Brown, the goat

When we moved here we had a crude chicken coop already on the property. It seemed a shame to just let it sit there so eventually we got ourselves some chickens. As winter began to threaten, we began to wonder how we would keep them warm in this harsh climate. One evening when we were having coffee after a church gathering we mentioned our problem to a farmer who had lived here many years. He advised us to get some larger animals and put them together with the chickens for the winter. Our property had also come complete with a small barn and a corral. What animals could we get that would be large and warm and cheap? First we found Betsy, the goat, and her son Bucky. Betsy's name was fanciful. Bucky's name was appropriate. We've been in and out having animals ever since. At present we are down to two outside animals. Poor Hen, who is the sole survivor of her flock. (There is a marten lurking in the woods.) And poor Brown, the goat, whose brother, Black, died suddenly for unknown reasons this last Thanksgiving week-end. Black's mother had decided not to feed him when he was born, so the farmer's wife had bottle fed him until he was weaned. This had made him a gregarious, people-loving goat. He always came to the fence and nickered when he saw us in the yard. Brown always held back. We seemed to make him very nervous. Black always got first dibs on all the food. (Maybe that had something to do with his early death.) When we all went for a walk, Black ambled along amiably between my husband and me. Brown followed along warily. Our border collie seemed to sense his subordinate position and pestered him without mercy. Black and Brown were always together, whether eating or napping or having their afternoon headbutting contests. In the back of our minds we wondered if Brown would die too, without his brother for company. He and Hen seem to get along fine together in their winter quarters--an old ice fishing house back by the woodpile. It is closer to the house than the barn and my husband rigged it with electricity. He turns on a heatlamp bulb for them on the coldest nights. But I think Hen is not enough company for him. He has become better friends with our dog Bear. They tussle around together and chase each other. And slowly but surely he has warmed up to us, even me. My husband is extremely patient with animals. I can't say the same. We've been having some beautiful days with bright blue sky and strong sunshine, but winter doesn't want to let go. It's been cold for March. So we've been going skiing the last few afternoons, and Brown sometimes tries to come along. I do not like this. He steps on the back of my skis sometimes and causes me to suddenly stop. He passes me and then stops and won't move. He turns around and tries to engage me in a friendly game of headbutting. My husband says, "You go ahead. I'll make him go home." I know this is not true. My husband is just being patient, with Brown and with me. He'll just try to keep us separated. And so it happens that when we come to the part of the trail where you either pop out on the road and ski on home or turn around and have a longer ski by retracing your route through the woods, I tell them to go on ahead so that I can go back thru the woods alone. I am happy and sad, free, unemcumbered and a little lonely. When I eventually arrive home while pondering these things, who do I see sitting on the trail at the edge of our woods, waiting patiently for me? Little Bear, who endures my impatient outbursts more than anyone, and yet she adores me. We all need each other, husband and wife, goat and dog, and even Hen, I guess.