This morning we trimmed the goats' hoofs. Well, Julie trimmed them, and I just sometimes watched her do it, and other times just held the animal in place.
You have to trim their hoofs because, goats being mountainous animals, normally their hoofs would wear down on the rocks. Since here there are no rocks and lots of mud, without being trimmed the hoofs would form pockets, and collect mud, creating a lovable place for some bacteria and fungi to live, and the goats would get sore feet - the goat's athlete foot. One goat has a sore foot now, and the poor thing yesterday could not bear weight on it. Julie treated it - cut out the problematic part, and soak the foot for ten minutes in a disinfecting solution -, obviously not a pleasant moment for the beast.
As of hoof trimming. I thought they would have a thick hoof, like that of a horse. But no, only the front part is thick, and the rest is rather soft. So you actually cut through something that looks like a thick callus, with, underneath it, a pink soft tissue, which would bleed if you cut too much, just like your foot would.
It was amazing to see the reaction of the goats to the treatment. They do not resist wildly, but mostly give it a gentle try, and after a moment get fed up, and more or less try to escape, each in its individual way - sometimes sitting on the floor, sometimes not giving you their feet, sometimes trying to get out. And all the while they remain silent, even though they might pull so hard on the collar holding them, that their eyes come out bulging. That's the goat - he would hang himself down trying to escape, before saying even one word. One or two however, said something. It was then the sweetest and softest sound one can think of - beh he he, so soft that you wonder where the sound comes from.
As of holding goats. I found that if you lean on them, without putting even too much weight on their belly, the mere contact of your chest against them seems to relax them. It's so odd, because you would think that if something is trying to hold them tight, they would get more angry - but no, they actually seem to find it pleasant.
They are so lean that you can feel all their muscle strings under their coat. And true, as Peter and Julie said, they smell nice - well, they don't smell much.
Apparently, sheep hoofs trimming is a completely different story, which I didn't get to experience today. The sheep are much stronger and much more combative, and for the operation to be successfully completed, Peter and Julie must hold them down lying on their back, four legs up.
So, I spent a couple of hours "hugging goats" today, as Peter rightfully called it. And I must say, I do not feel quite the same now.
The first goat we did is Knuckle Head. Knuckle Head is a male, and being a male, normally he would not be given a name, because males are destined to the saucepan (when having the goats for milk, you should only keep one male for reproduction, as you do not want the progeny to interbreed).
But Knuckle Head is a bit special. He is the friendliest, most curious, sweet and playful creature - and thereby, at times too, a pain in the butt, because he always has to come and check on whatever you are doing, and you must always get rid of him. I gathered today that he is the one who jumps on the wheelbarrow whenever he gets a chance to, in the morning when I bring hay. So, Peter got a little emotional with this male, and gave him a name. And now, Peter wonders whether the goat should be eaten, or be kept as a pet.
Knuckle Head gets his name from the two knuckles that he bears on his head, instead of horns. This all comes from this intriguing property of goats, and of all horned animals for that matter, such as deers, cattle, sheep (i.e. all ruminants); all these species occasionally naturally produce hornless individuals.
This curiosity is explained by ecologists in the following manner: when the winter is long and harsh, horned males, which have greater nutritional needs, will have a hard time, and are likely not to survive. Comes the spring, and remain the hornless males, which can mate with the females, and perpetuate the population. Horns are however not altogether lost, because they have other advantages, such as: the horned male has nutritional requirements similar to that of the milking female, and is more likely to lead the herd to pastures which would fit the requirements of nursing females (Mackenzie 1989).
Farmers have been quite interested in this trait in cattle, because they say that there is less danger that hornless animals to injure each other and their caretakers. They usually dehorn horned cattle. Otherwise, they seek to breed hornless breeds, and several breeds are now entirely or partially hornless.
In goats, all would be great and good, if the trait was not also linked to another one which converts developing embryos into males. Thus, females with the hornless character become partially transformed into males, and sterile. How inconvenient for the farmer!
So, this is Knuckle Head. If he reproduced, half of his female progeny would be sterile. Poor Knuckle Head.
In any case, as I held him tight while Julie trimmed his hoofs, I fell in love with him. It is quite a strange thing, that of falling in love with a being which you shouldn't love, for the reason that it might end up in your plate.
Jenny, when we visited her last week, said that sometimes, there are some individuals in your herd which are born special, and which have come to you to teach you something. I think Knuckle Head is one of these.
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Ref
Goat Husbandry, David Mackenzie 1980
