Udder End Farm

My husband does not do goat shows. He tried it once, under duress, and did not like it. He likes to fish. I used to fish with him quite a bit, but he fished me under the table once too often, and I gave it up. Occasionally I still invite him to come along and witness the goat spectacle. Since his 80 hour work weeks have a tendency to cut into his fishing time, I never really expect him to tag along.

“Hey Darling, we girls are off to the goat show next weekend. Why don’t you make it like a family thing and come with?”

“I hate goats.”

“Yes, but you love us!”

“There might be some truth in that. But who is going to stay here and feed all your other goats, and horses and dogs and chickens and pigs if I go with you? Wait a minute! Isn’t there a big reservoir up close to where you’re going? We could drive separate vehicles. I could take the boat and fish all day while you do your goat thing.”

You see how it goes. But suddenly, his lovely and talented daughters have him under siege.

“Don’t be ridiculous Daddy, that’s not family time! You can go fishing after we’re in college. And you know what a terrible driver Mom is; you’re always telling her that. Just come with us this time and we’ll let you watch the Fishing Channel at the hotel. You won’t have to touch any goats, or feed any goats, or carry any of our stuff. There’s always a great barbecue, and you don’t have to cook it. Come hang out with us for two days and one night. Make a tender memory with us, and you’ll never regret it.”

I do not know where those children get their ability to lay on the verbiage. The next thing I know, my designated driver is telling me to pack him a bag for two days and one night. Alrightythen! Dad’s going to the goat show. I cash in my chips and wrangle up a babysitter for the farm.

Friday morning dawns bright with promise. I leave The Man sleeping soundly until time to get in the truck and drive, because he is on vacation, after all. The trailer is packed and 16 show goats are waiting in the front paddock to be loaded. Well, actually, they’re not. They seem to be milling around amongst the rest of the herd down on the hill. I do not scream unseemly things. I set about slinging hay to the populace while my two top hands start loading up the escape goats, and take a deep breath as my two top hands start screaming unseemly things at each other. I think happy thoughts, double check the truck, and remove the fishing rod I find stashed under the seat.

Let’s see…It takes 4 and ½ hours for me to drive to the show grounds, which means it will take Eric about 6 hours. Still, we have plenty of time. He needs his beauty sleep. I patiently gnaw my nails over the last of the coffee. Eventually he emerges;

“Are you ready to go yet? Do you have your goats loaded? Where are the kids? Let’s go!”

Indeed, let’s go. After stopping at the bank, gas station, post office, grocery store, hardware store and Burrito Express, we are going to the goat show. We are barely 10 miles out of town when Dad locks up the brakes.

“Whoa there! That’s something worth taking a look at.”

It takes him a ½ mile to find a place to turn the trailer around. Then we go back a ½ mile. As per instructions, I jump out and grab the fluffy bundle of road kill while Mr. Science goes back another ¼ mile to turn around again. Everyone piles out of the truck on and stands around on the side of the highway to marvel at the wonder. I hold up a medium sized owl in fair condition.

“It’s a screech owl,” I accuse him. You stopped and turned around on the way to my goat show for a second hand screech owl! This from the guy who wouldn’t even slow down so I could get a look at Mt. Rushmore from 10 miles away!”

“No, it’s a long eared owl, look at the face.” He snatched the thing out of my hands and arranged the features into a leering wink. The girls howled with glee and clapped their hands. “This is a teachable moment for bonding with my children. You should appreciate that. Here, wrap it in a bag and put it in the cooler. We’ll look at it closer in the hotel tonight. Everybody, back in the truck.” Yeah, that’s my guy.

47 skunks, 4 foxes, and 2 raccoons later we pull into the fairgrounds, and it only took 5 hours. We are among the first ones there. Very few of my goat friends have actually met my husband before, but he is a legend none the less. Hmm. Amid warm welcomes, he immediately begins to help build pens, and unload goats and equipment, and carry water buckets. He follows me up and down the barn alley 3 times with a bale of hay in one hand and the blow dryer in the other. It’s nice to see him enjoying himself.

As the Jr. show begins, I try to explain things to him.

“Emily and Rose get too tense. It messes them up and they don’t do so well. See the cute little blonde girl, and the two tall ones? Those are the champs. Pick your winner there.”

“Oh really?” He arches his glorious eyebrow at me as Emily wins her first showmanship class in 3 years. “I guess Rose was a little fidgety.”

“She did so well because her Daddy was here to see it. Aren’t family vacations wonderful?” I bat my lashes back at him.

Back at the hotel that night, Eric pulls the owl out of the fridge in our room, and we have a little family lesson in avian taxonomy. Then after a good splash in the pool, we pile up for a marathon of Animal Planet.

“Hey! You said I could watch the Fishing Channel!”

No way, Pops. We lied, and you are outvoted. But you’ll love Meerkat Manor. It’s the first all-rodent soap opera.”

Poor Pops dutifully loves Meerkat Manor. He perks up a little at Steve Irwin playing with Gaboon vipers. Just before passing out on the Westminster Dog Show, the girls decide we need to stay another night.

“Please Daddy, we can enjoy all these luxuries we don’t have at home, like TV and swimming pools, and you can sleep in. Won’t that be fun?”

“Oh, I can’t think of anything more fun than sharing a room with 3 snoring women and Animal Planet,” he groans.

In the morning, I hand Eric the camera.

“Take lots of pictures. You’re in charge of tender memories and visual inspections.”

“As long as I don’t have to show any goats, or touch any goats, or look at any goats, I’m your man.”

He wanders off behind the barn to classify summer warblers. Well, it’s his vacation too I guess. He reappears later with compliments.

“What a pretty red ribbon, did your goat take second place?”

“No Sugar Daddy, she is a champion senior percentage doe now. Our children have their hands full. Would you please take that goat and brush her ‘til she’s pretty, please. And get a picture of this one with her ribbon, before she eats it. And then could you bring up that scrawny baby billy goat? It’s very important you watch the bucks at this show. I need your discerning eye to help me predict our future.”

“I predict my future includes a weekend of fishing,” he mutters, dragging away a goat in each hand. “Why did you bring this thing?” he comes dragging back the baby billy. “He’s the littlest goat here. I’m embarrassed to be seen with it.”

When the baby billy goat wins his class, I see Mr. Peterson has his camera out. When it wins the Jr. champion, Mr. P. is leaning on the rail. When it beats out a bunch of big slick grown up bucks for Overall Reserve champion, he meets me at the gate with a grin and leads the little guy back to his stall.

“I’ll just get a picture of him with his pretty blue ribbons, baby. You might want to put it on your website.” What a goat guy.

At the barbecue that afternoon, we watch our daughters laughing and playing with their goat chums.

“Look at those kids. I get all warm and fuzzy watching them. I see they really enjoy doing this. Do your friends always cook up such good goat at these parties?” he quizzes me. “It’s fine we’re staying another night, I don’t want to get home so late and have to unload.”

It was a good thing we stayed the night, too, or I wouldn’t have spotted it on the side of the road.

“Pull over!” I yell. “Stop! Look! Stop!” Eric locks up the brakes.

“What! What happened? Are you all right?”

I point back to a scrubby bundle of fur on the roadside.

“Is it a screech badger, or a long eared badger?”