Pebbles & SweetPea

Every since I can remember I have loved goats. Why, I am not quite sure, but I know I am not alone. Their big marble eyes, their absolute love of food, their playful antics all contribute to their charm. However, their real value is in the wholesome milk they produce and the fine meat they offer. Most of the world relies on goat, not cow products, as they provide the farmer excellent feed conversion ratios, are kinder to the land and require much less water then cattle.

Like most livestock, each breed has been bred for a specific purpose. Some are kept for their luxurious fiber, others for their meat and others for their milk production. A new breed of goats has been gaining popularity in the US for a very American trait, a pet. Nigerian Dwarf goats are small friendly little goats that produce an astonishing amount of milk for their size. 

Nigerian Dwarf goat keepers swear to the value of these daring creatures as milk machines, but as an owner of a small herd, and having milked these girls who teats are the size of my pinkie, I know in my heart of hearts, the milk they produce offers us “farmers” an excuse to have babies.

The arrival of the kids in the spring is nothing other then pure joy. They hit the ground running. In just moments after birth, these tiny 2lb animals are playing, nursing and simply loving life. It is impossible to not smile watching a new baby goat explore the world.

For many years I dreamed of such an experience on my own farm, with my own goats, but I always resisted the commitment to goat husbandry. With chickens I could go away for a couple of days and the chickens would be fine. Goats however would be a whole new level of farm responsibility that I had shunned away from…until I saw the ad for two Nigerian Dwarf doelings.

Why these two girls stuck out to me I do not know for sure, but I do know, the next day I was headed up to the White Mountains to meet my new babies. I had read everything I could about goats and hoped I was not making a mistake.

We arrived at the farm and uneventfully loaded the girls into a crate in the back of my van. Just like that, I was the owner of two goats.

I was scared, nervous and excited all at the same time. I was also to become deaf because as it turns out these very small animals, much like humans, have very big lungs! Having been separated from their mom for the first time ever, they cried and bleated and made me feel terrible for the entire 3 hours home.

These animals were miserable. That is until I arrived at home and offered some sweet feed. (Grain covered in molasses) Magically all the sadness vanished. I had just learned the way to my girls’ heart was through their stomachs.

I should have used this love of food as a clue to lengths they might go in a quest for yum yums. But alas like so many farming lessons, I was destined to learn this obsession with grain the hard way.

The goats were housed in a pen with a nice shelter attached to the chicken coop. I had cut a small 8”x8” hole in their shelter so the chickens could get inside the barn to roost at night. Little did I know a goat the size of a cocker spaniel could fit through such a small hole. But the girls could…and they did… and I found them the next morning inside the coop where they had eaten all the chicken food.

I had read that chicken food and goats were a bad mix. The grain swells in their stomachs and causes bloat. Sometimes so severe it can cause death. So when Pebbles refused to get up that afternoon and was quietly crying in the corner looking at me with the sadness eyes I have ever seen, I know we had to rush off to the vet.

I was facing the very possibility of my goat dying after less then 24 hours in my care.  Who would have thought keeping a goat alive was harder then a baby. I had done that pretty well, twice. Both my children managed to stay out of the emergency room many days after bringing them home from the hospital.

I was lucky. Pebbles was lucky. After inserting a tube down her throat and pouring in some mineral spirits, as the vet was able to treat the bloat and Pebbles came home alive.

I would love to say I have mastered keeping my goats away from chicken food, but I would be lying. They continue to amaze me with the numerous ways they find to come in contact with food other then their own.

I, however, have learned to administer mineral spirits down a goat’s throat, thus eliminating the vet bills that go along with their indulgences. Just when I’m sure I have all their tricked figured out, they surprise me.

My herd has grown and the goats have their own barn now, far from the chickens. Pebbles has established herself the leader of the herd.  It makes me smile to know that the same skills she utilizes to almost kill herself on a regular basis, are the same skills it takes to be queen. Her determination and creativity cause her and indirectly me, problems, but her willingness to take chances and never give up the quest for more and better food options has earned her the envy of all the other goats. All my girls follow her without question, confident Pebbles will lead them to the promise land of milk and honey and an accidently uncovered bin of feed!