On Sunday afternoon, after feeding and bedding down the critters, I drove back to the pretty family farm in Mt. Juliet from which we bought FiFi Mae to pick up a little fainter buckling. Why another buck? Isn’t one BullyBob in rut enough for the farm? Yes, but the two fainter bucks we have—Whiskey and Raymond—are both Gwen’s offspring. To whom can we breed Gwen when the time comes? Sure, the little buckling I picked up won’t be ready to be a sire this fall, will he? Ah, according to The Goat Handbook , written by U. Jaudas and S. Mobini, DVM, and published by Barron’s, goats reach sexual maturity within about five months, so that a spring kid will be ready to breed in the fall. Hmm, that’s good news. But wait! This little guy appears to be polled, a.k.a., his head is as hard as a brick (figuratively speaking) but he has no horns. The book states that hornlessness is related to fertility, with hornless goats often having problems with infertility. Oops! Well, time will tell. Anyway, I cannot imagine that this little guy will be ready to breed a full grown doe like Gwen as early as this fall. In which case, we’re still without a fainter buck for Gwen.
Back to Sunday, I again enjoyed the gorgeous drive over to the farm in Mt. Juliet. The winding roadway and rolling landscape make keeping my eyes on the road a challenge. I saw FiFi Mae’s family, her mom and her older sister, and then our newest addition appeared. They called him Bull but I was told he didn’t know his name, unlike FiFi Mae, so it would be easy to change it. That’s good, I replied, for we already have a BullyBob in the buck pen. Bull was much quieter than FiFi Mae and hardly resisted at all when he was loaded into the box in the truck’s bed. His face is the same lovely dark chocolate brown that FiFi Mae has, but his body is a lighter brown with white splotches, rather like Cocoa. He’s quite the handsome little guy.
Driving home I considered names and came up with Joshua. The Joshua in my life is a handsome young man who is sociable and good with the ladies, just as we want this little buckling to be, plus the human Joshua is dear to our hearts. The other names I considered didn’t seem as suitable, so Joshua was named. And, the name fit!
At home I slid the truck through the mud until the tailgate was close to the pen entrance. (FiFi Mae had proved to be a handful when I unloaded her some yards distant and I wasn’t about to repeat that struggle.) Young Joshua, though, was calm and steady. He cautiously sniffed at the back of my hand then seemed to decide that I was trustworthy (very unlike the fractious FiFi Mae). He allowed me to lift him from the crate and place him in the truck bed, where he stood quietly while I climbed out then opened the tailgate. Once in the pen he immediately sought out the other males and made friends. Poor FiFi Mae had had to endure a couple of days of being hazed by the herd, but not this guy. He just sailed in and claimed his position in the herd.
Perhaps I’m projecting, but I do believe Joshua and Whiskey have a connection. After being at the bottom of the pecking order for so long, Whiskey finally has a subordinate, and he welcomed Joshua into the fold without a threat.
A bit later when the geese pushed out from their portion of the round pen and began some serious nipping of ears (that’s JoJo), the battery in my camera quit, so again it’s my word against JoJo’s, but I tell you he’s quite the bully
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