The Goat Whisper

This week my friend Toni sent me a letter via email. She moved from California to Arizona about six months ago and her email included details of her new desert experiences. I have some familiarity with the very area she now lives. My family migrated in that direction 20 years ago. I spent a great deal of time there as well as lived and worked there for about a year. My mother and father both died and were buried in the very city she now lives. I guess you could say I was not captivated by my friend’s discovery of the richness of the desert. Her email titled “I’m Not Kidding” spoke with great surprise of all she has learned about the desert and shock over the perilous Gila Monster her ending sentence proclaiming “Don’t mess with Gila Monsters. I’m not kidding.” I say captivated because I was aware of the dreaded Gila Monster and not surprised at her new found desert neighborhood. My response to Toni’s excitement was passive and lacked her childlike enthusiasm. My dull reaction reminded of a time when I first moved out to the country.

It was springtime and my neighbor’s goats were grazing in her back field. As I drove up to my house I saw a goat that appeared to be in stress. I stepped out of the car and walked over to the iron fence and observed the sickly goat. Within a few minutes this bleating goat while pressing forward gave birth and dropped a newborn Kidd. I was so surprised and thrilled to have witnessed such an event of nature. I quickly ran to inform my neighbor Carol she now owned another goat. I urgently tapped on her door, as it opened I tried to remain calm but eagerly reported “You’ll never guess what I just saw, quick come see the new born goat just minutes old.” Carol paused looked me in the eye and said “why that’s been happening all week and no need to run out every time a baby is born.” Obviously she did not share my wide eyed excitement of the birth. I am certain over the years my neighbor had probably seen goats born more times that she could remember (they have at least 30 goats). My enthusiasm deflated and I walked home.
I was like Carol and did not share my friend’s excitement of the desert because it was a topic familiar to me… but as I read Toni’s email her attitude reminded me of all we can learn on our journey. Thank you Toni for thinking of me and reminding me the world is full of new experiences to discover, your enthusiasm and perspective (as always) was appreciated…

So this tale does talk about goats but you might ask yourself why the title is “The Goat Whisperer”? Well, sometime after the new born goat experience our family got a pet goat of our own. “Oreo” was a little black and white pigmy goat who came to be a family favorite because of her spunky personality. She was hand raised and loved companionship with people. Oreo and I learned to communicate and I could speak to her from across the yard in a kind of goat language. I would bleat out my impression of a goats sound and soon she recognized my goat call. I would respond to her calls to me during the day and we would talk back and forth. We spoke to each other most days until her passing some years ago. Today one of Carol’s goats escaped and was eating the grass in my back yard. I wanted the goat out of there and knew from experience that getting a goat to move can be impossible; just ask my dog Schultz who in his old age and wisdom chose to ignore the goat intruder. Still I was tired of the goat in my yard so from my kitchen (with windows open) I bleated out in my best goat voice a sound of a distress and anger - goat style. The goat froze, quickly looked up then surmising all was well continued to eat more grass. I bleated again and again, the goat sounds came forth faster and louder this time. For a moment the young goat stood motionless then looking to his herd, called to them in a fearful goat tone (I suddenly realized I was fluent in the goat language). He swiftly ran away as fast as he could, diving under the fence and back to his own field… There you have it - job done and not a sweaty brow or tired muscle to show for it. I guess you could just call me “The Goat Whisper”.