[A gigantic shout-out to Mark Miller for envisioning and creating this contraption. Check it out on Sierra Pacific Pygmy goat Association Facebook Page.] |
Katherine and I merrily chatted all the way
home from the 2015 National Pygmy Goat Association Convention. After giving me her assessment of precisely why
specific goats won their respective classes and who feeds what grain, Katherine
started talking about the newly unveiled “Teat Check Stand.” Katherine commented that this ramp was a literal
test of a goat’s trust in its handler. We
launched into an indepth and philosophical discussion of trust—in goats, that
is. Goat ramp as allegory….
First, some background. The breed standard for Pygmy Goats has clear
parameters about teats: “cylindrical, of uniform length and size – sufficient for milking with
two fingers and thumb; symmetrically placed; free of obstruction, deformities
or multiples orifices.” But, just like
people, goats frequently have imperfect teats.
They can be multi-orificed (too many holes), bifurcated (two headed
beast), or just too many (superfluous).
Any one of these conditions constitutes a “serious fault” in a doe and
disqualifies a buck from competition.
http://www.npga-pygmy.com/resources/conformation/teats.asp |
So, before each class at
a pygmy goat show the judge has to check the teats of each and every goat – male,
female, adult, baby. If the goat is
small enough, the handler picks up the animal and holds it upside down for the judge to
inspect. For larger animals, the handler
picks up the front end of the goat so the judge can see under the goat. [I might add here that for the first time
EVER I could not find a picture of this procedure on the Internet. Esoteric I guess.] As you can imagine, it’s literally a pain in
the ass (and back). At a normal goat
show, teat checks are just a hassle. But
at convention, with more than 300 goats, the process threatened to be paralyzing.
Hence, the “Teat Check
Stand.” The handler leads the goat up
the ramp, where the judge can inspect the teats from a comfortable standing
position. The handler then leads the
goat down the other side and the next goat traipses up the ramp. Genius!
In the goat world, I put this creation on par with the “cup holder.”
Found on shirleyplantation.wordpress.com |
In practice, some goats stood at the bottom of
the ramp, digging in their hooves and leaning back on their leash. Some goats even sat down in their attempt to
avoid the ramp. Some goats started to go
up the ramp, only to scoot off the side in a sneaky leap. Some goats screamed and some goats
gagged. Some goats turned around in a
futile attempt to run back to the barn.
But most goats waddled on up the ramp and stood placidly at the top,
surveying the view from their new vantage.
All 14 of our goats were
in the latter category, so it didn’t even occur to me that other people had a
different experience. But Katherine saw
quite another picture and formulated a theory: goats who don’t trust their
handlers will not walk up that ramp, no way, no how.
Why don’t those goats
trust those people? Is it the goat? Is it the person? Is it the relationship between the two? Nature? Nurture? Can trust be fostered? Once it’s gone, can trust be repaired? Can the goat trust a new handler? I saw a teaching moment unfold before my very
eyes…
Like children, goats are
born with some degree of trust in humans but require socialization to cement
the concept. One of my goat mentors
wisely instructed me that you have to handle and play with baby goats
constantly for the first three days of their life if you want them to be
friendly (substitute the word “human” for goat…). If you miss that window, their chance of
bonding or attaching with you drops significantly. So, maybe those resistant goats weren’t
cuddled as babies?
Or, maybe it’s the
handler. Some people hold the leash with
an iron grip, choking the life out of the poor goat on the other end. A combination of fear and physical restraint
paralyze the animal. Some handlers yank
at the leash the same way they would give a short, sharp correction to a
disobedient dog. But a goat is not a dog
and does not think like a dog; it is smarter, less forgiving, and has a longer
memory. Some handlers plain ignore the
goat and just drag it along to wherever the person has decided to go. (Are we still talking about goats here?)
Or maybe it’s a combination of the person and animal:
a tyrant and a shrinking violet. A bully
and an enabler. Two chiefs, no indians. Trust is a two-way street. Both parties have to actively participate in
the relationship through honesty, clarity, and kindness. The goat has to believe that its handler has
its best interest at heart, and the handler has to believe that the goat is a
willing participant. You cannot coerce a
goat into doing anything – not even with the promise of grain or tortilla
chips. Unfortunately for them, though, pygmy
goats are small enough to be man-handled. (Domestic violence?)
Katherine and I
discussed the various combinations… in the context of goats and handlers, that
is. We talked about gentleness, respect,
non-verbal cues and earning trust.
Ziggy and Cash |
And
what about bad experiences? Case in
point: Ziggy, a wether Bubba originally kept as Cash’s first goat. He was born when Cash (child #6) was just
under a year old. He was (and still is)
a flashy, chunky, carmel wether whose parents were both exceptionally
friendly. Genetically he had it all
going for him in terms of temperament, and he started off friendly enough. I do admit, however, that we probably missed
out on that 3-day window but it didn’t seem to matter for that little guy. Everything was fine, until one day we
had to remove his horns a second time.
Most pygmy breeders (95%?)
“disbud” their goats when the kids are a few weeks old. To “disbud” means using a super hot implement
to burn off the newly sprouted horn all the way down to the bud (or root) of
the wannabe horn. The smell of burning
flesh and hair fills the barn along with the screeches of both the baby goat
and its mama. Not a good time for
anyone. To make it a little easier (on
me) Katherine bought a snazzy little box with a lid and a hole (see
below). Now she can sit on top of the
box and burn off the horns rather than depend on me to put the goat into a Full
Nelson body hold.
Disbudder |
Disbudding box |
Anyway, sometimes the
horns start to grow back as “scurs.” So
you have to remove them – again. By that
time the goat is older, larger, and more sentient. And they don’t fit in that snazzy little
box. In ye olde days with Bubba,
Katherine and I would tackle the goat and Bubba would twist off the scurs with
pliers – literally. As you can imagine,
most of us were traumatized, especially the goat. Ziggy was a casualty of this de-scurring
extravaganza, and he was never friendly again. Bubba sold Ziggy to a 4-H family and is still
looking for a friendly goat for Cash. [Katherine and I have since learned that there
is a more humane way to de-scur the older goats with painkillers, sedatives and
simple surgery. Who knew? There shall be no more medieval-like torture
on our farm again.]
Which led us to the next topic: can goats (read:
humans) forgive and regain trust? We
periodically see Ziggy on the show circuit and I personally make a point of
checking in with his new owners every time I see them. I explained Ziggy’s history to them, so at
least they know the source of his angst.
The new owners are loving, kind and patient; time will tell. Maybe Ziggy, or any other goat (or person),
can learn to trust a different person but not the one who betrayed them? Katherine and I are rooting for him.
I’d like to believe that
trust can be repaired. In goats, we keep
trying different goat/handler combinations looking for the ideal trust relationship. Maybe at the next goat show the stars will
align and all the goats and handlers will be in harmony, with each goat calmly
marching up that “Teat Check Stand” alongside their compassionate human. Maybe with enough time and positive
experiences Ziggy can learn to trust again, too. I will keep you posted.