Day 1 (July 18, 2010)

This is the beginning of the history of our lives with goats.  Here is how it started on July 18, 2010.

Day 1 – Welcome Home Goats!!!

We brought ‘em home today.  We’ve been wanting them.  We want milk.  We want something to take over the job of weed wacking the potentially rattlesnake harboring scrub oak.  We got ‘em.

Two goats in the back of the truck squished in there with 2 bales of hay under the protection of the heat magnifying topper.  98 degrees. Hotter inside the topper.  Don’t want goats to suffocate on the way home.   We leave the little sliding window behind the back seat open…so they could get a little more air than the side windows on the topper were giving them, and so we could keep an eye on the new purchase we knew almost nothing about. 

Important part here:  the little OPEN sliding window.

Next on tap for the ride home…My 6 year old son closes the window.  And thus follows:

Me:  “We said leave the window open!”  huff, huff 

Son:  “But Mom, she’s POOPING!!” huff, huff

I do a quick turn around and yes, Lilac is pooping.  Gross.  But grosser is that her butt is facing the –now nearly closed window thanks to my son’s genius- and small balls of goat poop are firing straight down at the window.  We would have had goat poop on my son’s head and all over the back seat if he hadn’t closed the window.

We all laugh, I apologize profusely for jumping to the “here he goes, not listening again” conclusion and then thank my son for his 6 year old brilliance. 

Jump forward an hour and a half. 

We’re home.  The goat pen is only ½ finished.  We have bobcats, mountain lions, bears, coyotes, and big scary neighbor’s dogs that have been known to not even ask permission to come into our yard. 

Darn them. 

OK, so that’s living with nature. 


Anyway, in El Salvador, (our only experience with really even seeing goats much), they tie them around the neck then to a tree so they have about a five feet length of rope between them and the tree.  Those Salvadorean goats don’t seem to mind.  They just do their thing and eat. 

Well, Boone, Colorado goats fresh to OUR farm DO mind.  They just don’t get it.  We hook them to a tree and they get all tangled around the tree, all tangled up in the rope, they don’t eat and they seem to pretty much hate the idea so much that they ba-a-a-a-a ba-a-a-a-a non-stop and loud enough that we become concerned the neighbors will call the animal protection service on us. 

But that’s not the worst.  Unfortunately.

Oso, our big, very sweet dog, trotted up to investigate Canela.  A gentle sniff-sniff-sniff was all he intended.  But it scared Canela to death.  She took off running at top speed.


To the end of her 5 foot rope. 

I scream.  Canela flies through the air.  Her body flings 180 degrees and thuds on the ground.  I scream. 

I run to her, convinced we have just allowed our first goat to hang herself after being entrusted with her care for a full 2 hours and 27 minutes.  This may not bode well for our future with goats.

She’s not dead. 

She stands up, shakes it off and calls the chiropractor.  My son and I chase Oso up to the garage where he spends (sorry, Oso) most of the next 2 days tied up or shut in so he can do no more innocent damage. 

We keep working on the pen.  98 degrees.  We’re sweating, hungry, thirsty.  We keep working.  We’re still sweating, hungry, thirsty and now really tired.  We keep working.  We’re sweating, hungry, thirsty, really tired, it’s getting late, and we still have to milk

Oh ya.  Milk. 

That’s why we bought these things, right?

–  The Goat Cheese Lady

About The Goat Cheese Lady

I am Lindsey. At first I was a city girl. Growing up, the closest thing I had to farm animals were a cat and a cockatiel. In 2009, Herbert (my husband) and I bought our first milk goat and I instantly became an urban farmgirl, attempting to balance city and farm life..before I knew “urban homesteading” was a thing. That’s when we began The Goat Cheese Lady Farm, hence The Goat Cheese Lady blog you’re visiting now. After moving to the country in 2014, I embarked on life as a rural farmgirl. We continued teaching farm and cheesemaking classes, raising more goats and began construction on our cheese creamery. But life had other plans and in 2017, we decided that, due to financial and health issues, we had to close the farm for business. No more classes, no more creamery, a lot less milking. We went back to off farm jobs, I as an Occupational Therapist, Herbert in construction with his business, D&A Home Remodeling. At that point, I made a silent promise to myself that I would corral my entrepreneurial mind and focus on a job for a year. Well, it has been a year and I am back. Not to classes, cheese, soap or lotion, but back to writing. I love it. I’m not sure where it will lead me, but that’s where I’m starting. I’ll continue to write as The Goat Cheese Lady for now, and whatever the future holds, I’ll let you know. Our two boys are 14 and 11 and continue to be louder than my sister and I ever were. We have two dogs, Montaña and Flash, a cat, Jumpy, a flock of chickens and three goats. Yes, we still have Lucy, the goat who helped us start it all and was milked by over 1,000 people. She’s retired but still the boss. Chocolate provides enough milk for our family with some to spare for the dogs. Soccer friends, school friends, coyotes and mice are frequent visitors. There are way too many flies and every so often we see an owl. I’m glad you’re here. Sometimes you’ll laugh out loud, other times you’ll be inspired to appreciate the small things. My hope is that, over your morning cup of coffee or your afternoon work break, you’ll enjoy the antics and inspiration that are my daily life. Lindsey
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1 Response to Day 1 (July 18, 2010)

  1. Melanie says:

    It’s amazing these little creatures live through all we put them through. I told about when my (now former-) husband and I got two little goats. We knew NOTHING!! We did have a safe pen for them, in with our two horses which fortunately the horses didn’t mind. But we didn’t know how to feed the goats. The woman we got them from said they would drink milk from a pan….they didn’t. We desperately tried to get the littlest one to drink from a bottle. Our victories were tiny….measured in fractions of ounces of milk consumed…..eventually, he drank willingly and lots and he thrived.

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