Well, dear reader, it is officially breeding season on the farm. To date, two girls have had their conjugal visit with our stud muffin billy goat, Ace. Ace is now the only buck on the farm, thank goodness. Oliver, our Boer buck, went to live with our friends Pat and Sherry. Ollie has the job of producing beautiful babies with Pat and Sherry's small herd of Boer goats. He will do a fine job. Like his father, Abu, Ollie is very handsome and produces beautiful spotted kids. That makes Ace king of the mountain on our farm, and he relishes his position.
My bib overall-wearing buddy is in charge of the breeding schedule. My organized, anal-retentive, numbers-loving husband has created a spreadsheet to track who was bred and when. If everything goes as planned, we should have baby goats in late April. The Bibbed Wonder is trying to schedule a delivery every two weeks to spread out the busyness of the baby season and prohibit a free-for-all during delivery. There was a year when four girls were in labor at once. It was insanity, and there were babies everywhere!
Breeding season is a compilation of stench, never-ending funny noises, and a lot of moodiness and drama. Eric jokes that it is how he imagined our nearly two years of infertility treatments going, but the only accurate thing was the moodiness and drama. Sigh. He's a lot. Usually, the billy goat paces the fence line non-stop when the girls are ready for lovin'. This year, it is the opposite. My girls are the aggressors, and little Ace, who isn't so little, hangs out across the driveway with his friend Lestor, eating grass and playfully knocking heads. Ace only shows genuine interest in the ladies when he sees Eric coming with his collar and lead rope. Those two objects symbolize happiness for Ace. He stands quivering with anticipation while Eric fastens his collar.
He then struts, prances, and makes the funniest noises while he crosses the driveway to the barn. Eric tries to keep Ace away from him as he leads him, but Ace is a master at rubbing up against you, making you stink and smell like a billy. It's gross. The Bibbed Wonder has to strip on the porch because I don't want my house to smell like a billy goat. The Bibbed Wonder is indignant, but he complies.
Last night, Eric asked if I could help him with Jessica, aka Horns. Fly season is over, and we have decided to band her horns and remove them. The procedure is similar to banding a young billy. The vet assures us it is an adult goat's safest and best option. Horns is delightful with us but an absolute tyrant with the rest of the herd. We hope the horn removal goes smoothly and levels the playing field for the rest of the herd. After Horn's horns were banded, which was an easy process, it was time to bring Ace over to meet with our girl, Dot.
Dot spent the day pacing the fence line, calling to Ace, and trying to get his attention. She stood on her hind legs at the gate and bellered her desires across the driveway. Ace acknowledged her occasionally, but mostly, he ignored her. As he made his way across the driveway to the barn, Dot turned on the charm and stood on her hind legs, baaing loudly at the gate. When he disappeared inside the barn, Dot looked confused and disheartened. It is good that Dot is pretty because she is not leading the rest of the herd with her intelligence. It appeared as though a lightbulb went on over Dot's head, and she realized the focus of her desires was inside the barn. She took off running like a goat on fire.
What happened next is far too obscene to put into words—witnessing how babies are made taints my perception of my darling herd of gentle ladies. It's all tongue, weiner, sniffing, peeing, and the funniest noises I have ever heard. It's also aggressive and foul. My bib overall-wearing comedian husband stands and adds inappropriate commentary, much like I imagine a bad porn director would do. When Eric does this, I can't help but imagine him in a loud Hawaiian shirt with greasy hair and a mustache. Incidentally, this is how I imagine a porn director to look. A bib overall wearing Larry Flynt, if you will. Gross.
It doesn't take long for the deed to be over, but I always feel traumatized and like I need a shower when it's over. Dot seemed very interested in continuing the romance, so Eric had me lead Dot across the driveway to the boy's pasture. I didn't have to lead her; she more accurately dragged me along while following Ace. When it was all said and done, I smelled like a billy goat. Consider yourself lucky if you have never smelled a billy goat in rut. It is a scent that sticks in your nostrils for eternity.
When Eric fed and milked the goats this morning, Dot waited impatiently at the gate, ready to return to her barn, girlfriends, and feed trough. Eric has the unpleasant job of milking her after a night of romance with Ace. Insert a gagging noise. He claims she did the walk of shame and sheepishly faced her judgmental friends. Her stank made it evident to all what had occurred across the driveway. This made her popular with girls of low moral character. She wore her shame like a badge of honor. My girls are not always sweet.
On this chilly November day, stay safe, be smart, and be glad you are not a goat farmer during the breeding season; it is indeed dark and dirty around here. For the love of all that's holy, wash your hands. Billy goat musk is a scent you can't wash off.
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