LIVING IN A rural area affords a person the chance to experience the rewards of raising ducks, chickens, sheep and other such creatures. I personally have had the “pleasure” of these opportunities.
It was the spring of 2001, and my sheep whose name was Elliott — E-E-E-lli-o-o-o-t, pronounced with a sheep accent — had recently passed away and his sheep house was empty.
A friend told me a couple of goats from Sequim needed a home.
Well, certainly I would take them; no one should have an empty sheep house.
Soon they arrived. Inspired by “Dobie Gillis” re-runs, I named them Maynard and Zelda.
Being Sequim goats, it was apparent right away, they hated the rain.
A bigger problem than their fear of the rain was my fear of more little goats.
I loaded Maynard in the Chevy Tahoe and drove him to the veterinary clinic for his procedure.
First I layered 4 mil plastic and a blanket in the back of the car in case of a goat accident.
Once the procedure was over, he slept it off in the Tahoe.
Unfortunately, my efforts were in vain because Zelda was already expecting. Soon Oats and Ivy were born.
One evening, I was heading out to a performance by the Rainforest Players and I heard a terrible noise coming from the goat house.
I opened the door to find four goats projectile-vomiting green slime and grinding their teeth. It was quite a sight.
I called Quillayute Prairie resident Candy Hendrickson, goat expert extraordinaire. She suspected they ate something that was poisonous to them, producing the symptoms I was witnessing.
She told me I needed to acquire a jug of mineral oil and get some down their throats.
Hours later covered in green slime and mineral oil, I am not sure if I had more mineral oil on me or in the goats.
But apparently it was enough because they all survived.
I missed the play.
One day when I was at the dentist, Dr. Bob Henry, my neighbor, said, “Hey, did you know your goats are sneaking out under their fence?”
I said “UHHHH UUhhhh?”
You know how dentists always ask you stuff when you can’t answer back.
Sure enough, they were crawling out on the backside where I could not see them. Then when they heard me coming, they crawled back in.
I tried to keep them in their pen, especially since Dr. Bob had just planted some nice tender, tasty trees along the property line.
It was a losing battle.
Did I mention that Maynard has big horns? He liked to ram them into me.
When I asked the veterinarian what to do, he said I needed to show Maynard that I was the boss.
He suggested maybe whacking the goat with something. I did not like the sound of that, so one day I put on a pair of leather gloves and as he came at me, I grabbed him by the horns and did a take-down.
A professional wrestler would have been proud.
Sadly, Zelda and Oats and Ivy succumbed to various goat illnesses, and Maynard was left as the lone goat.
Finally I gave up and left the gate to the pen open, providing Maynard with free-range status.
Recently, he began lying on the front porch like a dog. The dogs don’t like it much.
He discovered that if he gets on the table on the deck, he can see us in the house better.
And he figured out how to open the front door.
My husband recently found him in the kitchen. Now we keep the door locked.
Did I mention my husband dislikes the goat?
I don’t think the goat likes him, either.
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Christi Baron is a longtime West End resident.
She is the office and property manager for Lunsford & Associates real estate in Forks. She and her husband, Howard, live in Forks.
Phone her at 360-374-3141 or 360-374-2244 with items for this column, or e-mail her at hbaron@ centurytel.net.
West End Neighbor appears on this page every other Tuesday.
