The Life of Charlie
He was a goat of many names: Carlos Legolas Inigo Montoya, aka Charlie, Chuck, or Charles of the Woods. His time with us was short, but his legend will endure. This is the story of Charlie.
It is hard to put into words what our magical little Woodland Elf meant to us, and I am still deep in the sorrow of his passing. Charlie was our special hooligan dairy goat. He did not look like the other goats at Harrison Farm: his lanky all white body and his horns that reached straight into the sky made him look like the goat version of Max from the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. And Charlie was my little Wild Thing, always roaming into the trees to find the tastiest of nibbles.
It was out of his character to be a bit depressed, and I was concerned about him on the morning that I was to leave town for an Oddities Show. I knew losing Charlie would be horrid on my heart, so I decided to give him preventive medical treatments before I left the farm. I wanted to ensure my happy little rescue goat was on the right footing while I was traveling. When I bid him farewell, I told him that I loved him very much and that he was NOT to die. As soon as I was out of state, though, Charlie achieved that great dream of all goats: to die and break their human’s heart. While I have been carrying the pain of this unexpected loss, I also know that every single day at Harrison Farm was a victory for Charlie.
I receive a lot of random phone calls. This one opened with: “Want to buy a baby goat?” It was April of 2023, and I was full up on baby goats. With a playpen in the farmhouse kitchen holding several, I was definitely not seeking more. But when a random person inquired if I wanted to buy a baby goat, I expected there was more to the story. When I asked, the man said he had bought a six week old goat at a swap meet a couple weeks prior, and now it was dying — so he wanted to sell it. I am sad to say that the animal world is full of people who behave in this manner. I did not have the resources to purchase this goat, but I told the person that I would take the goat in if he wanted someone to try to help this baby.
When the person showed up to my farm to drop off the goat, I was taken aback to realize it was the same individual who had been trespassing on my property just a couple weeks before. With a rather unique appearance and a noisy vehicle in need of repairs, there was no mistaking that it was the same human. I was grateful that a friend happened to be at the farm to pick up eggs at that moment, as this individual gave off bad vibes. In the back of his noisy SUV, shoved inside of a broken hamster crate, was a tiny, scared all white goat. Rehabbing a very sick goat was not something for which I really had the time or resources, but I was incredibly grateful to get the goat away from this person.
Charlie was rough when he arrived. He was malnourished, had a terrible case of scours, and significant drainage from his eyes. The drainage was so bad that it caused his eyelids to close up, requiring frequent cleaning. Thankfully, Charlie quickly began to rebound. All he really needed was loving care, proper nutrition, and some basic medical treatments. Charlie settled into life in the bottle baby playpen of the farmhouse kitchen. He made friends with Magdalena, Frank, and Gabino the Baby Goats. Charlie embraced the joys of the Harrison Farm lifestyle, and he significantly improved.
The first time I got a call from the human who dropped off Charlie, I thought it was nice that he was checking on the goat. But then the second time he called, he said he wanted the goat back. My instincts told me that Charlie was much better off at Harrison Farm, and so I explained that Charlie needed to stay with me. When an animal is dropped off to my farm, it is now under my care. The person then began making threats, saying he would get his posse together and they would come get the goat. I told him Charlie was staying with me.
Thankfully, my friend Rebecca was at the farm that day, to work with her bees. Rebecca did some research online, and it turned out that the person who dropped off Charlie had quite the criminal record. I called my local police and spoke with a very nice officer. She gave me constructive feedback on what to do if this person actually showed up to the farm. I was quite thankful for Rebecca’s presence that day, so I was not alone.
Then, I got a call from another police officer. It turned out the terrible human had gone to the police and reported that I stole his goat. I explained the situation again to this officer, and shared that I had been in touch with another officer earlier in the afternoon. Unfortunately, the second police officer was not as reasonable as the first. The officer said that since I had no proof that it was my goat, that I had to give it back. I told the officer that the fact that the goat was at my farm was proof enough that it was my goat. The officer then argued with me, saying that a veterinarian did not keep an animal when it helped the animal to get better, and so I had to release the goat just as a vet would. I explained to the officer that a veterinarian was paid for their services. I was not paid to help this sick goat, I had been asked to take it in, and the goat had been driven to my farm by the terrible human of his own free will for that purpose. It was now my goat. I could hear the terrible human yelling loudly at the police officer in the background. The last thing the officer said to me was that he would call me back. I am still waiting on that call.
For a couple weeks, I was very much on edge. I checked every car that came down the road, and spent a lot of time looking over my shoulder. Thankfully, nothing came of the situation. I know it was not the smartest move to defy a person making threats against me over a little goat. But it was a little goat that was in my care. In her online research, Rebecca found that this person was a pit bull breeder. Pit bulls can be absolutely amazing dogs, and it is horrid that humans can turn them aggressive. Bait animals are often used to train these dogs to kill. I do not want to believe that such a scenario awaited Charlie, but I cannot help but wonder if that was why a cheap little goat was bought at a swap meat. A sick, mopey goat would not be incentive for an animal to attack, but a healthy goat would be. Thankfully, Charlie’s destiny was instead to be a Yoga Goat.
Charlie had a very happy life at Harrison Farm. He loved Goat Yoga, and had a special fondness for Yoga Instructor Dana. Charlie became bonded to the other yoga goats, and would happily graze with them — sometimes where they were supposed to be, and often not where they were supposed to be. From these shenanigans, Charlie picked up the nickname of “The Woodland Elf”. Usually he would show up for yoga, enjoy some sweet feed, pose for a couple photos, and then ever-so-quietly sneak across the road into the tree line by the creek for tasty nibbles. Charlie would just melt into the woods and embrace his inner “Wild Thing” as he reveled in nature.
My favorite of Charlie’s adventures was when he starred in an album cover photo shoot. A gentleman reached out to me, and shared that he was working on his debut album. He had a dream of a photo of him under a full moon with an all-white goat for the cover art. He inquired if there was any chance that we could make that happen . . . And Charlie the Goat kindly stepped up to be a photo star. That night is now a very precious memory for me, as Charlie & I made more “goat dreams” come true at Harrison Farm!
Charlie was much-loved, and he was truly a Harrison Farm legend. I wish Charlie would have had more years with me. He was a superstar, though, who burned bright in the time he had. I miss him dearly. And while defying threats to keep a scraggly little goat was likely not my smartest move ever, I have no regrets. I smile whenever I think of Charlie, and I am absolutely confident that he lived his best goat life at the Harrison Farm.
I remember this ordeal and my heart is full having had the honor to meet Charlie in his earliest of days at the farm. 🐐❤️
Oh my heart goes out to you! Those with the shortest lives leave the deepest impressions.