Last week, I had to bury our two goats. The neighbors, who had been feeding them weeds and grass clippings, did not know that rhododendrons are very poisonous plants, and so when they trimmed their rhododendron bushes, they put the clippings over the fence so the goats could eat the leaves. They did. Then they got very sick, and then they died. Princess died first during the night, and Fluffy died the following evening.
It was done in ignorance, and they profusely apologized and offered to replace the goats. I feel partly responsible because I didn't warn them and I knew they were feeding them, but I had no idea that they had rhododendrons. The neighbors even helped us dig one of the graves. We're not holding it against them, obviously. Actually, it was kind of a nice opportunity to bond with our neighbors. Except for the nice part, that is. Since the goats died in the evening, I didn't get to burying them until after work the following day, and it's been quite hot lately. If anyone wants to purchase a certain tarp at a discount price, I have a deal for you.
Anyway, the neighbors know someone who rescues goats, and if we tell them which breed we're looking for, they can have them look out for that breed. Elizabeth would like to have milking goats at some point, but right now she's a little busy, so we decided to hold off on replacing the goats until next spring.
This, along with the birth of our daughter, and 1 kitten so far that who has
found a home, brings the
population of our farm down from a high of 31 to 28: 3 humans, 14 chickens, 6 ducks, 2 cats, and 3 kittens.
