#the hoof is throwing me off but she's so gorge

[knittedkikwi]

Ironsworn update

I know I said no more mega posts, but this game is too fun to put down. Have half a mega post instead. Story’s below the cut. Summary is down below.

Spoilers: Mira tracks the gaunts into the Deep Wilds. Discovered they’ve been transformed by a mystic, who plans to do the same to the kidnapped kid. She runs into her elf buddy, they help her fight. She learns she can do magic. Now she’s got to find the equivalent of Hogwarts in a low magic campaign setting.

Mira walked to the edge of town and stared at the forest in front of her. One tree marked the line between the village and the Wilds. It was a gnarled, ancient,ugly old thing. Mira had never seen any leaves on it, despite it being well into summer at this point. The village took its name from this tree. Children were apparently warned never to pass the tree when they played, lest the hollows get them.

Hollows were a myth, but Mira was still hesitant to head back into the Deep Wilds. She knew there were a lot of very real monster’s in those woods and this time she didn’t have Dotani to help her.

“Deep breath, Mira, you’ve got this.” She adjusted the pack of supplies on her back and strode past the tree, towards what she hoped would be a very near herd of gaunts.

She trekked through the forest for a couple of hours. Her cloak was drenched, thanks to the almost constant rain in the Wilds. Daydreams of fires and dry clothes danced through her head. A nip on her ear brought her out of her reverie.

“Ouch! What is it Gabriel?”

The owl looked pointedly at the ground. She had been so lost in thought that she almost missed the signs that something had passed through. She dropped to her knees and took a closer look. There were definitely hoof prints. Gaunts were all over the wilds, so that wasn’t surprising. These were leading away from the village, so probably the ones she needed. She followed them for a few minutes and was rewarded with a single pair of boot prints, small enough to be a child’s. It looked like the group had stopped for a minute. Finding only one set of prints meant Sagura was likely riding on one of the gaunts. Why? Gaunts weren’t typically known for kidnapping. They’re beasts, they don’t have a use for hostages. And they certainly weren’t known for letting people ride them. Something strange was happening here. For now, she just needed to follow the tracks.

She walked for another hour or so before she ran into a surprise. A gaunt hung from a tree, trapped inside a hunter’s net. Mira scanned the area for whoever had set the trap. Seeing no one, she turned back to the skeletal horse. She’d seen gaunts before and found them disconcerting. Now that she’d been in a town, she knew why. Horses shouldn’t have scales or pure white eyes. This one was different though. It had spines protruding from its neck where its mane should have been. As Mira circled around the hanging animal, it lashed out with its hooves. She stumbled back in time and watched as the creature continued to kick towards her, even as she backed away.

“Gabriel, have you ever seen a gaunt react that viciously?” she murmured. The few times gaunts had seen her, they opted to run rather than fight.

“Hooo” Gabriel’s feathers were fluffing up as he shuffled from foot to foot.

“Yeah, I don’t like it either. Something’s changed this one. Filled it with hate. We need to hurry before whatever did this does it to Sagura.”

Mira continued in the direction the tracks had headed. It took several more hours, and a stop to eat and redo bandages, but she finally caught sight of the group. Thankfully there weren’t many. These ones also had spiked manes and seemed more aggressive than normal, but the concerning thing was the people riding two of them. One she could easily identify as Sagura. The other was covered in tattoos and wearing clothing that looked like it had been made from leaves and vines.

“Shit, it’s a mystic!”

Mira had seen a mystic come through town a couple of months ago. Same tattoos, better clothes. The villagers had been equal parts excited and scared. Magic may be real, but it is very rare. Mystic’s were some of the few people who could actually harness it.

“I guess that explains the weird gaunt. We’ll have to be very careful.” She turned her head to look at Gabriel. “I hope you don’t mind, but you are staying far away from this fight.”

An ambush would probably be the best. But how would she sneak up on them? And how could she get Sagura safe first? She needed some way to scout ahead of them. She shadowed them for a bit until she saw them start into a small hollow that she recognized. It was a winding path that narrowed towards the other end. She decided to sneak across the top and set up an ambush at the end.

She moved as quickly and quietly through the woods as she could. She found the area of the hollow she needed. It was more of a gorge really. Narrow with steep walls, the gaunts would be forced to walk single file. Perfect, now she just needed to get everything ready.

“Bud, I’m gonna find a tree for you to hang out, ok?” She whispered. Where was a good place to stash an owl? She moved partly into forest and found a hollow in a tree. It was just big enough for Gabriel to hide and close enough that she could hear him if he needed her. She lifted him inside then turned back towards the valley, only to be confronted by a wooden mask with two luminous eyes staring back at her.

“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.” A hand pushed the mask up, revealing a handsome, but unearthly face. The eyes were too large, the features too pointed with sallow, green tinged skin that crinkled like dry leaves when the elf talked.

“Dotani! You have impeccable timing, as always. Would you be willing to help me with something?”

“For my favorite enigma, certainly. What do you need?”

This was perfect. With two of them, that mystic didn’t stand a chance.

“A boy went missing from Grimtree. It turns out he was kidnapped by a mystic riding these strange gaunts. I need to get him back. I was going to ambush them when they were bottlenecked in. How about you station yourself on the other side and we take the mystic out together?” She spoke quickly as they walked back to the gulch.

“That sounds like an excellent idea. I assume we are trying to get the boy away from the mystic as soon as possible, then.” Their long, pointed ear twitched as if they heard something. “The group is almost here. Hide.”

Dotani placed the mask back over their face and then jumped to the other side of the gulch easily. Mira pulled her axe free from her belt and got ready to throw her knife.

The gaunts rounded the corner. She took a deep breath and moved into a crouch to hide while she lined up her shop. Her injured leg chose that moment give out. She lurched forward, trying to throw her knife, but it went wide. Even worse, she lost her grip on her axe. It fell to ground, maybe ten feet in front of the mystic. Mira looked at Dotani, who was staring straight at her. He gave a swift nod towards her axe before standing up to take his own shot. Mira jumped to the ground as Dotani let the arrow fly.

The mystic reached his hand up and caught the arrow midair. Mira watched as he drew it back through his closed hand and smeared blood on his forehead.

“I see you, Mira. You are think you are brave, but you’re just as frightened as the day you awoke in that grave. Leave the boy to me and you still have a chance to find out the truth about yourself.”

His voice echoed of the walls, seeming to come from everywhere. The sound filled her mind. Part of her wanted to agree, wanted to run away and focus on herself. Then she thought of Sadia and Emelyn and Alban and all of the rest of Grimtree. They may have been slow to embrace her, but she was one of them now. Which meant Sagura was one of hers.

“You know nothing about who I am,” she replied, picking up her axe and facing him.

He drew a sword she hadn’t seen before and scrawled a rune on it in his blood. As he raised it and charged, she realized it looked awfully familiar. She raise her axe to stop the blade, but felt something sharp pierce her shoulder. Looking down, she saw a dagger sprouting from her shoulder. Sagura had his arm outstretched with a strange, manic smile on his face.

“Dotani, he’s cast a ritual on the boy. Knock him out if you can but don’t hurt him!” She pulled the dagger out and slashed out as the gaunt standing beside her. The animal danced away as its rider brought the sword around for another blow.

Mira got her axe up in time to block and used her chance to slash at the legs of the gaunt with the dagger. A solid blow! The creature went down, but the mystic used her moment of distraction to wrench her axe from her hand. Dotani pelted the man with arrows, but he was too fast. The gaunt took most of them and stilled.

Thunder seemed to sound all around them as Mira realized Sagura was charging at her on his own mount. Mira tried to dodge to the side, but there wasn’t enough room to escape completely. She was thrown to the side as Sagura galloped past and flew into the wall. She shook her head, trying to get the ringing in her ears to stop. She now had an enemy on either side of her. Dotani was managing to keep the mystic at bay for now, but she needed to get Sagura off that gaunt.

She ran at Sagura as he tried to wheel around in the narrow space. Pulling with all her force, she brought him down to the ground. She flipped the dagger in her hand and brought the pommel down on his head. Sagura raised his arm and blocked the blow. He started wrestling with Mira over the dagger. The now riderless gaunt finally managed to turn itself around and started charging.

Mira watched as two arrows sprouted from the gaunt’s side. She continued to wrestle with Sagura for a moment, but the kid played dirty. He reached for her belt and grabbed her own knife. She tried to stop him, but that only gave him the chance to get his own dagger from her hand as well. The enemy had managed to completely disarm her. She hear footsteps rushing up to her.

“Mira, behind you!” Dotani shouted.

She whirled in time to see the Mystic raising her own axe against her. Fuck him! That was her axe! She screamed and threw her weight into his chest, knocking them both to the ground. As they wrestled for the axe, the mystic caught Mira’s gaze. Something about his eyes frightened her. He pulled her close and whispered in her ear.

“You’ll never belong to that town. They don’t know you. How could they when you don’t know you either? You must have committed atrocities in your past to earn the fate you got. Surrender and I’ll end it for you.”

Tears streamed down Mira’s face as she finally got her axe free of his grasp.

“I’m going to make the boy stronger. He’ll never have to face what you have. He’ll be strong enough to avoid it. Humanity will pay for what it did to the Old World and he’s going to help me bring about that vengeance. Starting with you!”

“Shut up!” she screamed. He was right. She didn’t know herself. Humanity had destroyed the Old World. But she wouldn’t let him punish those who had never even seen it. She couldn’t let him turn a child into a monster!

Her axe lashed out with a speed she didn’t even know she had in a desperate attempt to turn this fight around. She swung the axe low and swept his legs out from under him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dotani jump down and knock out Sagura. Acting on pure instinct, she wiped some blood from her shoulder and scrawled a rune on her axe. The same one she’d seen the mystic draw on his own weapon. She raised her weapon high and brought it down onto his chest. She felt ribs crack and saw blood spray.

Mira watched as the rune that she had written glowed. All of the blood on her axe seemed to disappear inside it as a faint red glow traveled up from the weapon to herself. She could feel the dagger wound closing. Even her leg felt better. The mystic looked up at her with surprise on his face.

“You are one….of us! One of….the magic wielders! Spare me….and I can….teach you….” His breath came in short bursts. She could hear him getting weaker.

“I’ll find a teacher on my own. One who isn’t going to waste their skills taking revenge on the innocent.” She raised the axe once more and brought it down on his head this time.

The forest went still once more. Mira heard footsteps behind her and felt a hand on her shoulder.

“So you can use magic. That’s not something I expected from you,” Dotani’s voice whispered like dry leaves blowing in the wind, “He’s right, you know. You should find a teacher.”

“I know. I didn’t actually expect that rune to work though.” She didn’t even know what she drew. It happened so fast, she let her hands guide her. The frightening thing was that this hadn’t felt like the first time she’d done that.

Dotani turned her around. “I know not how human magic works, but Firstborn cannot even duplicate the rune if they cannot wield it,” he glanced at her axe, “That looks like a bloodstain to me. I see no shape.”

Mira blinked and looked at the rune. It was still clear to her, although it was fading rapidly. “Where would I even find a teacher? I only know one town and the people there practically ran away when a mystic traveled through.”

“I would suggest asking someone who might have spoken to that mystic.”

Mira looked up sharply. “Sadia. She runs the only inn in town. If anyone knows it would be her.”

“Excellent. You have a plan. Now I suggest you go get that owl of yours,” Dotani’s ear twitched, “It sounds as though he is starting to worry.”

Mira ran as fast as she could out of the gulch and back to the tree. Gabriel had hopped out onto a branch and was shuffling side to side as he waited. He started screeching as soon as he saw her.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to drop out of sight, but my leg gave out and I dropped my axe and it all went wrong!” She scooped the panicked owl up and placed him back on her shoulder. He immediately leaned into her, making soft hissing sounds all the way back to the scene of the fight.

Sagura lay on the ground, still unconscious, but now tied up in thick vines. Dotani was nowhere to be seen. So much for having some time to catch up on the way the way back.

“Thanks Dotani!” Maybe he was still close enough to hear. If not, the trees would probably tell him. Mira grabbed the mystic’s sword. She then picked up the teenager with ease and started the trek back home, somehow feeling stronger than when she started.

The journey back led her past the gaunt that was stuck in the net. As she passed, she noted that the spikes had disappeared and been replaced with its typical mane. She set Sagura down and took a moment to lower the animal and release it from the net. As she’d hoped, it immediately sprinted away and back into the Wilds.

“Good to know that the effects fade after death, I suppose.” Gabriel gave a small hiss in agreement as Mira picked up Sagura and headed home.

A frantic woman at the edge of town greeted the group, along with Emelyn. She examined Sagura with critical eye and then gave Mira a surprisingly strong hug.

“Thank you for getting my baby back! You have no idea how worried I was. What happened?” Sagura’s mother still hadn’t let Mira out of the hug, despite the fact that they were probably crushing her son.

Mira sighed as she extricated herself, “A mystic took him.” Sagura’s mother took her son from Mira’s arm and the headed back to town at a brisk pace. Emelyn and Mira trailed behind.

“A mystic?” Emelyn asked. “Like the one that passed through a while ago?”

“No, this one didn’t seem like the other one. He wanted to do something to Sagura so he could help him get back at the Ironlanders for what they did to the Old Country. He’d already transformed some gaunts into more aggressive forms. I think he had started the process on Sagura already. He did something to him to make him fight against us.”

“Us?”

“I ran into an old friend. He helped me fight. Knocked out Sagura so I could focus on the mystic.” Mira glanced at Emelyn. “Do you know anything about magic?”

“I know a bit. Rituals usually require some sort of rune or talisman, though I have seen some use the essence of nature.”

“Could you show me any of the runes?”

Emelyn shook her head. “I’ve never seen any. The one time I saw a mystic cast something, it was like trying to look through fog. I could tell something was there, but not what.”

Mira frowned, “I don’t suppose you know where I could find a mystic?”

“No. Why do you need one?”

“I learned something about myself out there and I think I need one to help me sort it out. I’ll see if maybe Sadia knows.”

“Good idea. She tends to hear all sorts of things from the folks staying at the inn,” Emelyn placed a hand on Mira’s shoulder and turned to look at her. “For now, consider your oath fulfilled. The village is safe, Sagura is back where he belongs. Go rest and speak with Sadia in the morning.”

Mira smiled and nodded. Her bed sounded amazing at that moment.

[josephkitchen0]

Raising Goats Can Lead to Four-Legged Best Friends

Ariel “poses” with her last kid.

By Miriah Reynolds, Belgrade, Montana – Raising goats throughout your life can result in having hundreds of goats leaving hoof prints on your heart and memories that go deeper than the pages of a scrapbook. Out of all them, there is one doe in particular that changed my life, and is truly a legend that should never be forgotten.

I started writing for Dairy Goat Journal a long time ago, and since starting I’ve written many times about Ariel. It will be two years on April 1, 2013 that Ariel passed away. As with any family member’s death, it takes time to heal, sort out the memories and grasp the unfortunate. Accepting her death has been extremely hard for me to move past. Whenever I hear the country song “I Get a Little Bit Stronger,” by Sara Evans, I am immediately reminded of how much the scar of her death has not healed, flooding tears to my eyes. If I catch a picture of her standing on her favorite rock pile on the wall, I realize the empty unhealed hole she left in my heart. I am finally ready to share the story of Ariel from start to finish. Grab a blanket and a box of tissues, snuggle up on the couch and let the legend of Ariel melt your heart.

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Raising goats was nothing new for my family; my mother raised them when she was a child. When I was four years old, she took me to pick out my first goat. Mom told me that I could have whichever kid I wanted as long as it was a girl. At four years old that was a huge decision to make. I vaguely remember walking around the dusty pen and petting all the kids. Some were jumping on me, others chewing on my shirt, but one of them walked near me and seemed smarter than the rest. She had black and white markings and was rather intrigued by the stranger in her pen. When I went up to her she did not flee away, but instead stood still as I approached her. Picking her up, I practically dragged her back to my parents and said, “I want this one.” My parents handed the farmer $40 and we were on our way home.

Sitting in the backseat of my family’s tan minivan, I tried to think of a name. My mom and dad were throwing out names of Disney Princesses, but none of their recommendations fit her. I looked down at my fluorescent pink muck boots with Sebastian, Flounder, and the underwater kingdom of the Little Mermaid. Ariel: the perfect name! That was the day I began raising goats, and from there Ariel and I spent every waking moment together. Before school, after, and I even brought her into class for show and tell!

Miriah and Ariel

Ariel brought so many great memories to our family, just like her first kidding. We bred her to an Alpine goat buck named, Billy. I remember checking on her dozens of times a day throughout her pregnancy, hoping that I would get to see her give birth. One afternoon, right around her due date my dad and I left the farm to go to the feed store. When I came back there was an adorable kid all cleaned off and nursing. After all that waiting I missed the birth. I named him Sebastian.

A few years later I was old enough to participate in my first 4-H fair, a crucial moment when you are raising goats. Since my mom had shown goats before, she taught me the basics, but insisted that I do all the work. I burned out six pairs of my dad’s cheap hair trimmers while fitting her and Ariel had more clipper lines, and nicks than any fitting job I’ve ever seen! There were only four kids including myself in the show, and it was held in a small dirt circle outside of the livestock barn. It was a learning experience for sure. I learned not to wear hot pink jeans, a 4-H tie-dye shirt, and walk Ariel on a leash. Even though it was a small show, Ariel and I won our first of many championships. After sleeping in the stall with Ariel all night, morning came so fast and we were both hungry. I gave her grain and milked her, then headed up to the Pomona Grange for breakfast. I tied her to a tree, not far from the picnic table filled with hungry 4-Hers. Sitting down on the rough benches, parents and children gorged on practically everything on the menu. Not long after I sat down, Ariel jumped up on to the table — eating everyone’s breakfast. Glasses of orange juice, coffee, sausage, pancakes, and home fries were not recognizable after my so-called “herbivore” devoured and trampled them. When I finally reached her show chain collar, I had to yank bacon out of her mouth. Who would have thought a goat would enjoy bacon so much? The kitchen staff was laughing hysterically behind the counter, but felt bad and cooked us all a new breakfast.

Ariel did exceptionally well in every show since our first. As she matured, so did I. We truly had a sister bond. Wherever I was, Ariel would be somewhere near. Throughout the years raising goats because a family priority and our herd size increased. When I was seven I saved up every penny I had and purchased a purebred Saanen goat from Paul Sabin in Exeter, Rhode Island. The three of us were joined at the hip, Ariel and Angel (the Saanen) got along fantastic.

When I was about 14, I would spend a week or so in Maine at the Pirri family’s goat farm. They raised Nubian goats, so Ariel always felt a little outnumbered. Ariel and I would participate in the Maine Days 4-H event, and present showmanship and goat hoof trimming demonstrations. During one hoof trimming demonstration, I let a novice try to trim her hooves for practice. Recently sharpened hoof trimmers in hand, he was ready to make a cut. Before I could stop him, blood was everywhere, pooling up on the floor and coating the milking stand. He cut Ariel’s toe past the quick. She stood there looking at me like—help! No amount of blood-stop powder or vet-wrap could contain the profuse bleeding. Ariel, being the trooper she was, limped through a showmanship demonstration the next day despite her injury.

With a few years of showing under our belt we finally got the hang of what needed to be done. I would spend dozens of hours fitting her while she patiently waited in the milking stand for the occasional treat. Popsicles, ice tea, Hershey chocolate bars, and even a turkey sandwich were a few of the goodies my mom would bring us. Between the radio cranked way up, clippers running, and all the lights on in the barn, I’d normally blow a fuse and Ariel would wait while I figured out how to fix it. We would spend a few hours each week all year round practicing show maneuvers in the backyard. By the time show season came around, we were more than prepared. I’d sit in the barn curled up in the hay with my goats and study the scorecard, sticking Post-It notes to their fur with the amount of points it was worth.

In the show ring Ariel was a showstopper. She would set up her feet whenever we stopped, walk gracefully slow, and hold her head up high. I never even had to loin her! Before almost every show, 4-Hers would bicker about who would get Ariel if the judge asked us to switch goats. I always got a kick out of that because as soon as Ariel was put into another person’s hand, she would not cooperate. I remember leading a LaMancha through the arena, watching Ariel’s antics with the other showman. When asked to walk, Ariel would drag her feet and back up. Whenever the 4-Her would go to set up her feet, Ariel would keep moving. The funniest part was Ariel would talk to me in a low distressed voice the whole time she was with the other person. As soon as she was back in my hands, Ariel was flawless. I never taught her that; I guess she just picked it up over time. Exhibitors dreaded getting her after that!

We used to do goat milking demonstrations at fairs, schools, and farm tours. Ariel would patiently wait in the milking stand while 40 or so children would pull, twist, and dig their small fingernails into her teats. She never kicked over the bucket or complained.

Even after all my years raising goats, Ariel remains one of the most exceptional herding queens. She was generally accepting of a new herd member, and gave discipline when needed. Ariel remained in charge of the herd for her whole fifteen years. Even when she was getting weaker towards the end, she still had the respect of all the animals.

Ariel was a little hussy. Yes, everyone who knew anything about raising goats knew that Ariel knew loved her bucks. Even in the middle of summer Ariel would come into a flaming standing heat, taking everything in our power to keep her away from the buck pen. In the spring of 2002 Ariel kidded to a beautiful pair of twins. One morning I went out to milk and could not find Ariel anywhere. I searched the garden, barn, even the chicken coop (for some reason she enjoyed layer pellets). She was nowhere to be found. My brother Holden and I would argue about who should feed the buck each day, and today (according to me) was his turn. “Miriah!” I heard a blood curdling scream from Holden across the farm. “Come over here! I found your goat!” Whenever he did not approve of one of my goats, instead of using their name, he referred to them as “your” goat. Sure enough, Ariel was standing in the middle of the buck pen covered in mud and kissing the buck. This was early March, just after her twins were weaned. Come late July, we were blessed with Prancer and Coolotta. Two Saanen Alpine does who will be 12 years old this summer.

As the years went by, I taught Ariel to pull a cart, go swimming, and goat pack. There was nothing that she could not do, and these years made raising goats easy. We tried to retire her for many years, but it was difficult to do; she was often caught red-hoofed in the buck pen. One year we had her ultra-sounded to ensure that she was not bred, but less than a week later she escaped and got pregnant. The delivery of that kid was extremely taxing on Ariel’s health. She had a sciatic nerve pinch, which she survived thanks to our veterinarian Dr. Balmforth.

The months strolled on with relative ease, but Ariel was slowly getting older and weaker. After her sciatic nerve problem was healed, it appeared as though she had a stroke and lost all coordination. Even after raising goats for so long it killed my family and I to see her like this. Accepting old age was incredibly hard. Soon after her stroke, Ariel could barley chew her feed and would make hay balls with her roughage. We bought her special, fine cut hay and would soak it in warm water with molasses to help her chew it. Her face was always happy even though her body was leaving her.

In October of 2010, Ariel was too weak to live outside in the barn, so we moved her into our living room. This phase of her life made raising goats tough, but my mom and dad were so fantastic about taking her outside to go to the bathroom, change her bedding, and give her baths in our shower. Curled up in a corner of the house, Ariel would intently watch movies with us or listen to the radio during the colder days. She could stand for only short periods of time, but could hardly get up on her own. During warmer days, we would bring her outside to wander around the farm as she wanted. Occasionally she would lose her balance and tip over. My family and I always had an eye on her so that we could help her up when she fell. It broke my heart to see her like that and the memory of such an amazing creature struggling to stay alive still makes me sad.

Ariel stayed in the house for six months, enjoying the warmth of the woodstove along with treats and scratches every time someone walked by. No matter the ailment that Ariel presented each day, my amazing mother knew how to fix it or make Ariel comfortable. I remember walking into the house seeing my mom doing physical therapy with Ariel propped up on a milk crate, trying to get her legs to loosen up. Our family called it goat yoga!

Even though Ariel was getting worse as each day went by, she remained in happy spirits. Her face was perky and those beautiful amber eyes still looked the same as they did the first time I saw her in the paddock 15 years earlier.

On April 1, 2011, I was at my boyfriend’s house when my brother called and said I had to come home now. Ty and I broke every speed limit as we drove to my house. When I walked into the house my mom, dad, and brothers were all circled around Ariel crying. I went right over and held her beautiful face in my hands. I put my forehead to hers just like we always did. (I used to joke that we were exchanging thoughts.) Her brown eyes looked at me with more love than I can explain. I did not say anything out loud because I knew she could understand what I was thinking: “I love you. Thank you for everything. Your time here is done; you are incredible. I’ll miss you. It’s alright, you can go now.”

And just like that she was gone. Tears and memories flooded throughout my body. I wanted her back, I wanted to talk to her one more time. We buried Ariel underneath the crab apple tree in the backyard. She loved nothing more than ripping the bark off of it and standing on her hind legs eating the branches. It was the perfect place. Every night until I moved away, I would kiss all my goats goodnight and then walk over to her grave. With the starry night sky lighting up the freshly turned soil, I’d talk to her as if she were standing right there. I know she was, and I know that it was her time to go that night, but I still miss her so much.

I cried for weeks, and am crying right now even after so many years raising goats; the recollection of her death is still so fresh in my mind. All the memories, all the laughs and joy this remarkable goat brought to my life will never be forgotten. I want everyone to remember Ariel for the life she lived and the lives that she touched in her 15 years. From eating bacon to being a show champion, Ariel was truly a life changer and my best friend.

Originally published in the Dairy Goat Journal, May/June 2013 issue and regularly vetted for accuracy.

Raising Goats Can Lead to Four-Legged Best Friends was originally posted by All About Chickens

[josephkitchen0]

Raising Goats Can Lead to Four-Legged Best Friends

Ariel “poses” with her last kid.

By Miriah Reynolds, Belgrade, Montana – Raising goats throughout your life can result in having hundreds of goats leaving hoof prints on your heart and memories that go deeper than the pages of a scrapbook. Out of all them, there is one doe in particular that changed my life, and is truly a legend that should never be forgotten.

I started writing for Dairy Goat Journal a long time ago, and since starting I’ve written many times about Ariel. It will be two years on April 1, 2013 that Ariel passed away. As with any family member’s death, it takes time to heal, sort out the memories and grasp the unfortunate. Accepting her death has been extremely hard for me to move past. Whenever I hear the country song “I Get a Little Bit Stronger,” by Sara Evans, I am immediately reminded of how much the scar of her death has not healed, flooding tears to my eyes. If I catch a picture of her standing on her favorite rock pile on the wall, I realize the empty unhealed hole she left in my heart. I am finally ready to share the story of Ariel from start to finish. Grab a blanket and a box of tissues, snuggle up on the couch and let the legend of Ariel melt your heart.

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Raising goats was nothing new for my family; my mother raised them when she was a child. When I was four years old, she took me to pick out my first goat. Mom told me that I could have whichever kid I wanted as long as it was a girl. At four years old that was a huge decision to make. I vaguely remember walking around the dusty pen and petting all the kids. Some were jumping on me, others chewing on my shirt, but one of them walked near me and seemed smarter than the rest. She had black and white markings and was rather intrigued by the stranger in her pen. When I went up to her she did not flee away, but instead stood still as I approached her. Picking her up, I practically dragged her back to my parents and said, “I want this one.” My parents handed the farmer $40 and we were on our way home.

Sitting in the backseat of my family’s tan minivan, I tried to think of a name. My mom and dad were throwing out names of Disney Princesses, but none of their recommendations fit her. I looked down at my fluorescent pink muck boots with Sebastian, Flounder, and the underwater kingdom of the Little Mermaid. Ariel: the perfect name! That was the day I began raising goats, and from there Ariel and I spent every waking moment together. Before school, after, and I even brought her into class for show and tell!

Miriah and Ariel

Ariel brought so many great memories to our family, just like her first kidding. We bred her to an Alpine goat buck named, Billy. I remember checking on her dozens of times a day throughout her pregnancy, hoping that I would get to see her give birth. One afternoon, right around her due date my dad and I left the farm to go to the feed store. When I came back there was an adorable kid all cleaned off and nursing. After all that waiting I missed the birth. I named him Sebastian.

A few years later I was old enough to participate in my first 4-H fair, a crucial moment when you are raising goats. Since my mom had shown goats before, she taught me the basics, but insisted that I do all the work. I burned out six pairs of my dad’s cheap hair trimmers while fitting her and Ariel had more clipper lines, and nicks than any fitting job I’ve ever seen! There were only four kids including myself in the show, and it was held in a small dirt circle outside of the livestock barn. It was a learning experience for sure. I learned not to wear hot pink jeans, a 4-H tie-dye shirt, and walk Ariel on a leash. Even though it was a small show, Ariel and I won our first of many championships. After sleeping in the stall with Ariel all night, morning came so fast and we were both hungry. I gave her grain and milked her, then headed up to the Pomona Grange for breakfast. I tied her to a tree, not far from the picnic table filled with hungry 4-Hers. Sitting down on the rough benches, parents and children gorged on practically everything on the menu. Not long after I sat down, Ariel jumped up on to the table — eating everyone’s breakfast. Glasses of orange juice, coffee, sausage, pancakes, and home fries were not recognizable after my so-called “herbivore” devoured and trampled them. When I finally reached her show chain collar, I had to yank bacon out of her mouth. Who would have thought a goat would enjoy bacon so much? The kitchen staff was laughing hysterically behind the counter, but felt bad and cooked us all a new breakfast.

Ariel did exceptionally well in every show since our first. As she matured, so did I. We truly had a sister bond. Wherever I was, Ariel would be somewhere near. Throughout the years raising goats because a family priority and our herd size increased. When I was seven I saved up every penny I had and purchased a purebred Saanen goat from Paul Sabin in Exeter, Rhode Island. The three of us were joined at the hip, Ariel and Angel (the Saanen) got along fantastic.

When I was about 14, I would spend a week or so in Maine at the Pirri family’s goat farm. They raised Nubian goats, so Ariel always felt a little outnumbered. Ariel and I would participate in the Maine Days 4-H event, and present showmanship and goat hoof trimming demonstrations. During one hoof trimming demonstration, I let a novice try to trim her hooves for practice. Recently sharpened hoof trimmers in hand, he was ready to make a cut. Before I could stop him, blood was everywhere, pooling up on the floor and coating the milking stand. He cut Ariel’s toe past the quick. She stood there looking at me like—help! No amount of blood-stop powder or vet-wrap could contain the profuse bleeding. Ariel, being the trooper she was, limped through a showmanship demonstration the next day despite her injury.

With a few years of showing under our belt we finally got the hang of what needed to be done. I would spend dozens of hours fitting her while she patiently waited in the milking stand for the occasional treat. Popsicles, ice tea, Hershey chocolate bars, and even a turkey sandwich were a few of the goodies my mom would bring us. Between the radio cranked way up, clippers running, and all the lights on in the barn, I’d normally blow a fuse and Ariel would wait while I figured out how to fix it. We would spend a few hours each week all year round practicing show maneuvers in the backyard. By the time show season came around, we were more than prepared. I’d sit in the barn curled up in the hay with my goats and study the scorecard, sticking Post-It notes to their fur with the amount of points it was worth.

In the show ring Ariel was a showstopper. She would set up her feet whenever we stopped, walk gracefully slow, and hold her head up high. I never even had to loin her! Before almost every show, 4-Hers would bicker about who would get Ariel if the judge asked us to switch goats. I always got a kick out of that because as soon as Ariel was put into another person’s hand, she would not cooperate. I remember leading a LaMancha through the arena, watching Ariel’s antics with the other showman. When asked to walk, Ariel would drag her feet and back up. Whenever the 4-Her would go to set up her feet, Ariel would keep moving. The funniest part was Ariel would talk to me in a low distressed voice the whole time she was with the other person. As soon as she was back in my hands, Ariel was flawless. I never taught her that; I guess she just picked it up over time. Exhibitors dreaded getting her after that!

We used to do goat milking demonstrations at fairs, schools, and farm tours. Ariel would patiently wait in the milking stand while 40 or so children would pull, twist, and dig their small fingernails into her teats. She never kicked over the bucket or complained.

Even after all my years raising goats, Ariel remains one of the most exceptional herding queens. She was generally accepting of a new herd member, and gave discipline when needed. Ariel remained in charge of the herd for her whole fifteen years. Even when she was getting weaker towards the end, she still had the respect of all the animals.

Ariel was a little hussy. Yes, everyone who knew anything about raising goats knew that Ariel knew loved her bucks. Even in the middle of summer Ariel would come into a flaming standing heat, taking everything in our power to keep her away from the buck pen. In the spring of 2002 Ariel kidded to a beautiful pair of twins. One morning I went out to milk and could not find Ariel anywhere. I searched the garden, barn, even the chicken coop (for some reason she enjoyed layer pellets). She was nowhere to be found. My brother Holden and I would argue about who should feed the buck each day, and today (according to me) was his turn. “Miriah!” I heard a blood curdling scream from Holden across the farm. “Come over here! I found your goat!” Whenever he did not approve of one of my goats, instead of using their name, he referred to them as “your” goat. Sure enough, Ariel was standing in the middle of the buck pen covered in mud and kissing the buck. This was early March, just after her twins were weaned. Come late July, we were blessed with Prancer and Coolotta. Two Saanen Alpine does who will be 12 years old this summer.

As the years went by, I taught Ariel to pull a cart, go swimming, and goat pack. There was nothing that she could not do, and these years made raising goats easy. We tried to retire her for many years, but it was difficult to do; she was often caught red-hoofed in the buck pen. One year we had her ultra-sounded to ensure that she was not bred, but less than a week later she escaped and got pregnant. The delivery of that kid was extremely taxing on Ariel’s health. She had a sciatic nerve pinch, which she survived thanks to our veterinarian Dr. Balmforth.

The months strolled on with relative ease, but Ariel was slowly getting older and weaker. After her sciatic nerve problem was healed, it appeared as though she had a stroke and lost all coordination. Even after raising goats for so long it killed my family and I to see her like this. Accepting old age was incredibly hard. Soon after her stroke, Ariel could barley chew her feed and would make hay balls with her roughage. We bought her special, fine cut hay and would soak it in warm water with molasses to help her chew it. Her face was always happy even though her body was leaving her.

In October of 2010, Ariel was too weak to live outside in the barn, so we moved her into our living room. This phase of her life made raising goats tough, but my mom and dad were so fantastic about taking her outside to go to the bathroom, change her bedding, and give her baths in our shower. Curled up in a corner of the house, Ariel would intently watch movies with us or listen to the radio during the colder days. She could stand for only short periods of time, but could hardly get up on her own. During warmer days, we would bring her outside to wander around the farm as she wanted. Occasionally she would lose her balance and tip over. My family and I always had an eye on her so that we could help her up when she fell. It broke my heart to see her like that and the memory of such an amazing creature struggling to stay alive still makes me sad.

Ariel stayed in the house for six months, enjoying the warmth of the woodstove along with treats and scratches every time someone walked by. No matter the ailment that Ariel presented each day, my amazing mother knew how to fix it or make Ariel comfortable. I remember walking into the house seeing my mom doing physical therapy with Ariel propped up on a milk crate, trying to get her legs to loosen up. Our family called it goat yoga!

Even though Ariel was getting worse as each day went by, she remained in happy spirits. Her face was perky and those beautiful amber eyes still looked the same as they did the first time I saw her in the paddock 15 years earlier.

On April 1, 2011, I was at my boyfriend’s house when my brother called and said I had to come home now. Ty and I broke every speed limit as we drove to my house. When I walked into the house my mom, dad, and brothers were all circled around Ariel crying. I went right over and held her beautiful face in my hands. I put my forehead to hers just like we always did. (I used to joke that we were exchanging thoughts.) Her brown eyes looked at me with more love than I can explain. I did not say anything out loud because I knew she could understand what I was thinking: “I love you. Thank you for everything. Your time here is done; you are incredible. I’ll miss you. It’s alright, you can go now.”

And just like that she was gone. Tears and memories flooded throughout my body. I wanted her back, I wanted to talk to her one more time. We buried Ariel underneath the crab apple tree in the backyard. She loved nothing more than ripping the bark off of it and standing on her hind legs eating the branches. It was the perfect place. Every night until I moved away, I would kiss all my goats goodnight and then walk over to her grave. With the starry night sky lighting up the freshly turned soil, I’d talk to her as if she were standing right there. I know she was, and I know that it was her time to go that night, but I still miss her so much.

I cried for weeks, and am crying right now even after so many years raising goats; the recollection of her death is still so fresh in my mind. All the memories, all the laughs and joy this remarkable goat brought to my life will never be forgotten. I want everyone to remember Ariel for the life she lived and the lives that she touched in her 15 years. From eating bacon to being a show champion, Ariel was truly a life changer and my best friend.

Originally published in the Dairy Goat Journal, May/June 2013 issue and regularly vetted for accuracy.

Raising Goats Can Lead to Four-Legged Best Friends was originally posted by All About Chickens