Hog Wild Over Goats
Originally appeared in newspapers the week of Sept. 28, 2003.
Sometimes you’re the hero. Sometimes you’re the goat.
And every now and then, the goat IS the hero.
That’s the case Saturday October 11 when Lewisburg hosts its inaugural “Goats, Music, and More Festival” at Rock Creek Memorial Park. Highlights include a parade, craft fair, antique tractor show, and performance by country singer T.G. Sheppard.
You may not realize it, but Middle Tennessee has one of the highest concentrations of goats in the United States. Goats are booming because of the dietary demands of Middle Easterners who migrate to the U.S. Of course we also take care of the Middle Easterners in their own lands. (“We’ve blown up your goats, but here’s $87 billion to rebuild them.”)
Having talked to numerous goat owners, I’ve come to appreciate that goats are good for pets, meat, milk, putting the veterinarians’ kids through college, etc.
The festival will celebrate all breeds of goats, but this year there will be a special emphasis on “nervous” or “fainting” goats. These goats, indigenous to Marshall County, have a neuromuscular condition called myotonia that causes their muscles to stiffen when they’re scared, resulting in their “fainting” or falling over.
I remember the first time I saw nervous goats, on the Saturday morning “Farm Digest” program. When I saw goats that became paralyzed by the least amount of fear, I immediately thought, “French goats!”
It’s amazing how different fainting goats and people are. When fainting goats are startled, they fall down. When human “old goats” are startled, they blurt out, “It’s not what it looks like!”
Myotonia isn’t harmful to the goats, but I still feel weird about the perpetuation of a breed with such behavior. Makes me wonder if somewhere there are former high school jocks breeding nerds to stumble and drop their cafeteria trays.
The goat festival reminds me of a family story. In the late 50s and early 60s my late father was manager of Marshall Farmers Co-op in Lewisburg. One day he ventured into the store’s dimly lit basement in search of something or another.
Unbeknownst to Dad, someone had tethered a goat in the basement. When Dad began rummaging around and disturbed the beast’s solitude, it stretched to the end of its rope, extended its cloven front hooves toward Dad, and began bleating.
To recap: a farm animal in a farm store was making farm noises. Dad made the only logical conclusion: the Devil himself was grasping for him and even calling his name (“Leewwwisss!”)
Yes, Dad -- who often accused ME of having an overactive imagination – thought he was the target of a physical assault by Satan. He didn’t pause to wonder why (in a world populated by characters like Kruschev and Castro) Old Scratch, the Prince of Darkness, the Embodiment of Evil decided to make a personal appearance in a Lewisburg retail establishment. Maybe Lucifer wanted to spray pesticide on the forbidden fruit or something.
Whatever, Dad freaked out. Although he eventually regained the color in his face and brought his pounding heart under control, the experience left a deep psychological impression. A few years later, when I would cry about monsters in my closet, Dad did not pooh-pooh my fears. Instead, he would pitch some old tin cans into the closet, then slam and bolt the door.
Sometimes you’re the hero. Sometimes you’re the goat.
And every now and then, the goat IS the hero.
That’s the case Saturday October 11 when Lewisburg hosts its inaugural “Goats, Music, and More Festival” at Rock Creek Memorial Park. Highlights include a parade, craft fair, antique tractor show, and performance by country singer T.G. Sheppard.
You may not realize it, but Middle Tennessee has one of the highest concentrations of goats in the United States. Goats are booming because of the dietary demands of Middle Easterners who migrate to the U.S. Of course we also take care of the Middle Easterners in their own lands. (“We’ve blown up your goats, but here’s $87 billion to rebuild them.”)
Having talked to numerous goat owners, I’ve come to appreciate that goats are good for pets, meat, milk, putting the veterinarians’ kids through college, etc.
The festival will celebrate all breeds of goats, but this year there will be a special emphasis on “nervous” or “fainting” goats. These goats, indigenous to Marshall County, have a neuromuscular condition called myotonia that causes their muscles to stiffen when they’re scared, resulting in their “fainting” or falling over.
I remember the first time I saw nervous goats, on the Saturday morning “Farm Digest” program. When I saw goats that became paralyzed by the least amount of fear, I immediately thought, “French goats!”
It’s amazing how different fainting goats and people are. When fainting goats are startled, they fall down. When human “old goats” are startled, they blurt out, “It’s not what it looks like!”
Myotonia isn’t harmful to the goats, but I still feel weird about the perpetuation of a breed with such behavior. Makes me wonder if somewhere there are former high school jocks breeding nerds to stumble and drop their cafeteria trays.
The goat festival reminds me of a family story. In the late 50s and early 60s my late father was manager of Marshall Farmers Co-op in Lewisburg. One day he ventured into the store’s dimly lit basement in search of something or another.
Unbeknownst to Dad, someone had tethered a goat in the basement. When Dad began rummaging around and disturbed the beast’s solitude, it stretched to the end of its rope, extended its cloven front hooves toward Dad, and began bleating.
To recap: a farm animal in a farm store was making farm noises. Dad made the only logical conclusion: the Devil himself was grasping for him and even calling his name (“Leewwwisss!”)
Yes, Dad -- who often accused ME of having an overactive imagination – thought he was the target of a physical assault by Satan. He didn’t pause to wonder why (in a world populated by characters like Kruschev and Castro) Old Scratch, the Prince of Darkness, the Embodiment of Evil decided to make a personal appearance in a Lewisburg retail establishment. Maybe Lucifer wanted to spray pesticide on the forbidden fruit or something.
Whatever, Dad freaked out. Although he eventually regained the color in his face and brought his pounding heart under control, the experience left a deep psychological impression. A few years later, when I would cry about monsters in my closet, Dad did not pooh-pooh my fears. Instead, he would pitch some old tin cans into the closet, then slam and bolt the door.
posted by Danny Tyree at 8:09 PM
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