Goaties have it easy at Toni's.

Yet the pen was tight, and Licky often slept on the feeder.

With our visitors having departed, I got a bit of space to devote my time to my goaties and animals in general. I had mentioned re-construction of the goat pen and so I would like to focus for a moment to this paramount topic. If you are not interested, feel free to skip this whole episode.

Two and half years earlier, Toni, the owner of Los Gatos Farms, had built an emergency goat pen in five days, in order to accommodate my goats with their babies, and thus rescued me from the clutches of crazy Jenny, with whom I hitherto shared a pen at Bear Creek. For those two and half years, I did not have a chance to regret the sudden move. My goats fare well at Toni's place, the stable hands too good care of them, and I can go on vacations or skiing without worrying whether my goats would survive my absence (i.e. whether they get to eat and won't get eaten by a cougar at night).

I'm not sure whether you've noticed from my journals, but other, local goats also live at the same stables. A horned goat Hazel, Saanen goat Sheila, and Brownie the orphan, who's a Nigerian dwarf wether, and is the most rascally of them all. He behaves like a STUPID goat, crawls everywhere he can, and tries to eat everything — besides eating my check, he chewed on a paper box with metal clips (which then meant having to fish these clips carefully one by one from the dirt to prevent other goats, horses, and chickens from eating them by mistake), he pulls plastic bags from trash bins, eats garbage and so on. I'm worried that one day he manages to steal and devour something which will cause his death. Other goats are sufficiently picky to frown upon plastic and trash and other inedible morsels.

New pen, with a movable partition, direct water line and other amenities.

Twilight sleeping off her shift at a children's party (notice how much more comfortable she is in a new pen).

Brownie came to the stables just after his original herd got killed by a cougar — and that's why I refer to him as an orphan. Toni keeps rescuing various old, abandoned, sick animals, and provides them shelter. Horses, goats, dogs, cats, chickens — they all eventually gather at Toni's, where they all live up to incredible old age. And it was the chickens that led to a problem the previous year. And ancient flock with a ten-year old rooster Red, Toni received some new barely grown chicks — five hens and a beautiful young rooster. It all worked out well for a while, but you know the say about two roosters on the same heap. When the your rooster Leonard came of age, he decided to outright murder Red, his rival. And so Red with his two elderly female companions moved into a sub-lease with my goats. Subsequently another hen joined them, Vanilla, who did not level well with other hens.

It worked OK throughout summer, despite some shenanigans with chicken feed. Goats should not get to it, so they had to be closed up in the morning, until the chickens collected all their breakfast, which required some logistic thinking from the stable hands. With autumn advancing, it was obvious that the chicken situation required a solution — the goat pen was tiny and though the goaties co-existed with the chickens peacefully, nevertheless the birds aren't very clean animals, and their droppings in the goat feeder (in which it is so convenient to root and roost) were not appreciated by anyone — unlike eggs. So I brought up with Toni that it would be a good idea to come up with ta chicken coop. I don't mind if the chickens can run out to the goats — on the contrary, ever since they've started sharing the pen, I stopped having trouble with insects and flies. But the chickens would also need room to roost, lay eggs — and a place where they can always find their feed that would at the same time be out of reach for goats.

Meanwhile Toni acquired seven more chickens and decided to approach the situation radically, by re-construction of the whole goat-chicken complex. The rework was to be performed by Gary, of which I was glad, for Gary is a handyman with a very practical attitude. It's a relief to interact with a person, to whom I don't need to repeat that the goat pen should be six feet inside, for that is the width of the stable mat, and it would be nice to just fit them there without cutting and customizing. Hence our new pen has standard size for mats, a movable partition (i.e. not structurally bearing, and can be either slid or removed depending on the size and composition of the goat family), its ceiling is high enough that even a six five stable hand Frank can walk inside without gaining a concussion (original pens had beams so low that even I kept banging my head — not to mention that cleaning it out in a bend is uncomfortable). Furthermore the pens have solid walls up to three feet (to give goaties a wind shelter) and a full solid wall on the upwind side — the reset is sturdy mesh (keeping mountain lions out, but allowing children to look in, as well as sunshine to keep goats and chickens warm). Then there are little things like water spout right next to the pens, meaning that we no longer need to haul buckets across the whole run; and my goats have their feeders mounted lower than the bigger goats so they all can reach it well; gates can be locked from inside or outside (meaning that while you're having a children's party, you can lock yourself inside with kids and animals without worrying that one of the goats runs away and tastes celebrant's cake). Plus my goats retained their original pen with just the front wall taken out, providing a dry, windless terrace to lie in. In short, I'm delighted.

Two large dog transport crates fit in a minivan.

At Colleen's, goats had a heated barn and a movable run at their disposal.

Goaties were confused by all these new things during a couple of early days, but after a week I had noticed a great change. When I come to the stables, goats don't stand at the run gate and don't scream at me indignantly that they want out. Instead, they lie about the pen and walk out to the pasture with the expression of doing me a considerable favor. So I think that they like their new, large, light, airy, and safe pen very much.

The situation with chickens evolved into three hens and Rod stay in a sub-lease with large goats, where they have a small coop, and the rest of the hens with Leonard live in a large coop, with a small door to my goats and their run. Here I would like to diverge to mention another ingenious invention. My smaller goat Licorice is able to squeeze through a regular chicken door — we tried to make them lower, but even then Licky would easily crawl through. Solution consists of a NARROW door, which stops a goat at her shoulders.
Originally, only two hens were supposed to accompany Red — ancient and cute Cookie (Chinese silken hen with fine, long, fluffy feathers) and and lonely spotted Freckles (with whom other hens don't make friends). But then Falcon, a hen named by kids for her sharp beak and feisty attitude, began to peck and chase Licorice away from goat grains (chickens parasite on goat feed, which I don't mind, but if they attack my goats for it, I regard it a breach of neighborly peace), and so she, too, was exiled. She won't dare attacking the big goats, and honestly — she may benefit from staying with older, calmer hens. She's been feisty mostly because she got chased and attacked by other hens — she settled in a new quieter setup so much that she stopped harassing children and goats alike — and other chickens as well.

Local boss, Peaches.

Goaties continued to be shy in their new place.

Goaties got a month to get used to their new home — and then they faced a big journey. When I took Pepe to Leavitt in September, I had time to chat with Colleen — and noticed that Colleen not only moved from Southern California to Coleville, but she now owned a ranch with horses, a donkey — and goats — including a registered Nigerian Dwarf buck. Thus I incepted an idea to send my goats to a honeymoon to Sierra. Baby goats would be also possible to register (and thus have a greater chance for a decent home) — on top of that, Colleen is a veterinary technician (a vet nurse), has experience with animals, and besides, I like the attitude they have to animals at Leavitt Meadows — I can simply be sure that my goat would have a groovy time in such place.

Goats are pregnant for five months, and I eventually figured that if I bring them to Colleen with the start of November, possible baby goats would get born by the start of April — just right for weather to get warmer and somewhat wet, but no summer heat yeat — and the kids would be two months old, thus relatively big and solid, before summer camps begin at the stables, and "survive" raids of children. Goats experience heat every tree weeks, and plans included two goat cycles — i.e. six weeks of stay — to have double chance to get bred — and be back home for Christmas.

Then I had to plan the trip so that we would avoid peak traffic (thus automatically eliminating Fridays, Saturdays outbound, and Sundays for the return trip), while my company would not miss much at work or school. Then include complications with Lisa's vaulting competition on the last weekend of October — and to make it about six weeks before Christmas — and we're really back to the first or second weekend of November. Originally, Lisa wanted to ride along, but I wanted Sid (to have a second driver / adult in case of trouble), but then Lisa fell ill just before departure. We actually think that she mostly wanted to stay home overnight without parents — not a chance to leave such perk just to Tom, without her! Simply put, Sid and I went.

First to the stables to load the goaties. I had transport crates ready there — one of mine, plus one borrowed from Katja, I had event tested them before that they'd fit in the bus. When I pulled the crates out, my goaties were curious, Twilight even tried one — she had clearly remembered what they were for — and did not even look stressed out. So I packed food bowls, some hay and some goat pellets, to let the girls "their" food in their new place for a few days, cleaned out the stable — and then we pushed the goats in their crates, then crates in the car, and drove out.

Local goaties are beautiful, obviously healthy and well taken care of.

Noodles, Alice and Annie.

Along the winding highway 17, goaties protested a bit and bleated, but as soon as we rolled onto a flat freeway, Twilight lied down in spots and did not make a fuss. Licorice has always been more relaxed, and she took the trip stoically. I tried, during our bathroom and gas pumping break, to offer my goaties some treats and water. They frowned upon water, but took the grains. But then came the twists over mountains, and they did not like it. Poor beasts, they stood propped in the corners of their respective crates, trying to stop being tossed around — they did not figure that lying down would be much simpler.

When we arrived at last, Colleen was waiting for us. Goaties looked slightly shaken, but recovered quickly. I think that seeing OTHER goats did the trick — they realized that this WAS a goat place and there was nothing spooky about it. Yet local goats, although smaller, were relatively unfriendly to intruders. It was interesting that the local alpha female did not get involved — with a dignified aloofness walked through the skirmishes, studiously ignoring our migrants.

We drove over to the motel to pick up our room keys, stopped by Jeff for coffee and beer, and arranged dinner with Craig for six o'clock. Before that I had to make another short check on my goaties — Colleen had separated them for the night from the rest of the herd, to give them time and quiet to eat and drink and rest. But while Licky munched hay and granules, Twilight gazed romantically through the partition on the buck Jasper, who returned her attention.

While we were talking with Colleen, I tried to pry out some information regarding Ned. I told Craig in September that I had bad news, for I could not take Ned for the winter, as they had closed neighboring stables and ours were overfilled, and that I also started working again, and did not have as much time as I used to. His answer was that he had bad news for me, for I could not take Ned for the winter, as he was not in a good health. Ned would barely walk and looked very unhappy. For a dominant horse, who is used to work hard, was even mentally difficult to be closed off in a separate pen (so that other horses would not massacre him).

Licky waiting at the gate, hoping I'd take her home.

I hope that the euphemistic endless green pastures, where now Ned roams, are at least as beautiful as those, where he used to walk for most of his life. Photo Monique.

American like to use euphemisms of the sort that the horse has been retired, instead of saying outright that he had to be put down. Nevertheless I eventually learned from Colleen, what I was afraid of. No more Ned. I kind of expected it; since January he wasn't in a shape, with me he was first lame on his left front, with summer worsening to a level where he could not put any weight on it. Besides that, during last two years he lost much of his strength and energy. This year he would not play with me in the arena, did not provoke chases and did not come up with horse-play. He still enjoyed going on trail rides, WANTED to do his job, but kept losing strength for it. He was well pass horse retirement age, and the fact that in the spring he could still do short rides and had spent summer on a ranch in the mountains, was actually great. I'm glad that it was not me who made the decision about putting him down, and if I got asked, I'd regard is as reasonable, but I feel sorry. Well, actually, I feel sorry for Graig and myself, I don't feel sorry for Ned, for I think he had a good life almost to the very end, and there wasn't much possible to do for him; he would just keep on suffering pain and discomfort.

My spirits got better by having a dinner with Craig at Jeff's place. Locals found it incredibly hilarious that we had brought the goats in a MINIVAN, instead of having a decent truck with a trailer. Yet a minivan is what we had available — and it was more comfortable and safer for my goaties that way, so what.

In the morning I discovered a gaping hole in my planning — I had brought my electric kettle for my necessary morning coffee, but I had not packed along its cord. So I was bound to go and check out a newly open coffee shop, where they not only served coffee, but made me scrambled eggs for breakfast. Mildly exhumed I proceeded to check on my goaties again — Twilight ignored me and made lovey-dovey with Jasper, but poor Licky begged at the gate to take her back home. So I had to quickly drive away before I got all sentimental — it was worse than leaving a toddler in pre-school...

Back at the hotel I pick up Sid, who turned to working in the meantime — and we sped across the pass back home. We made it in good time, Sid could go to his office in the afternoon, saving a day of vacation. My break had just began. However hard it was leaving Colleen's place, having free mornings after four and half years of hurrying off to the animals, was very refreshing. Just like when your kids go to a summer camp...