Life, liberty, and….keeping goats?

Opinion

March 7, 2013

Life, liberty, and….keeping goats?

Clay Mercer Cordele Dispatch The Cordele Dispatch Thu Mar 07, 2013, 04:52 PM EST

Pinehurst — Through a series of remarkable circumstances, Connie and I have a pet goat named Hazel. Let me summarize.

Daddy was in the hospital and I was looking after the goats. He had a large herd, some 165 head. I was in charge of the goats because, in 1978, my brother had just enough sense to go to law school and never come home, leaving me with little chores like this.

A hard rain sent the goat herd into the shelter, leaving Hazel, who was only a few hours old, alone at the far end of the pasture. The rain washed her scent off and when Connie and I tried to reunite her with the herd, they ostracized her. Goats are extremely ego-centric and have no maternal instinct.

A quick call to Daddy explained the situation to him and requested guidance.

Daddy’s pragmatic approach was pretty much what I expected.

“Son,” he said, “That goat won’t be worth $25 when she’s grown and it will take $40 worth of milk replacer to raise her, plus all the effort. Put her back in the pasture and let her take her chances. If she dies, she dies.”

During all this, Connie was watching me anxiously, cradling Hazel in her arms. After I got off the phone, Connie asked, “What did he say?”

Okay, men, what would you have said at this moment? I took the coward’s way out. I looked Connie straight in the face and said, “Daddy said you could keep her!”

The only condition I placed on the deal was that I could name the goat, to which Connie quickly agreed. I named her Hazel, after one of my daddy’s older sisters.

If I had only known. She quickly outgrew the box in the kitchen and matriculated to the back yard, against, I might add, the violent protestations of her foster mother.

Getting her re-introduced to the pasture was equally difficult, because by this time, Hazel, having never seen herself in a mirror, had begun to think of herself as human. She ignored the four-legged creatures she was forced to associate with.

In 2004, we rented the house in Cordele, and Hazel migrated to Dooly County, where she quickly established herself. She ignored the electric fence and moved freely about the place, with a regal dignity that led her to enjoy the tastiest ornamentals, after which she would compose herself on the side porch to serenely ponder life’s imponderables.

Which is how we wound up with a goat in the house. One day, I bounced up the steps with the mail, stepped over the goat, and opened the storm door. Since the weather was mild, I left the interior door open and stepped into the kitchen to sort the mail.

Hazel zipped past me and made straight for the bathroom, where Connie was getting ready to take a bath. According to Connie, Hazel ran in the bathroom, tried to hide behind the tub and did everything but say, “Shut the door, Connie, that jackass is right behind me!”

Eventually, for the sake of the shrubbery, we had to build Hazel her own pen, complete with a small stable attached to the barn and private access to the water trough. She seems content, but I know she’s dreaming of the day when I’ll be gone and Connie will let her come back inside the house to live.

Sadly, this article serves as Hazel’s obituary. She passed away this past week. She died quietly in her sleep. In lieu of flowers, mourners are asked to make a donation to their local animal shelter.

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