Every fall, when the sweet scent of our goat ladies fills the air, Rocket the buck lifts his massive head and lets the perfume of females push any semblance of wisdom out of his brain. He is focused on romance and nothing else matters.
Like fences, for example. Fences don’t matter.
Rocket spent several months in his own private pasture – his bachelor pad complete with shed, water tank, and lots of green grass. All he needed was a popcorn machine and he’d be set.
Until fall came. Suddenly the fence between him and the girls was nothing more than a slight distraction. There was actually a small but empty pasture between him and the does but he somehow appeared in the buffer pasture.
The second fence line was no different than the first but two fences in a row were apparently too much to manage. So far. But we didn’t like our odds because if he could clear one fence, he could clear another.
So why didn’t he? Maybe we were assuming incorrectly about his fence ability. We hid behind the trash dumpster and watched.
Wouldn’t you hide behind a trash dumpster if you wanted to watch your male goat scale a fence? Yeah, well, the neighbors sure speeded up as soon as they saw the scene. Pedal to the metal, zoom, and they were out of sight. Like your kids when you announce it’s time to clean the house. Zip, zoom, gone.
We ignored the neighbors so we were watching when Rocket reared back, put two front hooves midway up the fence, and pulled it down. Our boy wasn’t a pole vaulter. In fact, he was barely a hurdler. Once he pulled the fence down, he was more of a hopper.
He made a beeline for the second fence and I raced into the pen to grab him before he used that hip-hop strategy again. I led him back into his own pasture and straightened up the woven wire. Maybe if I laced some 2x4s through the wire, he couldn’t push it down.
I turned my back to look for boards and he was at the second fence again. Like Star Trek transport. Fading out and then fading in at the fence line. This was handy stuff for our Rocket in love.
Back he went to his own pasture.
I then started for the second fence, to study any weaknesses there. He beat me to the second fence.
That was pretty fast hip-hop. “Scotty, beam me up” fast. “Look at me, Mom” while riding a bicycle down a steep hill kind of fast. Rocket on jet skies.
His big fluttering eyes and flashing white teeth impressed me much less than the does and I took him back to his pasture. Maybe I was a little grumpy this time. I’m not admitting to anything.
I blinked and he was at the second fence again.
We had words.”Rocket, you will get your time with the girls. Just not yet. You gotta wait a little while.”
He went over the fence again.
We finally ran a single strand of electric fence along the top of the woven wire. The next time Rocket had Scotty slide the levers for transport, he got a little jolt of electricity on the nose. He was pretty shocked at this development but circled around like a kid zoning in on the cookie jar.
It only took lovestruck Rocket two buzzes on the nose until he stayed in his own pen.
He might not have had much wisdom in that lovestruck brain but apparently an electric fence spoke his language.
