some crowned king. They ran, not frightened,
but more resigned, as if it were their lot in life
to put up with his very large and uncontrolled
behavior. They circled and accepted him
among them. He snorted and reared above
the others, threatening with his twisty horns.
Not one doe took up his offer to play. They
darted out of range and resumed grazing.
“Why’s he so different?” I asked Dad. The
buck stood head and shoulders above the rest.
His long hair fell smooth and brown along
his shoulders and shaggy at his belly.
“He’s a Toggenburg, which is a milk
breed.” Dad’s blue eyes flashed with excite-
ment. He loved animals, and a new horse,
more cattle, or even a puppy charged him up
for days. “The does are boars, which
are meat goats. They don’t produce
a lot of milk for their young. This
means their kids won’t grow as large
for market. Some breeders buy
a milking-bred buck, like Salt
here.” He nodded at the big
male. “His blood and the boar’s
together will produce young
who give more milk but still
retain their mother’s heavy bod-
ies. The mix of the two breeds
makes a better animal.”
The buck sank his head
and chased after one of the
does. His lips curled back in a
gruesome snarl, and he let out
a weird grunting noise.
“He sure stinks.” I squished
my face and waved a hand in
front of my nose. The two men laughed, a
warm sound which made me feel like I was
one of them. The three of us looped our arms
on the top rail of the fence as we watched the
smelly goat circle his girls.I WASN’T AS happy with our new
purchase the next day when I went to feed
and water the goats. My dad got up early and
went out every morning to work the cattle