Load of Hay

“You’re not a farmer’s arse.”

He’s right, you know. I probably wouldn’t ever measure up to the mark required to be a farmer. I’m far too soft and too lily-livered. Outwardly, I’m Mr Tough-Guy, a tobacco-chewing, juice-spitting, hog-kicking gum-booter, but inside… I’m only an animal softie.

This morning I went down to Goat-Hill with a bunch of hay for Jacko’s breakfast. There I go again… Can you imagine Farmer Brown admitting that he’s taken din-dins to Dobbin and Black Beauty and Billy? I think not. Animal feed is animal feed – a farming raw material, nothing more.

The morning was dry and warmer than other mornings, pleasant enough to take a stroll down the winding path of Goat-Hill – a mental reminder to myself that I should start trimming the weeds and wild fern undergrowth along the pathway as soon as we have a dry spell.  As  I approached the goat fence, I felt an eerie silence. In the distance the carpenters were busily hammering away at fixing the roof trusses, but here I could only hear a dog barking faintly in the distance.

At the lower gate I could see all the way to the bottom of the steep incline. Nothing, no-one. No Jacko.

At the tree-covered foresty-bit along the lower fence, also nothing. No Jacko.

Where was Jacko?

“Here, Boy, here Big Guy!”  I look round sheepishly, in case someone has heard me. Sometimes I whistle to attract his attention, sometimes I simply bang on his tin roof with a stick.

“Maa-aa-aa-aa!  Maa-aa-aa-aa!”

I’m not sure what a goat yawn looks like, but I suspect it may have been a goat yawn that greeted me, as a furry pink snout shoved its way through the curtained door of the goat-house.

Jacko had been taking an extra-long morning lie-in in the straw this morning!

(Above): Jacko digging into the yummy hay breakfast, packed full of free-range organic stuff, befitting a healthy Billy Boy.

Despite his goofy stare, he is really a strange but loveable creature.

G-Sweep

Yesterday was spring-clean day at the home of the G-Men.

This involves a periodic cleaning out the goat-house, airing the premises in the warm air and then re-furnishing the bed and carpet to the tenants’ satisfaction. You will understand that this is probably over-personifying the animals slightly -- they do not really have carpet and a bed.

Clayton donned the regulation Health and Safety apparel, being gardening gloves and a painter’s dust mask. Special tools include the old kitchen broom, the dustpan and the 30 litre garden barrow. Then a deep breath and down on all fours (like a goat!).

Interested parties may want to know that this deep breath technique trick does not really work, but it is probably consolatory to the G-sweeper for the first 30 seconds or so. After that, he is faced with the full wrath of the ammonia urine stench. I am reliably informed that goat urine is excellent for opening the sinuses, but I’m sure that the average person will rather prefer a blocked nose!

The boarded floor of the G-house has 5mm slits which allows the bulk of the urine to leak through, but the straw quite obviously absorbs and retains quite a bit. This gives the place a pleasant “goat-y” smell. Pleasant, that is, if you are a goat.

I used two very valid excuses to send Clayton into battle in the straw, rather than doing it myself. (a) the fine dust particles are not good for my post-surgery recovering sinuses, and  (b) well…, actually there was only one good reason.

Ten minutes later, Clayton had fully loaded the wagon with smelly spent straw and the floor scraped clean and dry of traces of G-presence. I was watching from a safe breathing distance. Justin “Beebs” wasted no time and immediately clambered inside and stomped around on the wooden floor checking and smelling. It’s amazing how inquisitive he is – he needs to know what you’re doing and needs to smell absolutely everything!

The compound was left to air, while the straw was taken to the composting area and covered, in line with our cunning plan for this waste product. I am hopeful and positive that the vegetarian goat-poo should do wonders in the veggie garden.

Then back to the feed-store to collect sufficient straw for re-furnishing the G-house. I took the liberty of taking a small bag of hay as a treat for the boys as well. Nothing like an inauguration meal once in a while.

Back at Goat-hill, Clayton kitted up once more and spread the straw all over the floor of the G-house. It was good and clean and fresh. And soft, like new straw. I fully expected him to lie prone on the soft new mattress to “test it out”, but Jacko Jackson butted his way in, in his official capacity of Quality Control Inspector.

(Above): Michael “Jacko” Jackson

Jacko checked out the floor in a zig-zag pattern, finally showing his approval by actually eating some of their mattress/carpet, indicating that, if its good enough to eat, then it must be good enough to sleep and pee on as well! That’s goat psychology for you.

There was no need to panic about him eating himself out of house and home, as he was easily distracted from this bedtime snacking by the offer of handfuls of yummy hay.

Clayton, too, was a happier G-servant, ready for the next spring-clean in a fortnight. Off to the shower and deodorant!