The first goat show of
2015 lurked on the calendar and I still didn’t have a way to transport
Katherine and The Herd. Katherine
carpooled with Bubba to a couple of goat shows at the end of 2014, but the situation
was tense to say the least. Besides, I
am a grown woman and I am perfectly capable of taking care of my family and
myself, thank you very much. Katherine
and I half-heartedly searched for a used trailer in the late autumn; but, I
admit, I was entranced with my new romantic interest so the trailer project had
gotten bumped way down on my “to do” list.
With only four weeks to go, I had to get back on the case.
My experience with
trailers was extremely limited. While I
had owned horses for 8 years, I had never once driven them anywhere. That’s what trainers are for, right? I signed the horses up on the “to go” list at
The Barn and, voila, they magically appeared in their assigned stalls at the
designated show at the appropriate time.
Bubba trailered the goats; not me.
For some unknown reason
I purchased a rust bucket of a (true) stock trailer from our handyman back in 2011. And for those of you not familiar with the
vocab of trailers, let me give you a quick lesson. First, a trailer is either a bumper pull or
goose neck. Bumper pull is self-explanatory;
“goose neck” means the trailer extends over the bed of a pickup truck. Second, enclosed horse trailers versus stock
trailers. Enclosed horse trailers have
full walls on all sides and windows. A “stock”
trailer refers to the slatted sides. A
stock sided horse trailer has these semi-open sides at about horse head height
as well as a tack room for storage and dressing. A true stock trailer “refers
to a trailer designed specifically to haul untamed livestock.” (http://www.dhmco.com/blog/horse-trailer-buying-guide/enclosed-trailer-or-open-sidedstock-trailer/). What exactly does “untamed livestock” mean? Rodeo
bulls? BLM mustangs and donkeys? Chincoteague ponies? Range cattle? Pygmy goats?
Here is an example of a super swank horse trailer I found
on the Internet. This baby is a 3-horse,
bumper pull, slant load trailer. It has interior dome lights; an escape door (which comes
in handy with “untamed livestock”); a tack room with bridle and saddle racks,
blanket bars and a brush tray; mangers for each animal with storage underneath;
full padding inside, even on the removable dividers; finally, the piece de
resistance, a dressing room with closet and fold-down bed (!). It could be yours for $27,200.
That is so NOT what I
bought. I paid $800 and got a rust
bucket stock trailer, more like this one (which is listed for sale at $1,000):
This example is a gooseneck,
so in your mind just imagine it as a bumper pull. And mine was not such a groovy shade of
orange either. Mine was a “true” stock trailer
with one cavernous space into which we stuffed 20+ pygmy goats. No lights anywhere—including the ones you are
supposed to have to legally drive it on the road. Details, details. It was solid American steel, baby, tough as
nails. I really should’ve photographed
it before I sold it for $500.
To this day I’m not sure
why I bought it; we already had Bubba’s trailer. I think I got caught up in the “bargain” of
it. Bubba is a talented salesman. Come to think of it, I was pregnant with Cash
at the time and everyone knows that pregnant women do irrational things. Back then I owned a GMC Yukon XL Denali--top
of the line, luxurious, every option imaginable. I drove it around San Francisco for carpool
and up to Tahoe. I did not drive it
around with a trailer, though it did have a hitch and a tow button (it had
every button they could squeeze onto it, actually). The GMC had a ½ ton engine (1500), which, the
Internet tells me, is suitable for towing a canoe or a kayak. That comes into play later, so remember that
point.
I had to drive my rusty
trailer once. Well, twice actually
because I had to have a lesson on how to drive it before I got thrown into the
deep end. The lesson was easy
enough. Make wide turns. Check. Give yourself lots of room to stop. Check.
This is how you hook up. Yeah,
yeah. I probably should’ve paid better
attention, but I didn’t fully comprehend that I was going to have to actually
DRIVE it somewhere. We were competing in
the goat show at the State Fair, but Bubba was unavailable to drive the goats
home at the end of the show. So I had to
do it. The day arrived and I drove my
GMC up to Sacramento to pick up the trailer and goats. I had the foresight to bring Charlie, who was
maybe 15 at the time. Definitely not
driving yet.
We found our rusty
trailer in the trailer lot. Good
start. Bubba had jotted down
instructions on how to hook it up to my car – with rough illustrations. With the help of the GMC’s backup camera, Charlie
and I got the beast hooked up. Cameras
are incredibly useful, I might add, if you ever have to hook up a trailer. Then I drove the trailer to the show barn.
All the exhibitors were
loading up to leave, including the cow people.
Those people all drive gargantuan stock trailers, the biggest on the
market. My decrepit stock trailer hooked
up to my super lux SUV looked a little out of place. Whatever.
Charlie and I got the goats and the gear in the trailer. So far so good. Then I had to get the trailer out: a cow person
blocked me in. Uh oh. Bubba had told me nothing about going
backwards…it’s not like a car…at all. Eventually
a frustrated rancher ordered me out of my SUV and backed my trailer out for me
– he was tired of waiting. I looked like
such a powder puff, ditzy blond, teacup goat woman. I reminded myself that it’s good for kids to
see their parents embarrassed – then they know it happens to everyone.
Charlie and I pulled the
trailer out onto the city streets of Sacramento and then onto the highway onramp.
My car strained against the weight of
the fully loaded steel trailer and we crept up the ramp. My trailer-driving lesson certainly did not
include merging or highway driving in rush hour. “Dear God, please let them see me coming and
get out of my way because I have no idea what I am doing.”
We survived the 2-hour
drive home without a scratch. We even
made it up the one lane, one-mile long road (with low hanging branches) to our
house at the top of a hill. By the time
I got to the back of the property where I was supposed to park the trailer I
was too frazzled to even attempt backing the trailer into its parking
spot. I threw the GMC into park, jumped
out and told Charlie to park it. I would
direct him (!).
Kids don’t overthink
things – like parking. They also believe
you when you say with great confidence and gusto, “You can do it!” So Charlie got in the driver’s seat and put
the GMC in reverse. I think he had
driven the prehistoric ranch truck up and down the back road a couple times. But that was it. I didn’t bother explaining that if you want to
go right you have to turn left and vice versa.
I didn’t compare it to steering a boat or tell him to put his hand at
the bottom of the steering wheel. I
don’t think I knew any of those tricks at the time. Even if I had known, I wouldn’t have confused
him with too much information. And so, Charlie
just looked out the window over his shoulder and parked the trailer. He got it on the first try, too. Kids.
About six months later
my transmission started slipping in the GMC.
What could that be, I wondered?
It didn’t have that many miles on it.
Then it occurred to me: maybe towing the heavy steel trailer over hill
and dale had overtaxed the transmission of my luxury, canoe-towing SUV. Before the transmission got worse, I traded
in the GMC for a Chevy Suburban 2500 with the full tow package with heavy-duty
brakes, suspension and engine.
Fast-forward three and a
half years. I had not driven a trailer
since my State Fair experience. Katherine needed a way to get to goat shows
without imposing on Bubba ever again. I
was just going to have to bite the bullet and do it. One afternoon at the end of Katherine’s
Christmas break, about a month before the first show, I finally got tired of procrastinating
and identified a trailer sales place in the next town over. I could’ve shopped around for price, but
sometimes I really don’t have the patience. I also recognized that I was going to need a
full on lesson of how to hook and unhook it from my car. I would be too embarrassed to ask a random
person selling their trailer to show me how to operate the thing.
“At least I have the
right truck this time,” I reassured myself as we pulled into Truck Tops
USA. Within 30 minutes we had picked out
a 3-horse, slant load, stock style horse trailer with a tack room. It cost somewhere between $800 -
$27,200. It’s certainly not the fancy
model, though. My stated objective to
the salesman was to purchase something that would hold its resale value because
I would sell the damned thing as soon as Katherine went to college. No more goats! We’ll see.
Anyway, I wrote a check
and the salesman filed the DMV papers. Meanwhile,
a guy out back measured the height of my bumper so we could fit the Chevy with
the correct ball hitch. I hadn’t even
thought of that detail – good thing we did not do a private party sale. The helper hooked up my trailer. I requested that he unhook it and give Katherine
a tutorial on how to hook and unhook it (she’s just a kid, you know). Yes, I blamed my ignorance on my child. Bad parenting. The salesman was incredibly helpful and
knowledgeable about my Suburban 2500, thank god.
“There’s a big lot in
the back if you want to go practice,” he offered. “Good idea!” I said cheerfully. Katherine and I got in the ‘Burb and closed
the windows. She looked at me
skeptically. “We can do this!” I asserted. I pulled the trailer down the back road a
little ways, looking for this practice field.
“Big” was an overstatement; my goat field is bigger than that lot was. I pulled forward and then back, swerving like
a drunken snake; then I got the trailer kind of wedged in a spot between a
mountain of dirt and some cement blocks.
Katherine got out and surveyed the situation thoughtfully. Meanwhile, a semi drove up the driveway from
the other direction. The truck driver
watched us a couple minutes, and then honked impatiently. Unlike the kind rancher at the State Fair,
this guy did not offer to remedy my predicament.
I have a tendency to
flee situations when I get scared, embarrassed or rattled. “Let’s go! Practice is over!” I chirped at
Katherine through my open window.
Fortunately, the driveway looped around to the main road – so I didn’t
have to go backwards. We pulled onto the
road and so began my new role as Goat Hauler.
I’m sure the salesman wondered if we made it home in one piece.
By some absolute
miracle, a huge parking near the fairgrounds was unlocked and totally
empty. Except for a port-o-potty. Convenient.
No one would see us and we couldn’t hit anything. Like I had done with Charlie, I jumped out and
made Katherine drive the trailer. I’m
such a chicken. Like her brother, she
had only driven our little sedan around a parking lot once before. And like her brother, she just drove Suburban
and the trailer around the parking lot, backwards and forwards, without
thinking about it. I drove the rig home
since she didn’t even have a learner’s permit, and then Katherine backed it
into its new parking spot at home like a pro.
At the upcoming goat show, we would switch seats and Katherine could
maneuver the truck and trailer down the narrow parking lot. She would also hook and unhook it, since the
salesman had taught her (not me) how. We
had a plan, even if it was technically illegal.
I am in awe of children. They are so trusting and they believe us Parents when we say, “You can do it!” And
when do people start overthinking everything? Is that the definition of
“adulthood”? With a little
encouragement, kids just do what needs to get done because they don’t think
they can’t do it. Kids can teach us adults a lot.
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