A Goat By Any Other Name

 
     I can always tell a skeptic when I call my goats by name. Some say it's bad business, and I confess, it does prevent me taking them to auction. But to me names are everything... the naming process --ritual. Though they may look identical to the layperson, their names lend meaning. While YOU may laugh, THEY care. The whole name game, we take very seriously around here.

On Dasher, On Cupid,
(No Comet) On Vixie!

     That said (and this doesn't happen often) I have been known to change a name or two. For instance, with my first lot of 8 goats (7 predominantly black and one mostly white), we went with reindeer names. Given the time of the purchase, the group thing was an easy call, but in time, as I started to learn their little goat personalities, well, some names I had to change. Others, worked right off the bat.
      For instance, Donner got so dubbed because she births in multiples which means you can always spot her by the happy kids that follow her wherever she goes. This reminds me of my Aunt Donna, a full of life, natural mom, so Donner's name we keep. Dash was likewise an easy one: she has a dash of white across her face. (This isn't rocket science.) Cupid is my lover goat--easiest of the lot to identify as she comes straight to humans the second you step near her gate.) But those were the easy ones; others we had to change.
 

A Stella & Elsie Selfie

     For instance, Casper (the white goat of the family) became Casper the friendly goat (usurping the name Comet, which made her sound like a sink cleanser). Rachel I renamed for Biblical reasons. When, after losing her first baby owing to the idiot who allowed a brush goat to breed her (unbeknownst to me until the baby arrived with legs longer than her mama's) suffice it to say "Prancer" no longer fit. There was nothing prancey about this scenario. As I watched her mourn her excruciating loss, weeping for her baby, wandering about the wilderness of my yard, it took me back to scripture: Rachel, weeping for her children (but they were no more). It was stressful. It was painful. And to me it was downright scriptural. So Rachel she became. (She had a rough life.)
     Of the original 8, 7 have now had babies of their own. (Rachel has since passed). First baby on the scene, I named Ari, for the archangel Ariel. Arriving in spring, he came in like a lion, (which is what the name means), what's more, he was loud... (like trumpet loud). Adding to the meaning, he was my rebel child (who, in his teen years developed an unnatural fondness for his mother which landed him on another farm where he is now happily doing what male goats do, only not with his next of kin).
     Next came Gabrielle. Technically not an archangel, but an obvious special angel, netting my baby girl a special angel name. After that, came twins. Callie and Coco got named after a picture contest on Facebook. Given the calico coloring, Callie came naturally. Coco was just cute. Tannish brown in color, it was a good catch when Miss Patsy (who gets full credit along with grandmother rights) IM'd the suggestion. (Again. Some things just stick.)  
     Last year's winter Olympics (set in Russia) netted  us a Sochi, a Stoli and one Anna Karinina (littlest goat gets the longest name). We also have a Pippi who arrived sporting marks of a long stocking on one leg. But now that this generation is likewise reproducing, well, here's where things get tricky...

The Russians Gave Us 6!
(Granted they do look lots alike)

     At present, I have 16 goats. 2 are males. Of my 14 girls, 13 are pregnant (7 immediately so; 6 most likely in February; the remaining (based on Heffner's mood yesterday) is likely to birth a kid five months from yesterday, so 14 births between now and May...(yes, I will be selling from here--preferably to those wanting pets) ...but keeping the lines straight is the stuff ancestry.com was made for.
     As a matter of keeping up with the goatses, I designed my own little flow chart to ensure no one gets matched up with her brother. (Permissible as that might be in Tennessee, we're not for it.) And while I know them by name, keeping up with who birthed what in which year...well that starts to get complicated save for one little trait that I find so utterly darling I had to share it.
     Just about the time I'm asking "Was Sochi from Vixie or was her boy Stoli?" (4 days/4 goats/Rosey's pups/arctic blast....it was all a blur), the good news is goats and God make it easy for us, for when I need to recall which identically colored goat goes with which identically colored mom, I simply wait till bedtime...where nature makes it easy as (goat figure) goats sleep in family units. No matter how many generations removed, come nightfall, they cluster...in little family tribes. Granted Heffner, and now Charlie, do a bit of rotating, but as for the girls, they are as faithful as a puppy when it comes to lining up at bedtime in their loyal, little lineages.
     (Here's to the family tree for which I proudly serve as my goat's branch manager.)