If you like Goat Berries on Facebook, you already know I have a hen who doesn’t like to enter the coop at night. One extremely tense, scary time, I got unsolicited help from Giordano Kitty who chased her around the garden (gah!) until she went in, but since then, she no longer chooses the low branches of the fig tree for a hiding spot. She ain’t dumb.
So we’ve been playing, ahem, chicken now for a while ever since we let them out of their cage, which had been in the chicken coop for several weeks, supposedly acclimating them to the space. In fact, the first two or three nights “free,” she did go into the coop at night with everyone else, no problem. Not anymore.
In the beginning, I couldn’t find her at all when I went looking in the evening, but then in the morning, she was always there waiting for me, looking around with a “Hey, why is everyone still sleeping?!” look on her face.
But then I had a talk with her beau:
And let him know the potential seriousness of the situation. We do have foxes around here and also plenty of stray cats. So soon thereafter, when I went to close them in for the night, even though he was already inside, he came back out and started calling to her . . . and looking up.
And there she was in the mandarin tree. Really, really high! So after coaxing her down with the help of a bamboo stick to shake the branches, I got her in the coop. This has now been the routine for about a week, unless I show up before she’s in the tree, in which case I actually don’t have much trouble getting her in.
All I can figure is that she doesn’t really like hanging out with the big hen or perhaps the other rooster, who are both big personalities, but this hen in the tree routine is getting old. She doesn’t even remotely respond to feed or my calling or even, as it turned out, her little boyfriend calling her. Just the stick.
Couldn’t resist the little play on words in the title. Let me explain: Today’s GoatSpotting goats were spotted on the island of Capri, off the coast of Italy. For those who don’t know, “goats” in Italian is “capre,” so there you have it.
And here we have them!
Thanks so much to Jo McGlip, who along with her Italian husband Costanzo, operate the best Italian restaurant in Scotland, The Caprese Restaurant in Glasgow. Although it will close at the end of the year, they’ll have a new restaurant opening nearby, so until then, if you’re in the neighborhood, be sure to stop in!
The Caprese Restaurant
217 Buchanan Street
Glasgow G1 2JZ
Telephone:- 0141 332 3070
And remember, if you’re out and about and spot a goat, snap a photo, and send it over!
Forgive me for making you click, but I posted some new goat photos over at my main blog, Bleeding Espresso, yesterday, and I thought you might enjoy them. My girlies really hammed it up in the pen yesterday morning . . . here’s a taste:
Can you see the heart shape on Pasqualina’s face? Thanks Dana!
Even before I had goats, I was fascinated by the story of the Chupacabra, which literally means “goat sucker” and refers to a mysterious creature said to attack and suck the blood of goats mainly in Puerto Rico, Texas, and Mexico. I’d say there’s a documentary about the chupacabra on an average of once a week here in Italy — and not always the same documentary, either.
Well the chupacabra has been in the news again lately with the report of the unexplained deaths of 300 goats in Mexico’s Puebla state (warning: graphic photo in that link).
The chupacabra has been described in various, quite contradictory ways, which leads one to question whether such an animal really exists; for example, some people describe it as resembling a reptile with scaly skin, about three or four feet tall that hops around like a kangaroo. Others say it looks like a really freaky wild dog.
That said, what chupacabra believers do agree on is that dead livestock, often goats, turn up with puncture wounds often in the neck and/or chest area and are drained of their blood.
Whether the chupacabra is a special kind of predator or not, that’s some pretty gruesome stuff, so please goat caretakers in Chupacabraland, protect your goaties!
Do you believe in the legend of the chupacabra?
There’s no avoiding the fact that when some people think of me, they think of goats. Don’t get me wrong; this is totally fine with me since goats are the *coolest.*
Indeed, it always puts a smile on my face whenever I receive a goat-related article, story, or photo in my inbox — so please do keep them coming, especially since I’ve decided to start a feature called “GoatSpotting.”
Our first GoatSpotting comes to us courtesy of one of my favorite bloggers — and I’m not saying that just because she’s trying to save my beloved Nutella. LuccaBella in Italia shares what it’s like to be an 8-year-old American girl living in Italy (under the close supervision of her mom, Maria of Tomorrow in Italy and My-Bands, a revolutionary medical ID bracelet you should really check out); friend of the family Francesca Volpi recently sent them photos from Ile d’Ouessant in France, and they couldn’t help but notice this guy just grazing along:
Yay! Our first GoatSpotting!
Yes, some readers of Goat Berries have their own goats, so they can spot goats whenever they like, but for everyone else, running into a goat (figuratively) can be a rather amazing experience…and I want to hear about it. And see it. So please, when you’re out and about and come across a goat, snap a photo, and send it my way.
Let’s get GoatSpotting!
Normally I wear a cheap pair of fake Crocs to the goat pen, but yesterday I forgot to change my shoes and went over in just my flip flops. This is a mistake I’ll never make again because OMGOMGOMG OOOOOWWWWWWIEEEE does it hurt when a goat steps on your bare foot! And then dances ever so slightly on it just to make sure your fourth toe on your left foot is actually cut open instead of just throbbing in pain.
Sure, Pasqualina will say she didn’t dance, but I think the guilt is written all over her smirking face.