So its official. I had tried it once before but ran afoul of the children. I had someone lined up to take the goats away, and I backed down under pressure.
A few months passed and magically the children’s brains evolved to a place from where they were willing to let them go. They admitted that they had not so much as looked at them sideways for several weeks, had not even spared them a passing thought, in their pursuit of other childhood joys–Pokemon, sugar, play dates and GoGos.
Lucy Posing
Realizing that we were not going to slaugher our own sheep, I came to the conclusion that I was not really prepared to slaughter anyone else’s. The project of animal farming has lost its appeal, it now seems to me too much like being a gaoler, then executioner. And I’m not enough of a carnivore to justify that. From now on it will be the occassional small amount of excellently raised meat from someone we know.
So I quietly uploaded three sheep and two goats (all girls, all ready to be impregnated) onto Craigslist, along with some very cute photos. So cute that I almost deleted the posting.
A couple of days later I get a call from a farmer in New Gloucester. He is no-nonsense, with a Maine accent. This is old-time farmer, I think to myself as I tell him about their lineages. There is Lucy the feeder we bought last year. We kept her from slaughter to see what breeding would be like. She gave birth to Prancer, mentioned variously on HH. Then there was another feeder I bought this spring. When I realized that we couldn’t kill prancer, I felt it was unfair to send the other orphan to slaughter all alone.
Little Black
The goats: well, we bought them in a fit of absence of mind. Truthfully, Kate saw a picture in a Bates alumni magazine featuring a woman walking through a Maine field to milk her goats: children in tow, sun in the West. Seeds of dream were planted. We got goats. Two years later we couldn’t find a buck to impregnate them, and we realized we didn’t like goat cheese enough to have to milk these suckers every day. Kate’s dream evaporated, like a pool of goat piss in the early morning sun. I was left caring for Robin Hood and Little Black (both of whom are very nice and I’ve developed some affection for.) But we were just paying for hay and grain through the long Maine winter for nothing. So Craigslist it is.
Back to the Maine farmer. He isn’t interested in their readiness for childbirth. “I’m mostly into meat.”
Ah, well that’s not really gonna work, I’m afraid.
Call me if you change your mind.
I hang up feeling a bit sick.
Then a nice woman from Valley View Farm called, and I went through the same script with her, and she sounded much more promising.
Some days later she showed up with her husband, and to tell the truth I felt slightly suspicious because they were more old school farmers than I had thought, and neither one seemed interested in what I had to say about the animals (although the husband did seem to have a kind way with the animals).
As we were loading them into the trailer Gemma came running down the path to the barn in tears. “I just want to say goodbye to them!” She bawled.
We opened up the trailer to let Gemma in while trying to stop the ruminants from escaping, then we assured Gemma that it was for the best, that they were going to a nice home. Katy even managed to get the woman to agree to have us come visit, although she rather strangely told me “although, once they’re in a flock they’re hard to pick out.” Was she suggesting that these ones would not be around, but there’d be other animals she could try to fool Gemma with: Look there’s Robin Hood, doesn’t she look happy?
Then she confides to me on the side, ” anyway, I’ve always thought out of sight, out of mind.”
Which turns out to be the case.
So no more biweekly runs to the hay farmer down the road. No more trips to the feed store for foot rot treatment and grain. No more hustling out to the barn first thing to hay and water (chickens can wait).
An eerie quiet, filled by the soft sigh of vegetables waiting to grow in the spring.
Goodbye animals. Goodbye.
Kidz with Goats
