THEY were Zoe and Marcianus Capello (but she was no kid), and Capricorn and his brother, and Chat and Tan. I did not possess them all at the same time; in fact, I never had more than three at one time, and that was because Marcianus Capello had twins.
Zoe was the first. When she came to us she was a little white kid, just taken from her mother; she was very pretty, with a dark mark down her back and two little tassels of hair on her neck. But, as I say, she was only just taken from her mother, and the first evening was full of much trouble and care, for we could not find anything she would eat, and we thought she would be starved. She would not be fed, moreover, with milk, and we were in despair until we thought of trying if she would eat the tender sprouts of may. It was early spring, and for a day or so all her meals were taken in ourarms, as we held her up to nibble at the hawthorn hedge.
But she soon grew less fastidious, and, as goats do, would eat anything, from garden flowers, laurel leaves, and cabbages, down to paper and bread. She was tethered in the field, and this was very necessary, for if she was free she would follow us everywhere, would go walks with us out of doors, and would come into the house after us. The chief difficulty with kids is superabundant affection; they wail pitifully when one leaves them alone, and cannot be persuaded that their presence is not always desirable. Some friends of ours—they were Quakers too—used to dress up a stick with a waterproof and hat to keep their kid company. It satisfied her completely; but was it quite consistent with the Friends’ idea of truth?
Zoe nearly had a bad accident once, in consequence of her fondness for coming into the house. I was sitting on the steps at the door and playing with her, when suddenly she bounced away from me and ran into the drawing-room. I pursued her, and she, knowing she was wrong, ran farther, saw a way of escape, and jumped straight through a large plate-glass window. I thought she would becut to pieces, and in agonies rushed outside, where I found her making the most of her opportunities by devouring our best rose trees under the window.
Zoe lived with us for a year. Then I was kept indoors by a bad cold and throat, and I heard that the kid was sympathising with me by having a bad throat also. But alas, poor Zoe! her throat was much worse than mine, and though we strapped a little blanket on her back to keep her warm, and though the gardener and the cowman poured gruel down her throat, when she could hardly swallow, she got thinner and weaker, and one morning she died. I sobbed audibly all through prayers that morning.
Then a friend of mine told me that some cousins of hers were anxious to part with a goat they had, and Marcianus Capello, otherwise called Marcap, arrived. She was not at all like Zoe; she was a large, dull, elderly, brown and white goat. She did not want to make friends at all; she chiefly wanted to eat. But there was one great advantage about her, for a few weeks after I had her she gave birth to two little twin billygoats—two fluffy black-and-white creatures with huge legs.
Marcap was, like Zoe, tethered in the field, and it was supposed that filial affection would keep the kids near her. The kids had a fine time in consequence. One morning one heard a rattling over the roof of the nursery, and found the kids were playing King of the Castle on the house-top. Another time they came skipping out of a yard where building was going on, covered with lime to the tops of their legs; and for some little time we were terribly afraid that the smallest kid would lose his eyesight, as he had splashed lime up into his eyes, and that they both would come out of it with skinny hairless legs. A procession, of my nurse holding a cup of milk and water, myself and my youngest brother (who was too naughty to be left alone), could be seen crossing the field three times a day to bathe the kid’s eyes.
When the kids were old enough to do without their mother, we gave Marcap away. I did not mind parting with Marcap; I never should have got fond of her, for she had no idea of intimacy. But to part with a kid was a different matter; it took us a long time to decide that it would be better to keep the biggest and strongest kid, Capricorn; and we gave away the little one.
Capricorn proved just a little more warlike than it is quite convenient for a kid to be, if you are in the habit of taking it out for walks. In the first place, if he met a flock of sheep in a field, he would at once begin to drive them away, running and butting after them. In the second place, if he met cows, he would invariably have a pitched battle with them, unless he was dragged away by main force. I have seen him in the middle of a ring of cows, knocked down by them, and getting up to butt them again. Thirdly, if he met a donkey, even in a cart, he would go for it, which sometimes caused the drivers of the cart to swear. Lastly, if he met children, he would try to awe them by standing on his hind-legs. His wickedness gradually developed with his growth. Before he was grown up he was a very affectionate kid. Once, when I turned back in a walk, the rest of my family had the greatest difficulty in inducing Capricorn to go with them. He got on very well with our wise collie. Watch was useful in fetching him up, if he lagged behind in a walk to carry out some of his evil designs. I had a little cart for Capricorn, too, and made him pull up stones for a rockery we were making; this was a good outlet for his energies, and he had less time to be wicked.
But he finally got too fierce for us to keep him any longer. If I was running down a hill by his side he would try to hook me with his horns, and he was not at all to be trusted with children. I gave him away reluctantly, and it was some consolation to hear that he nearly killed his new master, who came upon him suddenly in the dark. Since then I found out that it was not individual wickedness, but, so to speak, class wickedness, and that it is rarely safe to keep a billygoat when he grows up.
Then for some time I had no kid. After a while a lady near who kept goats gave me two kids.
These were very pretty kids; one was quite white, the other fawn colour, and very graceful. They would follow me everywhere; but, as I could not keep two, Chat, the white one, was given away.
It was considerably easier to take Tan walks than it had been to take Capricorn; for Tan did not want to fight every beast or child she met. Watch was useful in fetching her as he had been with Capricorn. Long afterwards, when the acquaintanceship between them was a thing of the past, to say, “Watch, fetch the kid,” would bringher hurrying up to us. Tan was the only one of my goats who ever learnt a trick, but I taught her to shake hands in exchange for leaves or oats.
Then we moved from the place where we were living, and I left Tan behind me for a child of the family who were coming into our old house. I heard no more of her for a year, and then they wrote to me to say that Tan was pining, and they wished that I would send for her. So she came up by train, and the first moment she saw me she remembered me, and we shook hands.
Tan is still alive. On misty summer mornings, one sees her pass the windows heading a herd of cows; she is much too proud to walk with sheep; and though she will condescend to go with cows, she keeps herself to herself, never talks to any of them, but preserves a proud and solitary position. On rare occasions a sudden burst of friendship or curiosity will induce her to come into the house with me.
But my friendship with Tan, I must confess it, is not what it was; perhaps it might never have waned if I had not consented to the year’s separation. But although occasionally we bleat to each other from a distance, though we shake hands overa few oats, she no longer runs to meet me if I come near, she no longer cries out with a wailing bleat when I go away, she no longer has to be tied up to prevent her following me. And I do not think it is age that has made this difference, I think it was worked by that year of separation.
Passing through the farmyard on a cold day, I found Tan in the corner where the dead leaves had blown up, and lay a foot or more deep. She was standing in the deepest part of the heap, which came up to the top of her legs, and had secured herself, as it were, a good hot bottle for the night.
In conclusion, I would say that there are no pets more enchanting than kids. They will give youas much amusement as kittens or puppies; while they are as intelligent as grown-up dogs, and even more wildly devoted. But there are two things you must never expect of a goat,—neither the least unselfishness in their affection, nor the smallest spark of benevolence.