Doug Fine: Author, Journalist, Adventurer, Goat-Herder

 

Why on earth did the Creator bestow preconceptions on us? To prove how often we can be wrong? This is not the first time that my inspiration for a Dispatch has come from this baffling, seemingly important genetic trait. In the latest drastic example of the preconception phenomenon, for months I had thought that the most exciting element of the first Funky Butte Ranch goat births would be the “zero carbon mile, totally organic FBR Goat Ice Cream” that would magically appear when the kids were weaned. I even have a goat ice cream recipe (and ice cream maker) link set up on this site (see the right column, and indeed it’s been — in this case literally — sweet to see from the response I’m not nearly alone in my ice cream addiction).

But ice cream (this will shock some readers) is actually just the icing on the cake (again literally). In truth, I was so relieved that Natalie safely gave birth to two already-mischievous kids at 8:30-ish p.m. the other night, that I realized immediately the best part of goat husbandry is my love of the goats. They’re part of the family. That’s no secret to anyone who has read these Dispatches over the last year and a half (and for blog newbies, you can read through and search all the previous Dispatches).

In short, I was a relieved father. I mean, Natalie is an animal I raised since before weaning, bottle-feeding her with a shotgun in my lap like a modern-day Elmer Fudd so the local coyotes didn’t treat her as low carbon-miles buffet. As she had no epidural options, I had been more nervous than I realized about her well-being during delivery. In truth, it was a piece of cake (not literally this time).

Since I’m currently on the Farewell, My Subaru carbon-neutral book tour, I leaned this from my friend and ranch-sitter Ken, who called me and left the following message on my voice mail: “Um, Doug, I noticed something strange in the goat corral: your number of goats had just doubled.”

He had fed Natalie and Melissa at 8 p.m. (two hours late because a squall had come in during normal feeding time). Nat ate voraciously as always, showing no sign of labor. She was round as a weeble-wobble from her five-month pregnancy, but that was normal. When he checked on them at 9, he said, “There were two extra goats in the straw.”

So I’m in bliss and even though the book tour is going fantastically and I’m having a great time, I CAN’T WAIT TO GET HOME TO SEE THEM. And, of course, soon after, to get overwhelmingly steamed at them for eating, stomping or accessing something I don’t want them to on the ranch. Welcome to goat husbandry. Above is one the first photo Ken emailed me. Mother and future pains in the asses are doing great. Thanks so much Ken, for midwifing so successfully – even if it just meant giving Natalie some space.

So ice cream is the last thing on my mind, contrary to my expectations. The fact is, there are far more important things going on in my heart. I swelled with paternal love, for example, to learn that Natalie immediately took to mothering, cleaning off the kids and nursing immediately. Evidently some first time mothers don’t.

Most of all I’m just glad she’s through any labor pain. I feel the pride any new father feels. Even an interspecies one. It is fantastically more intense than any pride I’ve felt before. And all I did was pick up two goats off Craigslist two years ago. But I am not embarrassed about my pride. I am a goat dad. And it almost make Walt the Scimitar-wielding Billy Goat’s Visit worth it.

The kids don’t have names yet, by the way, but in keeping with the singers-who-sound-a-little-goat-like motif (Natalie Merchant and Melissa Etheridge so far), I’ve already gotten a suggestion that I should name the male Bob (Dylan). I’m open to suggestions for the female.

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