On occasion, I have the privilege of taking care of the goat herds belonging to the Goat Cheese Lady or Easter Egg Acres, here in the vicinity of Colorado Springs. I don’t get these jobs because I know all about goats. I grew up in the suburbs. I get to do it because after nearly three years of weight training at Pikes Peak Crossfit, I am strong enough to argue with a goat and win.
The first thing I do when I get there, is let them out of the barn. I open the door and they come streaming out like corporate employees after a big meeting, with the notable difference that some of the participants have chickens riding on their backs.
I think the goats like to see me.
Just like when I used to babysit, my charges are happy to see me because they know my presence means extra snacks and games.
Sometimes it’s just snacks, like extra alfalfa hay or some sweet feed.
Sometimes it’s games, like the time the buck (a male goat) got in the pen with the does (the girls) and I spent an hour chasing him around the pen while the does formed a protective line in front of him.
And let’s not forget the time that one of the goats fooled me into thinking I was supposed to milk her. She loped out of the barn, hopped up on the milking stool and started munching away at the sweet feed. It wasn’t until I tried to milk this dry goat that I realized she had fooled me.
Even though they make jokes at my expense, I still love taking care of them. We have a good time and, unlike my days working in the cubicle farm of a big corporation, I go home with fresh, raw milk and eggs.
And sometimes with a little alfalfa they’ve put in my hair too.
© 2013 Hungry Chicken Homestead
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