Smokey Mountain Breakdown

Well, it's not like I didn't see it coming.

A few days I was on the porch chatting on the phone and looked up to see Chops, one of my Shetland sheep wethers, chasing Bridey-goat.

"Wow," I said, "that's not something you see every day." The sheep are normally enveloped with an almost Gallic air of ennui regarding the goats. Unless there is food in the offing...then the sheep are pretty entitled. Entitled to anything the goats are offered, evidently.

I'm very fond of my buck, Leonard. He's just such the big snuggle-puss for 9 months out of the year. He likes to come up and get his head scratched and rubs against my legs like a big kitty. He has such a good temperament and I've never felt a bit threatened by him. But I knew our quiet 9 months was coming to an end soon a few weeks ago when he sidled up to me while I was watering. I felt the warm wetness on my foot. He gazed up at me nonchalantly as I realized he'd just peed on my foot. And his "boy parts" were much bigger.

And then there is the smell. Most of the year Leonard smells pretty much as unoffensive as the does do. Granted, if you are more accustomed to the whiff of petrochemicals and city life...any goat has that certain eau de chevre. Sort of like the cheese but not nearly as delicious smelling. It's goat smell. But when a buck rutts...boy howdy...what a pong!

So I go out to feed this morning and both Leonard and Mutton are standing at Phoebe's rear end with their lips curled in the air. My two wethered sheep are clearly bent. Phoebe is all aglow with the joy of her emerging doe-hood and is not discouraging them at all.

A quick butt check of the kid herd reveals that they are all experiencing the first flush of girly goathood. Their little hoo-haa's are all puffy and Vi-Vi just can't seem to keep her tail down.

So...Leonard is busy and stinky.

I'm fairly certain it is too late. Leonard works fast. But the girls are awfully big now. Bigger than the sheep that keep following them with perverted sheep lust in their eyes.

So...I must lay myself prostrate at the feet of the wise and all-knowing Goat Yoda. My Sensei of Goatdom. Should I go get the bottle of goat-morning-after injectable? I wasn't sure before...but there can be little doubt my little darlings are bred. I still seem unable to snatch that damn pebble out of her hand.

And do I really want to go through this again in January???

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