This week eleven goats waited patiently in two horse stalls to be hauled to the livestock auction while another family of three cruised the pasture.  We spent last week trying to catch them all and get them contained in one place eventually building a chute to guide them into the barn.

Three to go.

No wait.  What’s that?  Remember that big, mean brown goat that I managed to capture by the horns and guide into a stall?  The one that I eventually let out because he was crying?  I saw it walking down the fence row.  Wait.  And there’s another. And another.  I stepped up to the window and saw one of the barn doors on the ground.  Seven goats had escaped!

It was Thursday night.  The auction was Friday night.  We had work to do.  I can not put down the details of the three hours, but I am sure that any divorce court judge would side with me if I filed for divorce over the goat herding debacle.  However, after the long, humid evening, we had twelve goats locked in one horse stall.  The two that still eluded us were the twins, Susan and Elizabeth.  Their mother was with the other eleven, so we hoped they would come up to the barn on their own.  It didn’t happen.

Finally, auction night had arrived.  Twelve goats were successfully loaded into a borrowed horse trailer and transported to a local livestock auction.  We arrived around 5:30PM, but our first goat didn’t walk through until almost 9:00PM.  We had a long stressful evening wondering if there were even any goat buyers in the audience.

There were.  We left with a check.

Two to go.

[julie]

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