a person who cultivates land or crops or raises livestock   3:  YOKEL,BUMPKIN

How in the world does someone accidentally become a farmer?  In my case it didn't happen when I inherited the family farm.  It didn't even happen when I married a farmer.  No it was much more insidious than that.

At first I was a pet owner, nothing exotic, just cats, dogs, birds, and a fish here and there.  Then we moved to the country on 5 acres so it only seemed fitting to begin gardening.  Two moves later and the scales begin to tip.  Now we find ourselves on ten acres, a garden goes without saying and adding an orchard only seems reasonable,  but still till just a homeowner, pet keeper, gardener, and orchardist until...the call.

"Is this Kim?"

"Yes"

"This is  Linda from the local Humane Society"

Pause...thinking of a reason not to donate 

"Oh"

"The reason for our call is that someone mentioned that you had an interest in farm animals"

Now what evil twisted person could have put me on the 'hitlist' at the Humane Society?  Scrambling, scrambling...memory uploads!  My darling sons along with their classmates had recently visited that very same facility that was patiently waiting at the other end of the line. 

"Uhh, I guess"

"Well we have two charming goats that were found wandering dowtown and we need to find a home for them."

First there is the mental picture of two goats snacking their way through the newly revitalized streets of our tiny town, munching on freshly planted petunias, looking in shop windows, and leaving much bigger messes than the resident pigeons...someone call the sanitation man with the pooper scooper.                                                                                                                                                         

Second thought was... did she just call those goats "charming"?

Pause...

"They seem to be very well behaved goats...and there will be none of the usual charges for adoption."

Pause...

"Besides, goats are wonderful for eating brush, they especially love blackberry vines."

Sold!  That crafty Humane Society lady knew just the right buttons to push...I'm cheap and the blackberries were offically winning  their bid for domination in their steady march across our property.  Maybe these goats could even out the battle, my own weapons of mass destruction!

"OK, as long as they are charming, well-behaved and love blackberries."

CLANG..the scales had irreversably tipped and I had just accidentally become a farmer.