The phone was ringing, ‘ checked the caller id and sure enough it was Kelvin. His best mate, Darryl, had been telling me about their recent feral goat mustering attempts and to expect a call.
“How are you mate? I’m sitting on a hill watching some wild goats flogging my rye grass” “Can’t be good” I replied. “Do you reckon you and your dogs could get them in for me?” “As soon as I fix this fence I’ll be there. I’ll pick up Darryl on the way and we’ll see you in about an hour.”
I rang my wife, Tracey, to let the dogs out for a run before I got home to save time, and I contacted Daryl to put him into the picture.
I found out it takes a 5 km trip on a slow road up a mountain to hear all of the dramas associated with this particular mob of goats. And it is a worry when the most successful capture was of three goats at the expense of one of Kelvins young sons falling from his horse through barbed wire and Kelvin rolling the quad onto himself and the three hapless goats. Continue reading