When people find out that I live south of Shakopee on a hobby farm the first question they ask is, “Do you have any animals out there”? “Yeah,” I say with some disdain, “A bunch of stupid chickens, pigeons, and anywhere between 4 and 10 cats, depending upon the time of year.”
My wife and I bought the place because we thought it would be a nice place for the kids to grow up. Our daughter is now 21, and our son is 18 – so I guess it was, because they did. The farm is only 5 acres, with an old house, a barn, and five other buildings. The first time my Dad, a former real farmer, saw the place he remarked, “Boy, the work out here just won’t quit.” He’s been gone a few years now – but every Saturday when I am working around the place I hear his voice reminding me how much work is involved with owning a hobby farm. That’s quite a name for it – “hobby farm.” I think it’s called that because when you own a hobby farm, you don’t have time for any hobbies.
Over the past fifteen years - my wife says it more like thirteen – (I have trouble with that whole time/space continuum thing), my family has provided a home for three dogs, dozens of cats, two geriatric horses, hundreds of mice (its actually more of an occupation than a voluntary arrangement), herds of sheep, too many chickens, some turkeys, geese, ducks, and pigeons. Oh yeah - and three goats that just about killed me.
We started with two goats. I had answered an ad that said “two goats to a nice home.” Hmm, O.K. The people were so happy to get rid of them that I should have suspected something. They told me that the goats were brother and sister, but it wasn’t too long after I brought them home that a baby was born (a kid, if you will). Isn’t that illegal? I don’t know – maybe the goat community tolerates such behavior.
Let me tell you about goats. They are nice enough - but they are impossible to contain. They regard a fence as nothing more than a minor challenge, a distraction from their otherwise normal day of worrying the sheep. I have heard them laughing their little goat laugh as they watched me reinforce a fence they had just got through the day before.
“Is that all you got Mr. Man?” I have witnessed them scale a fence as if it were an OSHA approved ladder. They can jump over fences with the skill of an African Gazelle.
They push on them until they find the weak spot that surely must be there – and then they walk through as if a gate had been left open for their enjoyment.
Well with three of them I just about lost my mind. The little one had springs instead of legs, and the male was always looking for an opportunity to use his horns on my back side. I finally got rid of them – Doctors orders. My blood pressure had risen higher than the fences I constructed in vain.
I took them down to the Sales Barn in Belle Plaine. I was not even interested in selling them to “a good home.” I just wanted them gone. I turned them over to the auctioneers and their staff. As I walked to my truck I heard hollering, cursing, and windows breaking. The goats had found a new challenge. I smiled and drove back to the farm. I had fences to mend.
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