Site of the Missing Goats…and the Two That Went Missing…
I’ve seen everything now. Yes, yes, I have…
Two mornings ago I got up, looked out the back door, and spotted four goats lying in the pasture chewing their cuds–Jazzy and her three: Tillie, Romeo and Juliet. They’re the four smallest goats I own. 100% pure pygmies all (…as far as I can tell. I saw Jazzy’s mate. He’s a pgymy, too.).
I counted again. Four goats, not six.
“Uh-oh”, I thought. “Where are Maggie and Mr. Tumnus?”
It wasn’t like them to be separated from the rest of the herd…
So I started out back to the fence, asking aloud in goat speak (my ‘talking to goats’ voice), “Where’s my Maggie and my Mr. Tumnus? Where are they?”
Jazzy and her brood stood up. I asked them, “Where are Maggie and Tumnus?” (You will be happy to know that I received no answer from them. Nor did I expect to. You’re probably happy to know that, too.)
From my left, I heard faint, plaintive goat cries. Muffled. Distant. Not a good sign. They were talking but not coming…
My first thought was, “Oh my God! I hope a coyote or big dog wasn’t able to get in the pasture and nail my goats! “Oh, Jeez… this could be bad. This could be really bad…”
That’s how faint and plaintive the absent goats sounded.
I was almost afraid to check behind the vinyl shelter. That’s where the sounds seemed to be coming from. I headed tentatively in that direction…
The faint goat cries were suddenly right beside me!
I was standing next to the hen house.
I thought, “No way!”
It seemed impossible that my two largest goats were capable of getting themselves in that teensy weensy hen house door. And if they had been able to, they certainly would have been able to get out, too…
Then I spotted the problem.
The hen house door has a sliding panel that I use to close the hens in at night so small predators–raccoons, weasels, etc.– can’t get in to snatch them while they’re roosting.
And the sliding panel had been positioned above the door to allow the hens easy access during the day.
Now it was shut up tight as an Aldebaran Shellmouth! (Thanks again, Dr. McCoy and Star Trek.)
I queried, “Seriously?!”
Sure enough, as soon as I lifted the sliding panel, out came the goats: Maggie first. (It was a seriously tight fit, but she made it.) Next came Mr. Tumnus.
Neither looked any the worse for wear. But I wondered how long they’d been trapped in there. There was barely enough room for them to turn around or lie down inside the hen house– you can see in the photos how small it is: four feet square, tops! Higher on top than wide, but still!
I suspect they won’t be going in there again…
