Buying a goat: Monique becomes mine

So where does a person go to buy a goat?

I had no idea. Our little farm in suburban Boston was not located in what I thought of as 'goat country'. (See the post on buying that little farm for more details...)

So I looked in the Classifieds and found a goat for sale!

I called the number and talked to a friendly lady named Judy. She became my walking goat encyclopedia and saw me through...well, no need to go into that yet.

I made an appointment to go see the goat she had for sale. This would be my first face-to-face with a goat since one at the petting zoo when I was a kid - er, little girl - ate my Weekly Reader out of my pocket. (Do they still have Weekly Reader in schools?)

So I met Monique. Goats have names, I found out. And personalities, as will emerge later in this saga.

Monique was an older goat, about 6 (out of the expected lifespan for dairy goats of about 10-12 years, with some luck). She was steady. She eyed me while chewing her cud (yep, they do). She stood about hip high. She was brownish and goaty: head, ears, mid-section, udder, tail... What did I know? She was a goat!

Judy told me about her. She was a grade - not purebred. She made lots of milk (!!! I said to myself). She'd had mild mastitis (ugly udder-destroying disease), wasn't beautiful (she wasn't?), but was an easy milker. All answers to questions I didn't know to ask.

So I bought her. She cost $150. I had no idea if that was good or not. I just trusted Judy.

I couldn't take her home yet, because we hadn't moved to the farm. I promised to pick her up as soon as we had something to do with her. (I COULDN'T WAIT!)