The Gardener The Goat and the Garbage Man

Everyone has an origin story. We all long to know where we come from. What our roots are. How it defines us - or doesn't.

I can't remember why we thought it a good idea to add a goat to our little family farm. I had no illusions of milking, of that I'm sure. And I can't recall how I even found out about a goat in Port Hardy that needed a new home, however one Saturday we loaded up the kids (not goats) into the truck and headed north.

We arrived at the address. It was a large property that reminded me of a kind of junk yard. Everything was for sale. Apparently the owner was a garbage man who frequented auctions and collected boxes of nails to excavators and everything in between. On one trip he returned with a goat.

Her name was Salty and she was firmly tied to a fence post. She was about 24 inches at her back, white with curling horns adorning her head like a crown. She opened her mouth in a pitiful bleat that sounded like a child whining 'maaaaaa'.

It was only later we heard her preferred choice of communication: a high-pitched sustaining note that sounded like a banshee wailing from another realm.

Beyond the goat was a massive garden. I commented on it and the garbage man sheepishly looked our way and confessed. "That's why the goat has to go. She keeps getting out and eating my wife's garden."

Now you would think this should have twigged some doubts as to our ability to keep the goat penned properly and you would be right. But it didn't deter us. Salty was loaded up and away we went.

That is Salty's origin story for how she came to our family. As to where she was born and how she ended up in an auction I don't know. Maybe I'll write it one day. After all she is the G.O.A.T. in Anna Wells and the Mystery of the Dusty Duchess.