Posts Tagged ‘Fletcher the goat’

Goat Cuisine

Wednesday, June 9th, 2010


By Tiber

Well, another one of my nightmares has materialized. Just as Dad promised, he has actually brought home three female goats to join Fletcher, the goat that Iris Nell rescued. I thought maybe I was safe because of their cost but since Dad normally has to hire outside gardeners to help Nestor mow the big grounds here, he says that having goats do the mowing will save him a considerable amount right there.

And then, of course, he has this idea that since I’m unemployed, I can now learn how to make goat cheese and we’ll all save money on food. I can’t even make a good cheese sandwich and now I’m supposed to create the cheese?!? This is like giving someone a car but telling them that first they’ll have to invent the tire.

When I had another job interview today and again soon saw it slipping away, I begged them to hire me. I said flat-out that I wanted the position desperately “or I will have no choice but to go out and milk goats!!!” I meant to sound enthusiastic about their employment but looking back on it, I think I just sounded, I don’t know, bat-barkingly psycho.

Of course, it’s not Fletcher the goat’s fault. I like him. I went down to the pen to see him but clearly, he’d already shared the news about me with the females. There was an unmistakable rolling of their eyes and cocking of their heads in my direction as they brayed to Fletcher, “This is the clown you were talking about?!?”

I think even Fletcher looked at me differently. It’s one thing  just to be hiking pals but it’s something else when your buddy is elected, “King of Curds.”

God help me. How could this happen? I was a suit! Suddenly, I’m going to have to completely re-title my future autobiography. Now I’ll have to make it, “From Go-Getter to Goatherd: My Descent into Cheese.”

Getting my goat…with actual goats

Thursday, May 20th, 2010

By Tiber

Since my father found out I’d been outsourced and was back here, living at home…okay, fine, back here, hiding out at home, he’s been saying I should set up new job interviews.

“I’ve already been to some, Dad. “


“And I haven‘t gotten anything. So far.”

“Well,” he sighed, “ I’ll ask around but lots of companies aren’t hiring right now.”

“I know.”

“And you have to do something.”

“I know that too.” And then casually, he just now dropped his potential “solution” to the problem.

“Maybe there’s a job you can do around here. I know you get along with Fletcher, that goat that Iris Nell just rescued. And I’ve been thinking of getting him some female companions. Could be something for you there. Goat cheese or something. We‘ll see.”

This is horrific. I don’t know anything at all about taking care of a whole gang of goats! Wait, no. It’s not “gang,” is it? It’s “herd” of goats. See? I can’t do this! Five minutes with them and I’d turn them into a gang.

Of course, when my brother, Duncan, heard about this, he couldn’t stop laughing. He said he would speak to Cook for me. Not for any dairy tips but because Cook’s real name is Heidi.

“And just like the Swiss Heidi in those little girl books, maybe she’ll have some outfits you can wear!”

The days have been going by so quickly but I really must remember to set aside some time to kill my brother.

Going and begging for my old job back is a humiliating thought – but I’m thinking of doing it. I may have had some bad days there but, with relieved certainty, I can say this much about it. I never once had to milk anybody.

The goaterer

Monday, May 17th, 2010


By Tiber 

We accumulate animals around here the way other people end up with, I don’t know, hangers. And even though Dad has insisted we conserve money, the animal parade hasn’t stopped.

First, Mom brought home the needy peacocks and this week, Iris Nell brought home a needy goat.

Now believe me, I am all for rescuing any animal in distress, but to be honest, I’ve never really gotten the point of goats. I mean, what do they do?

Iris Nell took me outside to meet Fletcher. He’s a Nigerian Dwarf goat and though he’s small, I didn’t want him suddenly lunging for my chest which, of course, was the first thing he did.

I panicked and screamed, “He’s going for my nipples!!!” as if I was some girl caught in a drunken bar brawl. He was really just curious about my shirt buttons so it’s a good thing only Iris Nell witnessed my insane meltdown, as anybody else in my family would have slammed pictures of it all over the Internet.

Anyway, the goat was actually pretty calm and soon he made me relax as if I was his goatkeeper…goatboss…goaterer? You see how much I know about this? Goatherd! Is that it?

Anyway, goats are herd animals so, though Dad doesn’t know it yet, my guess is, we’re going to end up adopting more, as well as catering to all of their requirements. Goats are not for everybody because, evidently, as modest as they appear, they tend to go all Hollywood child-star over the perfection of their accommodations.

Iris Nell informed me that they really can pay their own way, though, what with cheese and their ability to “mow” tricky spots on the grounds.

And to my great surprise, I just sort of like this one. I mean, if I’m out grabbing a coffee, I don’t pause and think, “I wonder if Fletcher would like a little latte.”

But when I go hiking, he does follow along. Great. Maybe he thinks I’m his mother. I don’t know where the hell he would have gotten that idea. All I did was look out for him and pat him on the head. He’s a good boy.