African Snow Goats & One Bored Sheltie

So I have this understanding or  conceit, guess, whatever, that my pets are in an eternal now, that they have no understanding of past and future.

They must be bummed, if not seriously devastated by all this snow!

Think of my poor goats, Niabi and Wicca, believing that our world is now permanently frozen and devoid of yummy plantlife, with oceans of  snow, above their heads, preventing them from reaching trees they could debark.

Think of my dog, Tuatha, who would love to fetch a stick. But if I throw it into the distance, I just have to rescue him in a minute and a half, when he realizes he’s not going to reach the stick, or return home on his own.

Instead, he and the goats are marooned, like the rest of us, in the trench system that connects human buildings but doesn’t go to any interesting pet places.

As the second blizzard hit its stride last week, I went to dig out my goats from their cob shelter, which is now essencially and igloo. As I shoveled from my hut to theirs, I called to them, “Mamma’s coming,” They answered back, which I took to mean, “That’s a good thing, Mom. Anytime now…” I had to dig a wide opening for the gate to swing. Then I saw that the large walking area I’d dug out for them the day before was now two feet deep in snow again. the narrow entrance to their structure, which is only three feet high itself, was nearly closed over in snow. I reshoveled a walking area for them on my way to their door.

Once I had cut a passage through the snow, they considered their options. It was snowing heavily. And, I suspect it’s true of all goats, but pygmy goats, a dwarf breed originating in Africa, especially do not like to be wet. First the leader, Niabi, stuck his head out to assess the situation. Then they both did. Then they went back inside and discussed it. Soon Wicca poked out, just far enough to say, “You’re kidding me, right?”

I assured Wicca I was serious.

He answered, “Hon, we’re from Cameroon. We’re not built for this. Close this door and when you open it again, I don’t want to see reindeer!” I pointed out his Baltimore accent, and he pulled inside indignantly.

After he and Niabi conferred within for another spell, Niabi took charge and led the way out of the goat house, through the walking area and out the gate. I assumed their only option was to follow the trench to my cabin, where they could pass the time under the house, which they always choose over their pen.

Always, until that day.

About halfway between the gate and my cabin, Niabi promptly turned around, passed the pliant Wicca, and led him right back to the pen, through the gate, past the newly dug walking area and straight into their tiny, windowless cob cave.

I left the gate open wide and later they did reemerge and make their way to my cabin. But at three to five feet deep, the snow is too high for them to make their own paths.

Normally Niabi and Wicca free range forage in the woods surrounding my cabin. They have a routine of places they go, from dawn to dusk, on paths they’ve long established, in a perameter of several acres. Most of the year, they’re not even curious about Heathcoters’ gardens or plantings because the undergrowth gives them their natural food source.

They prefer to sleep under my cabin, not because I feed them (I don’t most of the year) but because they seem to consider me, the dogs, kids and other Heathcoters to be their herd. The goats go on hikes with us and are often included in Open Classroom explorations of our land. The picture on the right, above, shows two students actually closed in the goat pen, enjoying a snack unpestered, while Niabi is loose, hoping for a renegotiation.

So while the snow dominates our layout, I’m trying to give Niabi and Wicca as many options as possible. They continue to base themselves under my house. But I keep my porch gate open, allowing them to basically make a huge mess while they access the timothy hay and bed down on bags of sawdust pellets.

Now the timothy is spread all over the floor and mixed with, shall we say, the goats’ favorite little decorator motif. (It’s okay, as infestations go, they’re cuter than the rodent that’s systematically pulling out all the insulation in my loft through five different holes…) I’ll figure some appropriate payback. The year is long, my furry little Cameroonians…

–WT

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