Willow was smallish goat with a very big personality. She had more character and charism than many people and had no trouble expressing herself. She was unique. Fashionable. She belonged to Beaver Creek Farm.

On December 28, 2010 we found our beloved goat Willow dead in the fragrant hay. There wasn’t a mark on her and there were no signs of distress. It looks as though she fell over mid-chew. Willow was five years old when she died and the whole farm has found ways to express their sadness. It’s amazing how the other animals feel and find ways to comfort and bring comfort.

The average goat lifespan is 11-16 years depending on how hard and how many babies they’ve had. Boy goats or Bucks live only 8-10 years due to the stress of the rut that comes each year.

Willow was never used for breeding and was given to us because she had been exposed to a buck and never “caught” or got pregnant. She was a perfect first farm animal for our “kid-free” zone. I couldn’t ignore the irony.

Willow climbed and jumped and spun. She loved to live and loved to share her joy with others. As time progressed we noticed Willow loved to head butt kids. Human kids. She seemed to take joy in dancing and then pushing them around with her horns. Often, she wasn’t gentle.

Willow brought smiles as I watched her fall in love with our pigs: Charlotte and Ginger. She used to sleep on top of them in winter to keep warm. Her head lolling across Charlotte’s back and staring at me when I went to check on them in the coldest part of the night.

She tried to be daughter to Nelly, but was merely a friend. She found joy in our newest goat Billy. The girl and boy goats licked and cuddled each other in her final days.

I did a little research and asked some knowledgeable goat people what might have happen to my little wonderful goat and the general acceptance was a cardiac problem or aneurysm. It’s quite common for a youngish goat to suddenly died. This is what happened to our special girl.

With much sadness and grief we said good-bye to our brown girl and buried her with Sam and Misiu next to the double white horse chestnut tree.

Part of me wants to not take in more animals so I don’t have to feel the pain of their passing, but the stronger pull is give a good life to the next heartbeat who needs a home.

Thanks for helping me write this Poco.