Where to begin... at the beginning, I suppose. The electric fence went out - again. The three goats, being goats, took full advantage of the situation. They started with the near total destruction of the flowering shrub, whose identity I don't know, that a Mr. Kelly gave to my daddy years ago. The root is from Ireland and is over 400 years old. Second was the complete destruction of the flowering quince marking the grave of the best dog I will probably ever have. Then they scratched (destroyed) the paint on all the vehicles in the driveway, smashed the feed cans for the chicken feed, and the cages housing my mean roosters, shoving them all over the yard, stealing their food, terrorizing all occupants therein.
I couldn't feed the chickens, guineas, ducks, the corn was constantly being stolen, spilled, feed cans being overturned and smashed - just for fun. They kept me awake all night, woke me when I fell asleep from exhaustion during the day, kept me jumping up to chase them away all day & night, waited for me to get in my car to go to town to wreak havoc and mayhem. I couldn't get the help I needed to fix the fence and was physically unable to do all the work myself. My only defense was a battery powered soft-shot AR-15 on full auto. It gave me satisfaction to see them scatter. But they soon learned the effective range and wasted no time getting to it. From there they would stand & stare knowing full well I could do nothing.
Finally, a friend rounded up a couple guys to put the fence posts back up and straighten the electrical tape, but they could not get the power going for the fence. No juice, no detainment of goats. They took down a section of the newly repaired fence in two days. I was reaching my limit. This may sound stupid, unless you, too, suffer from severe spinal stenosis and have been fighting for years just to keep moving, damn the constant pain. The next to final straw came when they turned over the metal trash can holder which held two 50 pound trash cans of corn. The cans were held shut with chain, para cord and bailing twine. No corn was spilled, but I, with my totally screwed up back, got to set the whole contraption upright again. I slid it up against the porch stairs and tied it there, to the upright of the hand rail. Shortly after, the goats, with a concerted team effort, managed to shove the cans in their rack to a 90 degree angle to the stairs, managing in the process to split the stair risers where the railing attached. I ran them off and fifteen minutes later, they are back. That was the final straw. I had no more patience, no way to prevent them from taking down my only mode of ingress into my house, no help, no shoulder to cry on. It was the goats or me at that instant in time, emphasis on instant.
What do you do when you reach your limit; when you hate to go home because there is no peace there? What do you do if you're an animal lover and can't stand the thought of an animal suffering, but you have to have an immediate solution because your quality of life has been destroyed to the point where your health, which isn't that great, is in jeopardy? I mean you need a solution NOW, not three days from now but NOW, because you won't even be able to go in and out of your house if the goats come back in another fifteen minutes?
I got the goats five years ago to eat the weeds down around the edge of the mobile home I lived in when my parents were still alive, because the area was too steep to mow. It was a good idea at the time. It seems somewhat misguided at this point. It has seemed misguided for some time, in fact. They're pets, I love 'em, now I hate 'em with my entire being. They have made my life a living Hell for months. They don't eat the weed they were bought to control because they like what's outside the fence better, hence the weeds are worse than ever. One of them has made a game of destroying all the wire fencing around the dog yard, ripping holes in it my Belgian Malinois can get her entire head through. She destroyed the chain link gates & loosened the fence posts till they shake back and forth. All of it is a great game for her, even driving my Malinois nuts.
So what do you do?
When they split the stair risers I made up my mind it would stop. When they came back fifteen minutes later, I didn't meet them with a toy gun. I met them with my only alternative. The only long gun I had was my daddy's old 22 rifle. The one he bought used for $7.00 when he was 14 years old. I love that gun even more than my daddy did and he loved it a lot. He told many stories about the gun. It has history.
When the goats came back fifteen minutes later and ran out to the effective range of my toy AR-15, I took aim at the one who tore up all the fencing, the cutest one of all. I shot her in the chest with my daddy's 22 and I watched her die. Strangely, I felt no emotion. None at all. No anger, no sadness, no relief, nothing. I took care of her body and still felt nothing. The other goats ran back into their field and I didn't see them for six days. No bleating, no harassment, no curious looks. Today they came to their proper spot and ate the whole corn I put out for them. Not a sound from either of them. If they have come back around to the yard, they have left no sign. The birds in cages are eagerly eating the food denied them for months. Some, the ducks especially, were nearly starved. The chickens are now happy and enjoying the yard like they used to before this summer of Hell began.
I don't know quite what to think about all this. I never thought I could kill a perfectly healthy animal. My daddy used to tell me a story about his brother who loved apple pie. His momma baked one and set it in the window to cool and one of the dogs found it and ate it. His brother shot that dog then and there. I always thought that was a terrible thing to do. That is until now. I wouldn't kill a dog over apple pie but I killed a goat for ruining my peace of mind and much of my property. I'm still not sad about it, but I am noticing how stressed I really was. I enjoy taking care of my animals now. I take better care of them. I do things in the yard and house that I haven't done for months. I am feeling better physically and certainly mentally. I had no idea how stressful my existence had become until the stress-er was removed.
I'm not proud or happy for what I did, but I am at peace with it. Sometimes I just have to come first. Sometimes I must do the inconceivable for life to be acceptable. RIP goat. I loved you, I hated you and I know you're in a good place, and, finally, so am I.
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