Tiny Goat in Trouble

by Mary Kelly

  The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is the UK’s largest animal charity. They rescue, look after and rehome hundreds of thousands of animals each year in England and Wales. They also offer advice on caring for all animals and campaign to change laws that will protect them. Their work relies on your support, and buying this book helps them save animals’ lives.

  www.rspca.org.uk

  Contents

  Cover

  Half Title

  RSPCA

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  The Real-Life Rescue

  Meet a Real RSPCA Inspector

  Facts About Goats

  Back Ads

  Copyright

  Harry woke to the sound of cockerels crowing. For a moment, he couldn’t think where he was. They didn’t have chickens at home. . . Then with a grin, he remembered. He was staying on Aunt Judy and Uncle Martin’s farm while his mum waited for the new baby to come. With a whoop of excitement, Harry pulled on his clothes, jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs. There was nothing he liked more than helping out on the farm, and to make things even better, it was the school holidays. That meant he’d get to spend all day with the animals.

  “Morning!” he called, as he burst into the kitchen. As usual, it looked warm and welcoming in a messy, topsy-turvy kind of way. The post lay in an untidy heap on the kitchen table, cookery books fought for space on the window sill and Patch, Aunt Judy’s spaniel, was lying stretched out against the warmth of the cooker. Harry bent down to scratch his tummy. A moment later he felt something bump against his leg and looked down to see Tilly, the West Highland terrier, demanding some attention.

  “You’re up early,” said Aunt Judy, coming over to give him a quick hug. She was dressed in mud-spattered jeans and a jumper and her wavy brown hair was fluffed up around her face, as if it had been fighting with the wind.

  “I didn’t want to miss anything,” said Harry. He’d come to help out on the farm before, but it was his first time actually staying the night, and he knew work started early. “Am I in time to feed the chickens?” he asked.

  “I’ve left them for you,” said Aunt Judy, “but you’d better do them before breakfast. Strut the cockerel is definitely saying it’s feeding time.” As she spoke, the cockerel let out another ear-splitting crow. Harry and Aunt Judy grinned at each other.

  “I’ll get my wellies,” said Harry, rushing towards the cloakroom. Patch left his warm space by the cooker and padded along at his heels, hopeful of another tummy scratch.

  “Patch! You need to stay here,” said Aunt Judy, calling Patch back towards the kitchen.

  “Can’t he come with us?” asked Harry.

  “A duck has just started nesting by the pond,” said Aunt Judy. “I don’t want Patch scaring her away until she’s settled.”

  “That’s so exciting,” said Harry. “Then we’ll have wild ducklings along with all the other animals.”

  Aunt Judy laughed. “It’s not as if we’re running short of animals to look after.”

  Harry had to agree. Aunt Judy and Uncle Martin kept a herd of dairy cows, a coop full of chickens, a large tabby cat, two black-spotted pigs and two dogs. Harry felt so lucky that his aunt and uncle lived on a farm. His stepdad, Mike, was Aunt Judy’s brother and the farm was only a twenty-minute walk from Harry’s house. He and his mum had moved there two years ago, to be nearer Mike. Harry’s mum still talked about the town, and how much she missed the local shops, but Harry loved living in the countryside and getting to spend so much time outdoors.

  He put on his coat and followed Aunt Judy past a big ash tree to the feed shed. “I remember how to do it,” he said, and began scooping out feed pellets into the bucket.

  “It’s five scoops each morning, isn’t it?” he checked.

  “That’s right,” said Aunt Judy, ruffling his hair. “We’ll make a farmer of you yet.”

  “I think I might want to be one,” Harry said seriously. “I love looking after animals.”

  He lugged the bucket out of the shed towards the chicken coop, glad he was wearing his wellies. It must have rained the night before because the farmyard was full of puddles, and the path to the chicken coop was strewn with mud. Harry’s wellies made satisfyingly squelchy noises, and he looked down, enjoying the way the mud oozed out from under them.

  “Where’s Uncle Martin this morning?” he asked.

  “He’s still in the milking parlour,” said Aunt Judy. “Milking starts at half six, so you’ve only just missed him. You can go and watch him later, if you like, after you’ve had your breakfast. It takes a couple of hours to milk the whole herd.”

  “Great!” said Harry.

  “And then in the afternoon, we’d better take Patch and Tilly out for a walk,” Aunt Judy went on. “We can walk along the cliff tops.”

  Harry stopped for a moment to look at the view. His uncle and aunt’s farm was near the sea. You couldn’t quite see it from the farmyard – just rolling green fields dotted with hedgerows – but on blustery days you could smell the salty tang of it on the wind.

  “What are you doing, Harry Lovell?” asked his aunt. “Are you daydreaming?”

  “I was trying to smell the sea,” said Harry.

  “That can be quite tricky over the smell of the cows,” laughed his aunt. “Now then, let’s feed those chickens.”

  Harry followed Aunt Judy into the chicken coop and watched as she unlatched the door to let them out of the hen house. They came bustling down the ramp one at a time, their heads bobbing excitedly at the thought of their morning feed. Harry tipped a little bit of grain into each feeding bowl while Aunt Judy freshened up their water. Soon the farmyard was filled with the sound of the peck, peck, peck of beaks against the metal bowls. Strut, the cockerel, swaggered between the hens, occasionally looking at Harry as if to remind him who was boss.

  “That Strut is a real character,” said Aunt Judy. “He thinks he’s king of the farmyard. Now, let’s see how many eggs there are.”

  Harry lifted up the flaps on the hen house, checking each compartment for eggs. “I’ve got eleven,” he cried, as he found the last one, nestled in the straw. It was still warm in his hands and he laid it carefully in his aunt’s egg basket.

  “How about bacon and eggs for breakfast then?” asked Aunt Judy, smiling.

  “Great,” said Harry.

  He followed his aunt back to the farmhouse, left his boots by the back door, and then went to wash his hands. Patch was looking at him sorrowfully, as if he knew he’d been left out of a treat.

  “He’s cross because he didn’t get to have his morning bark at Strut,” said Aunt Judy. “He likes trying to put him in his place,” she added, giving Patch a comforting pat.

  “Is Strut scared of Patch?” asked Harry.

  “No,” laughed his aunt. “If Patch barks at Strut then Strut crows right back. Those two would go on for hours if I let them.”

  “You’d never think it, looking at Patch now,” said Harry, stroking his silky smooth head. The dog looked back at him with innocent eyes, as if he’d never barked at anyone in his life.

  A tummy full of breakfast later, Harry was back outside again, heading to the milking parlour. Aunt Judy had some morning calls to make and then she was going to clean out the chickens. Even though Harry loved animals, he wasn’t too sad to miss that j
ob!

  He crossed the yard and went into the huge milking parlour, where Uncle Martin was walking up and down between two rows of big black-and-white cows.

  “Hello,” he called, waving Harry over. “I’ve just finished milking this lot,” he said, “but I’ve still got a few more cows to do. They’re in the holding yard. Do you want to help?”

  “Yes please,” said Harry.

  His uncle let the first lot of cows back out into the field beyond the parlour. A moment later, the next lot were coming through the gate, each one lining up in their milking pen.

  Harry watched them amble in, admiring their gleaming coats.

  “I’ll just shut each cow into her pen, then we can get started.”

  Harry looked at all the tubes beside each pen. Farming was quite a tricky job, he realized.

  “Right,” said Uncle Martin. “I’ll remind you how it goes, shall I? First thing to do is wipe their udders to make sure they’re clean. Then we strip off the foremilk and put a cup on each teat.”

  Harry watched, fascinated, as Uncle Martin attached a tube to each teat. Soon there was a great whirring noise as the milk was sucked down the tube.

  “Doesn’t it hurt them?” asked Harry.

  “Not at all,” said Uncle Martin. “They’re always eager to be milked. And there’s a feeding trough so they can eat at the same time.”

  Harry spent the next few hours happily trailing after Uncle Martin, watching him at work. After the milking, he helped him clean out the parlour, and then they went to check on the new calves in the field.

  “Pizza for lunch,” Aunt Judy called, as they finally trooped back into the farmhouse kitchen.

  “I could eat ten,” said Harry, sinking down at the kitchen table. “Ooh! That smells good,” he added, as Aunt Judy pulled the steaming pizzas from the oven. She gave him a huge slice, dripping with melted cheese.

  “Yum!” said Harry. “Can I start? I’m starving!”

  “It’s all the fresh air,” said Aunt Judy.

  “And all that hard work,” added Uncle Martin. “I think we have a young farmer on our hands. You’ve been a real help this morning, Harry.”

  Harry beamed with pride.

  “Do you still want to come for a walk with me after lunch?” asked Aunt Judy. Then she began to laugh. Harry had taken such a big mouthful of pizza he could only nod.

  “Definitely,” he said, as soon as he’d swallowed. He heard a faint whining noise and looked down to see Patch, eyeing him hopefully.

  “Don’t be tricked into giving him any of your pizza,” said Uncle Martin.

  “He’s looking at me like he’s never been fed,” laughed Harry.

  “That’s his special act,” said Uncle Martin. “He does a very good hungry, orphan dog routine.”

  Patch gave a very human-like “humph” and slunk back to his basket. He gave Harry one last reproachful glance and curled up next to Tilly.

  “I expect you’re full after all that pizza,” said Aunt Judy, “so you won’t be wanting any ice cream for pudding.”

  “I think I could just manage some,” replied Harry, grinning at her. “I’ll need extra energy if we’re walking Patch and Tilly after lunch.”

  “I thought you might say that,” said Aunt Judy, “so I bought in extra supplies of your favourite – mint chocolate chip.”

  “Wow! Thanks!” said Harry, but he paused for a moment as he got up to clear the plates. “I just thought – what happens if Mum starts having the baby while we’re out?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take my mobile with me,” said Aunt Judy. “You’ll be first to hear the news when it comes in.”

  After they’d washed the dishes, Harry pulled on his wellies and his thick coat, remembering how windy it could get up on the cliffs. Patch and Tilly barked at him excitedly.

  “Off we go!” said Aunt Judy. “And I’ve got a surprise for you on the way. . .”

  Patch and Tilly streaked ahead as soon as they got to the open fields, running in and out of the bushes, scampering over the rocks, noses sniffing the ground, tails wagging in the air.

  “They love it out here,” said Aunt Judy. “It’s definitely their favourite walk.”

  The next moment, Patch came running up to him, his favourite toy bone in his mouth, and dropped it at Harry’s feet. Patch sat down on his haunches and thumped his tail.

  “Do you want me to throw it for you?” asked Harry, looked down at the chewed toy.

  Patch barked in reply.

  “OK, here goes,” said Harry. He picked up the least chewed end of the bone and threw it as far as he could. Patch was after it in a flash, with Tilly yapping at his heels.

  “I wonder who’ll get there first?” said Harry.

  “It’ll be Patch,” said Aunt Judy. “Tilly’s little legs are no match for Patch. She’s much older than Patch, too. I always end up bringing two toys so that Tilly’s in with a chance. Here’s one for Tilly,” she added, passing Harry a red ball.

  Patch was bounding back towards them, the toy bone firmly in his jaws again. Tilly trotted along behind.

  “That was quick!” said Harry. “Right,” he said, as Patch dropped the toy at his feet again. “Let’s see if I can throw it further this time. And Tilly,” he added, showing her the ball, “this one’s for you.”

  This time he had the wind behind him, and Harry watched with satisfaction as the toys sailed through the air. Patch gave a yelp of delight.

  As they neared the end of the field Aunt Judy whistled and the dogs came scampering back to her. “Here, Tilly! Here, Patch!” she called, then bent down to put them on their leads.

  “Are there sheep ahead?” asked Harry. “Is that why they need to go on their leads?”

  “You’ll see!” said Aunt Judy, smiling at him. “Could you open the gate for me, Harry?”

  Harry did as she asked, then gasped at the amazing view before him. They’d come to the cliff tops, where the ground to their right abruptly dropped away to the pounding sea far below. Harry had never been to this part of the cliff before – his home was further inland – but from here he could see all the way out to sea and hear the waves crashing against the rocks. Herring gulls soared overhead, their squawking cries carrying for miles on the wind. He was glad he’d brought his thick coat, too. It was windy on the cliff tops and Aunt Judy’s hair was flying about her face.

  “Wow!” said Harry. “What a view. I can see why you don’t want Patch and Tilly running near the edge of those cliffs.”

  “There’s a path here we can follow,” said Aunt Judy, pointing to a little track a safe distance from the cliff edge. “As long as we stick to the path there’s no danger of us falling off the cliffs either!”

  “Oh!” said Harry, suddenly remembering. “What was it you were going to show me?”

  “You’ll have to wait until we’ve turned the next corner,” she said, as they followed the path along the winding cliff edge. “There we are,” she cried, a few moments later.

  Harry looked to see where Aunt Judy was pointing. There, on the hilly ground to their left, was a whole herd of goats, the white patches on their coats lit up by the sunshine.

  “Amazing!” breathed Harry.

  As Harry looked more closely, he could see twenty or so goats – some were black and white, others brown and white and there were grey ones and white ones, too, all with different patterns on their coats.

  “Oh look!” he cried. “Some of them are huge!” The largest goats had thick horns curving backwards over their heads, and funny little beards under their chins.

  “I can’t believe there are goats up here. That’s awesome!” Harry went on. “But why are they here?”

  “They’re feral,” said Aunt Judy, her face lighting up with pleasure as she looked at them. “I help look after them, actually, along with some other locals.”r />
  Aunt Judy saw Harry’s puzzled face and explained, “Feral goats live in the wild. They’re different from the domestic goats that live on farms. We’ve got about fifty in this herd.”

  “That’s incredible!” said Harry. “I always thought of goats as farm animals. I didn’t know they could live in the wild. But what do they do at night? Where do they sleep?” He looked around at the rocky landscape. The goats must be really tough to live out here all year, he thought.

  “They sleep under trees, or anywhere they can find shelter. They’ve got wonderfully thick coats to keep them warm. And of course they can feed themselves on leaves and shrubs. Our main job is to help out with worming and foot trimming from time to time.”

  “I’d like to do that,” said Harry.

  “I’ll let you know next time we’re rounding them up,” said Aunt Judy. “It’s hard work, but a lot of fun. Sometimes we feed them when the weather’s bad, too. They don’t like the rain very much, as their coats aren’t waterproof. But other than that, they’re pretty hardy.”

  Harry stood watching them for a while. Then he spotted a funny-looking goat standing up on its back legs, trying to reach some leaves on a branch.

  “Look at that one!” he cried.

  Aunt Judy laughed when she caught sight of the goat. “Sometimes you even see the goats climbing the trees!” she said. “It always takes me by surprise when they do that. It shouldn’t though, as they’re brilliant climbers. There are goats that live in mountains all over the world – even high up in the Alps and the Pyrenees.”

  “Mountain-climbing goats!” said Harry. “I’d love to see them one day. Oh!” he added. “What’s going on there?”

  Two baby goats were leaping up in the air and headbutting each other.

  “Those are just baby goats, playing,” said Aunt Judy. “The baby goats are called kids. There’s lots of them at this time of year. Those two are boys, practising for when they’re older.”