# City Sllicker guide to goats (or learning the hard way)



## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

There are two ways to take a goat's temperature. One from the front and one from the back. You will be less squeamish about the one from the back when you wake up from putting your forehead against his.


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

Goats like to think that they are in charge, and don't like it when they are given the impression that they are not.

A goat loaded in the back door of a minivan wants to be in the driver seat, but given the indignity of being loaded in the rear, will jump in the driver's seat and poo and pee on it before you can close the rear door.


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

It is a great idea to let the goats trim the Autumn foliage before the snow sets in.

It is not a great idea to let them do it before your wife decides its a great idea.


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

After you have adjusted the load on the saddle for the fifteenth time on the trail while the goats are all jockeying for position, you won't think that investing in a scale and taking care of the chore before loading the goats, sounds as silly.


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

Just because the goats haven't destroyed a six foot long section of your slat fence in a year doesn't mean that they won't instantly take an interest in doing so today.


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## idahonancy (Dec 13, 2008)

My number one on the do not do list is hand feeding peanunts to a goat in the dark. They have sharp teeth. 
Tonight I learned another lesson to not do in the dark. When I was 1st learning goat behavior 2 summers ago I wrote to the yahoo group for advise. My buckling was an "in your face" kinda of boy. Folks assured me this was not a dominate but curious and mostly harmless behavior. How ever if you are chewing licorice in the dark with a goat in your face you cannot see his tongue comming. Yuck, a french kiss. I laugh so hard I fell over the goat. I hope they were right about goat spit being relatively harmless. 
IdahoNancy


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## Rex (Nov 30, 2008)

*Re: City Slicker guide to goats (or learning the hard way)*

Trimming your goats feet right before a trip almost guarantees that you'll slip up, cut a little too deep and give it a sore foot.


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## feederseaters (Nov 8, 2009)

If you think that your goats are so well behaved for you..........let your "substitute feeder" take a video camera into the barn when THEY go out to feed, and watch as the CHAOS ensues!!!!! 
I couldn't believe how pushy my boys are when my husband is in charge....SORRY HONEY! :roll:


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

A yak is not a goat, even if it is a relative of the mountain goat. Should one be offered for free, especially if it is advertised as house trained, stay clear.


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## ali pearson (Aug 12, 2009)

I need to hear more about the Yak- sounds like a good story.

Ali


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

It is a rather long story. You remember the old poem ... There was an old lady who swallowed a fly, I don't know why she swallowed the fly?

It all started when I got a ticket for having a chicken.

Before I moved in here, I checked with the city. Back during the depression they passed a law saying that the city fathers could pass no ordinance prohibiting the keeping of 2 sheep, 2 goats, a pig, five geese, ten chickens, ten rabbits, etc. 
Since I had two lots, I figured I could double those numbers. So I went to an old poultry guy in the middle of the city. He was an old geezer who lived for poultry and had one of those grandfathered properties where he could still raise them. They were everywhere including inside his house.

So I bought 20 chicks and he "sexed" them on the spot. And being the expert that he was, guaranteed that I had at least 75% hens. Several months later I had one chicken that was always missing half of its feathers and looked just horrible. As I sat out back watching the flock and wondering when I might start getting eggs I saw all the other chickens picking on this single chicken. It turned out that 19 of the 20 chickens were roosters.

I was rather disappointed with my first animal experience. Now there are chickens all over this small city, and even some roosters. But apparently I had more roosters than all the others put together. Not only does this cause a stir among the roosters, but their constant challenging of one another for the lone hen apparently caused a stir with one of my neighbors. Hence the ticket for a nuisance animal.

I like to think that I am a good neighbor, so I asked the officer who it was that complained, telling him that we would butcher the roosters and have him over for a barbecue just to show there were no hard feelings. Well, he refused to tell me, even after I reminded him that I had a constitutional right to face my accuser and informed him that I had served nine years of my life willing to die for that right. And he denied any knowledge about the law I had seen on the books before moving in.

So I called the city attorney. He also feigned ignorance about the law I had seen.
"I received a ticket for having a nuisance animal... yes really... you don't know what kind of animal I have? Aren't you the one who will prosecute me for having it and you don't even know what it is? It is a chicken. Now I was wondering what kind of nuisance it is. I have read the ordinance, and it defines certain nuisances. So I want to know if it is a vicious chicken, a poisonous chicken, a stinky chicken or an untimely chicken. Oh, it is an untimely chicken, that is good news. Why? Because the ordinance doesn't define untimeliness, so if the chicken is doing chicken things at chicken times, then it is not untimely. ... Oh, you say the judge will determine if it is untimely or not. That's even better. Why? Because then the law is defined after the fact, and that is called an ex-post-facto law and is unconstitutional. We'll get the whole ordinance thrown out."

All I heard was "Keep your chickens. <click>. I didn't have to pay the fine and I still have chickens to this day. Did you know that it is nearly impossible to give away a rooster. Apparently I am the only one in the city that is willing to take one.

But I really wanted eggs. So I planned to BBQ the roosters anyway. Grandma told stories of how she just picked them up and wrung their necks and then plucked them. I told her that that was way too much information and she explained that she pulled their feathers out.

Apparently, if you plan to wring a chicken's neck, you start when it is just a chick and you feed it out of your hand so that when the time comes, while it is eating from your hand you can just catch it. But a chicken that hasn't been fed out of your hand is not under the illusion that it will never get whacked, and is willing to expend more energy running from you than you are generally willing to expend to catch it.

My brother later raised a turkey for the purpose of him being the central attraction for Thanksgiving that year, and not only did he feed him by hand, but actually trained him to place his head on the chopping block. It took me ten years to figure out that after dark a chicken can't see, and you can just walk over and pick them up. I had never thought to bother them while they were sleeping.

Having expended much energy, but finally taking pride in the fact that I had outsmarted the chicken and caught it by cornering it... Oh, I forgot to mention, chickens have a genetic predisposition to split personality disorder. Apparently when they get cornered, the second personality is prone to surface and they think that they are bobcats or mountain lions or something. But they are so stupid that they don't know that bobcats and mountain lions don't have an extra claw half way up theirs legs, and so they don't know that they aren't supposed to use them as they shred you while pridefully outsmarting them.

It is amazing how having your own blood dripping down your arm helps dispel any qualms you have about actually wringing a chicken's neck. It is a gift from God to help you survive. Sort of like the gift that comes with habanero peppers. Some of them are so hot they will make you go temporarily deaf. That is the gift so that you don't have to hear yourself scream while eating them.

So I happily wrung it's neck, threw it on the ground and went after the next one. Before I took three steps. It stood up shook its head and took off running. After several failed attempts to kill a chicken by wringing it's neck... 
Well, let me just say that a chicken's head will not allow a bb to penetrate, even if that bb has enough energy to bounce off a chicken's head and penetrate a windshield.

A military officer's ceremonial sword obtained from one of the finest military academies in the world is made of a specially harden steel tempered between the thighs of... oh, no. That was the cigars. But the steel will take an edge with which you can shave and it will extend ones reach by three feet humanely preventing the chicken from suffering its genetic psychological aberrations.

A chicken so dispatched is ready for the plucking. The first rule for plucking a chicken is do not do it in front of an audience. Next to my property is an apartment complex with eight apartments overlooking my property. Each apartment has a bedroom, and a kitchen window whereby the occupants might observe the happenings on my property. Since the complex population is nearly one hundred men, women and children, and few have ever seen a chicken so swiftly dispatched by hand, bb and sword, they only had to be standing two or three deep at each window, while I deftly ( in this case deftly means that I got into my work, being mostly covered with feathers) plucked the nuisance chicken, and the guy who probably was the original accuser shouted "That's an awful lot of work for a teeny piece of skin."

Our barbecued chicken was just like those served at a five star French restaurant. It tasted just about the same as every other chicken, was a smaller portion, cost over $100 a pound (windshield included), and everyone I knew laughed at me for paying such a price.

This convinced me that future husbandry ventures had to start with less of an initial investment. Hence the search of classified ads for the word "FREE".

The campfire is smoldering and my eyes are heavy... yes there is a yak in here somewhere.


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## ali pearson (Aug 12, 2009)

I'm sorry I asked. 

(not really, I almost peed myself laughing) Unfortunately I don't see an emoticon for that :lol: :shock: :?


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## feederseaters (Nov 8, 2009)

I just have to share what happened yesterday. It all started because my husband was home sick. So naturally I had double the amount of chores to do in the morning getting everyone off to shcool etc. So I decided to recruit my husbands skills as subsititute feeder for lunch hay. This way I could get by with just doing a quick feed in the morning with the goats. Needless to say when I called around 2 from work, my hubby (god bless his youthful ignorance) had forgot about lunch hay. So the following account is told to me by my (very imbarrassed) husband later that night.
Appearently he had taken the dog out with him to feed. He came in, napped, woke up about an hour or so later and realized that we were missing a dog. So he is calling and whistling and walking around the yard looking for my dog. Let me just mention here that two of my goats are trained to come when called. Needless to say he was in a panic because he thougt I would kill him for losing my dog so he takes off in the truck to look for my dog (my dog never leaves the yard, but he thinks she did). So he is driving down the driveway to look for the missing dog and what does he see in his rearview?????? Yep, two goats chasing after the truck. They thought they were missing the hike. I usually call them, load them up and go hiking. So here are two goats running to catch up looking for a good time. Now he takes them back to the barn and what does he find...my dog. He forgot and locked her in the barn. They barn cats food is gone, the door is scratched, and the goats are dissapointed. 

I guess that is what I get for asking a guy raised in the Bronx to help out around the barn. Hey at least he tries!!! :roll:


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

Feeder.... your poor hubby. And after all that you embarrass him further by sharing it with us. Thanks! ;-)

Thanks Ali, 

A good campfire story needs good audience feedback. I am glad you enjoyed it. I once had a pet rock that had a similar bladder problem. 

My sister-in-law thought a pet rock would be a great gift for a sailor leaving for seven months on a trip to the Antarctic. Being one of the few pets actually permitted aboard a military vessel, Rutherford was soon decked out with a baby blue faux rhinestone collar and matching leash. He was not worthy of real rhinestones, after all, he was just a rock.

Typical for government efficiency, it made more sense to sail the Ice Breaker from Long Beach, California to the Antarctic and back every year, than to park the ship in New Zealand and fly the crew down when it was time to break ice. 

So at twelve knots... Imagine driving across the US at 12 miles per hours, except you canâ€™t see anything but water, and you have to go ten times as far. Letâ€™s just say thereâ€™s plenty of time to take leisurely strolls around the deck with your pet rock. Occasionally Rutherford and I would wander into the officerâ€™s wardroom for a break. He really was housebroken, but he did have a bit of a problem when he would get excited meeting new people and he would often pee on their arm.

Now you and I know that a rock does not pee. But Rutherford did not know that, and so it did not prevent him from wetting on someoneâ€™s arm in such circumstances. 

Generally the Captain of the ship stays on the bridge or in his own stateroom. If he wants company, he would generally invite someone to dine with him. However, having free rein of the ship, a captain may choose to dine or watch a movie in the more informal setting of the officerâ€™s wardroom. In such cases it is considered rude for all of the officers to leave before the captain chooses to depart, and so it is up to the most junior officer to stay as long as the captain wishes to slum it.

One such night it was my duty to keep company with the captain and provide light conversation and he asked about the rumors he had heard of Rutherford and I strolling the deck. He listened politely as he heard that the long trip had taken its toll on Rutherfordâ€™s generally good spirit and he had attempted suicide by hanging. Fortunately, even he could not find his own neck. 

When told about Rutherfordâ€™s bladder problem, the captain suggested that I should not think him so credulous and decided to go to bed. Now you may not believe everything I say, but when it comes to rock pee, one should at least be wary.

It wasnâ€™t too many nights later when the captain had the opportunity to meet Rutherford in the wardroom and sure enough, the excitement was too much for Rutherford and he peed on the captainâ€™s arm. 

Fortunately they outlawed keel hauling many years ago, but months later under formal performance review, the captain explained how offensive rock pee is to some people. The captain suggested in no uncertain terms that should one desire a successful career, one should get rid of "YOUR rock".

We were soon in port and there was a big reception picnic with the families of the crew members to greet us. While there I met a pretty, young girl and gave her my pet rock. I showed her that by palming a piece of wet sponge she could make it pee. 

That night I got a call from the captain. It turns out the pretty, young girl was his daughter. â€œMr. Jones. Your rock....DID....IT....AGAIN!â€

â€œNo Sir. I took your advice and I got rid of MY rock.â€

From this I learned that there is often more intended in what someone says than what they said. As I searched the ads for both a career and the word "FREE" I also began to read between the lines...


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

Bob Jones said:


> ...
> So I bought 20 chicks ...
> 
> Our barbecued chicken was just like those served at a five star French restaurant. It tasted just about the same as every other chicken, was a smaller portion, cost over $100 a pound (windshield included), and everyone I knew laughed at me for paying such a price.


Update... My roosters have been gone a long time, but I have continued to keep a dwindling herd of hens.

This morning I awoke to what I thought was a rooster crowing. When I looked,it was my lone hen crowing like a cock.

I know she's a hen since we have been getting eggs from her for more than a year, and it is much easier for a hen to crow like a rooster than for a rooster to lay eggs (though I have been cocky enough to have laid some pretty good eggs myself.)

Some fish and reptiles can change sex based on the population densities of each gender. Last time I was in SF I observed the same phenomenon among the indigenous humanoids. They say that men are from Mars and women are from Venus, all the rest are from California.

California has some funny laws concerning gender. They are an example of existentialism run amok. Apparently they think that if you sit in a garage and believe you were born with a preference for high octane unleaded, that you are a car.

I must admit that I admire California's willingness to accommodate everyone. They had braille on the drive up teller machines, and between the lanes on the highway.

As the guy said in Jurassic Park, "Nature has a way" but apparently nature can rub off.

In California, the Marines at the base south of LA have changed their motto from Semper fidelis to "Protecting your natural resources." and they have planted azaleas along the fence line with the freeway.

Although I am not sure what nature is doing to my hen, I am now afraid to be in my own yard with goats for fear of predators of the dinosaur kind.


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

*Letting the goats run at night.*

Just because your goat sleeps all night at home doesn't mean that he won't roam all night on the trail.

After we got bedded down, Diego whispered something to the others and they all started tip toeing out of camp. I don't know if he smelled a wild goat from Wilmington Ave or if he just figured they'd go exploring. I knew it wasn't a beer run since there were no other campers in the area.

Rather than let on I knew they were sneaking away, I thought it would be fun to follow them. So keeping at a distance where I could just see them in the approaching darkness, I followed them up a gentle sandy and slick rock slope and along an increasingly steeper side hill until I realized I was traversing the edge of a cliff that I would not dare to get near during full daylight.

The intelligent thing to do would be to whistle the goats in so that they don't go too far. I pulled out the ole boatswain's whistle that I have used for training them around dogs. Weeeooohweee tweet tweet tweet. Same signal I have always used.

I thought I was communicating "There are some dogs approaching, I would like you to mosey to my side." From the way they stampeded me, they must have heard "Wolf! If you get behind me I will throw myself into his snarling fangs, and if you don't, you're on your own."

This minor misunderstanding would be much more tolerable in an open meadow not anywhere near the 50 foot cliff that I was being crowded toward on the sandy, slick rock slope.

Goats don't really want to push you off cliff's. They just don't know what one is.

Just to make sure there was nothing personal in it, I allowed them to do it again in the morning. This is the same cliff at about the 30 foot height. It gets taller and steeper as you move to the right. As you look closely, you can see Moe obliviously enjoying his stroll in the middle of the cliff.
http://www.sensusplenior.net/MoeOnCliff.JPG


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

*Wine Box water bottles.*

Five liter wine boxes work great as trail water bladders...

Until you wet the box while filling it, such that it then slides out of the box on the trail and seeks out the first pointy object in it's vicinity.

When this occurs you get to have an unscheduled rest stop to transfer as much water as you can to other containers, water the goats, drink till you can't walk, fill bottles of passers by, and water their dogs.

It's amazing. 5 liters isn't much when it's wine. But it takes a bunch of creativity to use it under duress when it's water leaking and there aren't refills for 15 miles.

They put those bladders in cardboard boxes for a reason.


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

*Paniers in slot canyons*

No matter how you pack your goat, your panniers or saddlebags will drag along solid rock for the length of the canyon. If your bags are made of titanium, this is not a problem. All of my bags are made of something less exotic and now look as though they have been dragged behind a car for eight miles.

I suggested that we (that's a word suggesting someone other than me) patch the bags with a colored thread. We'd sew "Little Wild Horse" with it, then all the patches would have the same color thread. After our next trip, we... could use another color thread.

I am thinking that "we" don't like to do sewing or cross stitching since it was very poignantly pointed out that it would take less thread to make new bags by weaving them from scratch than trying to patch these.

Perhaps we could frame the bags and hang them somewhere as a conversation starter. Does anyone have room on a wall in their living room?


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

*Tying the dominant goat*

Does anyone have a remedy for snoring? Apparently goats understand snoring to mean that they are supposed to switch the dominant herd leader role like musical chairs.

Common sense says that if you control the dominant goat, that the rest of the herd will comply. This works until you snore.

When Diego was wandering from camp at night I thought that simply tying him would keep the other goats under foot. It worked great until I snored.

Then Larry assumed the lead role and lead the others out of camp. Tying him worked well until I snored again. Then Mikey assumed the role and led Moe out of camp.

I am sure that they aren't going far, but I prefer to know where they are and what they're getting in to, and I was used to the kids being underfoot.

So the second night I slept well, having tied them all within smelling and burping distance before going to bed and it didn't matter who thought he was the leader.


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

The stamina of goats increases tremendously if you wear your glasses. I know it sounds crazy, but trust me it is true.

Apparently 30 kg is more than twice the weight of 30 pounds so if you ensure you are reading the proper units on your scale your goats will be able to pack much farther and much faster. The downside is that you have to leave the garden gnomes home.


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## Rex (Nov 30, 2008)

Bob Jones said:


> The stamina of goats increases tremendously if you wear your glasses. I know it sounds crazy, but trust me it is true. Apparently 30 kg is more than twice the weight of 30 pounds so if you ensure you are reading the proper units on your scale your goats will be able to pack much farther and much faster.


LOL....Bob :lol:


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## fivemoremiles (Jan 19, 2010)

Well-------What ever you think you know about goats------ you don't


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## Bob Jones (Aug 21, 2009)

*Goat management*

I learned a new word for goat husbandry ;"Imbuzi ziyazibonela". In Zimbabwe it means "The goats should look after themselves".

In the city, this is like leaving a teenager at home alone over a long weekend. Currently I have a temporary fence to keep the goats in. A temporary fence can be anything; a line drawn in the dirt, a six foot high chain link fence, a wooden slat fence, etc. In my case, the fence is made of metal fence stakes and 5 ft 4x4"welded wire cloth. One section of the containment is the corrugated side of a shed and another is a plywood wall.

We had looked at a house that had an in ground pool. Remembering the old saying that if it can't hold water it can't hold a goat I suggested we could used it for a goat pen. My wife decided she really didn't want a pool.

A temporary fence only keeps a goat in as long as the goat is content to stay in. If he gets hungry or bored he just leaves. They have gone through corners, torn the welds, knocked down the plywood, bent the corrugated steel to create a gap....

I have had to put the goats back in the temporary fencing a dozen times now because like teenagers, they like the idea of Imbuzi ziyazibonela. Just for fun they all break out and stand on my back deck. Raid the rabbit food, eat the cardboard boxes left over from the move, leave snow devils in the lawn (a snow devil is like a snow angel with horns), and dig through the ashes in my Weber.

My Weber BBQ is only used these days for burning old financial records. Having read my old financials and with the increased price of hay, I am tempted to skip the work of burning them and just feed them to the goats. In Zimbabwe, goat owners are being taught the financial value of their goats in order to entice them to keep better care of them so they produce better.

I have determined the financial worth of my goats. They are more expensive to keep than if you rented some goats when you needed them for hiking. They are less expensive than physical therapy if you use them for hiking frequently. And they are an additional cost to physical therapy if you use them infrequently for hiking.

In any case, practicing Imbuzi ziyazibonela is probably not a good idea in the city for you can never tell when they may sponsor a Rave at your place.


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