"Donny, shut the - when do we play?"

Today is G Day. We hit the road this afternoon and head west into the night, looking to manifest our goat roasting destiny. Our recipe is set, the trunks are loaded, and "God Bless Texas" is playing on a loop. Let the games begin.

Also, Dougie Shoutout to Jason Flynn for his piece profiling our goat roasting team in the school newspaper.

"How was your meeting, Mr. Lebowski?"

The Little Lebowski Urban Goat herders and roasters are making moves. Culinary conferences have been held. Two goats have been eaten. Fences have been erected. And a new herd has been established.

The TeCroney Manor pastures will host the goats again for the time being. There's plenty of regrowth, which means fat goats in a matter of weeks.

Wednesday night, another goat will be be roasted as our last team building exercise and opportunity to tweak our recipe. We're close, but nobody wants to roll into Texas with less than perfection.

Practice like you play.

"At the wooden bridge we throw the money out of the car!"

I took this picture on a recent fishing trip in Virginia. These goats were lounging on a country bridge, in a hurry to go nowhere.

I realize there's a corresponding folk tale to this scene. But, I later waded under the bridge, so let's not talk about it...

Rare are opportunities to sneak in a fish-of-the-day pic.

"They posted the next round for the tournament."

On a brighter note, I have news to share: The Little Lebowski Urban Goat Roasters are taking the show on the road. Roughly two years after our initial goat roast and a foreshadowing blog post, we're headed west to Brady, Texas to compete in this year's BBQ Goat Cookoff. That's right, the granddaddy of 'em all:

In researching cooking techniques for our very first goat, I hit the knowledge jackpot: past champion Alton Bradshaw, a demi god of cabrito. His guidance was no doubt the cause for a successful roast, and for our immediate induction into the goat barbecue community. Ever since, his name his name is spoken with reverence and respect. Now, it's time to meet our makers - the apprentices will cook with the masters.

"Who's your friend in the Volkswagen?"

It's clear Texans don't mess around when it comes to goat cuisine. But don't worry; we don't plan on tiptoeing around our roaster either. The wheels have been turning for months and practice roasts are in the near future. We'll ride into Texas with our heads and hopes high. Laissez les bon temps rouler!

"They're gonna kill that poor woman."

In honor of her eventful career on the cul-de-sac farm, this hen deserves one last post:

Queen of the grounds, the hen invited herself in to watch the Bravos with Mark.

"Ya. Uzzervize ve kill ze girl."

Unfortunately, the freedom our final hen enjoyed ultimately resulted in her disappearance. Upon returning from Jazz Fest, neither the chicken nor any sign of her were to be found. Sure, death is certainly a possibility, Dude. But, without evidence of fowl play (sorry), nothing is certain. In the meantime, we will continue to convince ourselves of her new fantasy life in the jungle of bamboo behind the yard. Farewell, chicken.

Note: Images are courtesy of Mark Powers - photographer, dougie, and fellow herder.

"Shoosh. I sure hope he makes the finals."

For as many extracurricular hours I've spent reading, writing, and learning firsthand about goats and how they relate to landscape architecture, you had to know that it was only a matter of time before I found a way to bring 'goatscaping' into the classroom. Our Urban Design final project was the perfect opportunity. The parameters were open-ended, and the presentation date fell on Cinco de Mayo. Of course I was going to roast a goat.

My classmate Eric Marlowe and I chose to follow up on an earlier project - the urban revitalization of downtown Watkinsville, a small town near Athens. In that project, I proposed goats as part of the solution to reclaim a valuable urban forest.

I knocked on a few doors, but it appears none of Watkinsville's urban citizens are eager to host goats in their backyard for a few days. Instead, we revisited the idea of keeping a small herd at my house.

Feeding time at the Cul-de-Sac Farm

For a little under a week, we watched, filmed, and photographed our modest herd doing what they do best. In less than 48 hours, they had stripped every bamboo leaf within reach and sheared our monkey grass mounds to the ground. The remaining landscape was drastically improved. Mission accomplished.

Three of the four goats were returned to Miss Charlie's farm. The fourth is pictured below, the centerpiece of our presentation:

Dougie Shoutout to Eric for his extremely hands-on involvement in the entire butchering and cooking process.

Prior to Presentation Day, Eric and I requested the half-way point recess for our time slot. The goal was to move our audience through an outdoor exhibit, culminating in a heaping plate cabrito and veggies. After a brief introduction, the masses were released to check out a video, slide show, poster boards, and a pre/post goat example. We even had past goat herd owners Willy and Dana present to shake hands and answer questions.

All told, 30 to 40 people (and one dog) stopped by the studio to learn more about goatscaping and eat with friends. Muchas gracias for attending. I have a hunch this won't be the last time I roast a goat on campus...

To see more pictures from the presentation, click here. When I get a free minute, I'll make the video available online, as well.

"Gimme the marker, Dude. I'm marking it 8."

A little under two years and a couple of herds ago, this was the view from the Dougie House back deck:

And now, what was once an impenetrable thicket of honeysuckle, wisteria, privet and English ivy has been been replaced with a lush, inviting landscape, like something out of an Irish tourism brochure:

From Platoon to Braveheart. From DK's Barrel Blast Jungle to the hills outside of Hyrule.

And, as if retaking control of the yard wasn't good enough, the plant you see thriving is a native - Jewelweed. Here's the best part: Jewelweed is Mother Nature's remedy for poison ivy reactions. Uh, yes please. Now we've got an endless supply of the magic plant the next time I inevitably rub Satan's ivy all over my face...

"What about the toe?"

Photo by Kelly Wegel

The sheep on River Road got some more publicity recently at a volunteer privet pruning day. Yours truly even got his name in the campus paper:

"Zach Richardson, a fourth-year landscape architecture major, came out to the event to help clear brush to make way for the sheep.

He is also working on a class project to use goats in a similar way to clear areas of invasive plants.

“I used to live in East Campus and I used to bike past this area,” Richardson said. “That’s part of why I was excited about it because I had wanted to put goats on it.” Richardson and Chandler shared ideas for spreading the concept throughout the community."

The reporter overheard me introduce myself to the sheep's owner, Jennif Chandler. Miss Chandler uses her flock in a very similar way and for all the same reasons I've herded goats. We hit it off immediately. Listening to us talk about husbandry and invasive plants had to be entertaining - two targeted grazing enthusiasts making the same outlandish claims. "We should put goats and sheep everywhere." A couple of tree-huggin' agri-nerds...

Here are the links to the two articles about sheepscaping on campus: The Red & Black and The Athens Banner Herald.

"We are sympathizing here, Dude."

The joy of a successful goat roast and a 1-1 draw against Argentina was quickly replaced with the sting and sorrow of losing more of our flock. The night after our party, the neighborhood predator struck again...twice. After arriving home very late (or early) from the studio, I found this waiting on me outside:

"Dead Headless Chicken"

Upon hearing our girls call for help, Brian went outside to be the hero. Unfortunately, he was too late and discovered this Rhode Island Red outside the coop. (Why he proceeded to mummify it in aluminum foil, you'll have to ask him yourself.) Before I got home, our evil predator returned to haul off another hen.

That attack left us with a single remaining chicken. Guess which one. Yep, the survivor from past posts. Poor thing had a rough couple of weeks didn't she? The good news, though, is that she's back in the business of egg laying - we've had an egg a day for the past week or so. I think it's safe to declare her fully recovered. What a trooper.

"Got the whole cowboy thing goin'."

I apologize for the tardy goat roast post. Below are a few pictures from the weekend. All things considered, I'd chalk it up as a success. Good food, drink, and friends, plus a little soccer on TV... what more could you want?

Dr. Boo, like a boss.

The weather was far from cooperative, but goat roasters never say "never."

Jamaican curry, Mediterranean, and Texas barbecue goat. Come 'n getcha some.

"Some beers, a few laughs..."

Our spontaneous backyard goatscaping experiment for the week hit a minor bump. After analyzing her herd, Mrs. Charlie didn't feel comfortable selling me a goat to both keep for a few days in the city, and then eat. Nothing fit the bill entirely. That is to say, there are edible goats available, yes, but none that were old enough to be removed from the herd and expected to remain relatively quiet.

So, our goats-in-the-chicken-run idea will have to wait until another time. On the bright side, Mrs. Charlie was very receptive to the idea of loaning me a few goats for 24 or 48 hours in the future. A very kind and generous person she is, indeed.

But, don't let the rain check fool you. We're still on for roasting goats this weekend. Two of them, in fact. The onset of warm weather deserves celebrating, and USA is playing Argentina in soccer. I even put a bug in Kelly's ear about preparing one goat Jamaican curry style. Sounds like the makings of a party...

"We're talking about unchecked aggression here, Dude."

The good news: our wounded hen seems to be slowly recovering. I'm no vet, but it's clear she's starting to act more like a chicken. She even laid an egg today, albeit slightly misshapen. Then Brian dropped it...

The bad news: our rogue predator(s) is still prowling the neighborhood. The closest guess I have after seeing shadowy shapes fleeing the scene is a raccoon. Maybe two. I know, I blew it. That was my chance to prove a point to the little devils.

Plus, I just heard a great horned owl in the backyard for the first time. Right over the chicken run. So, we can chalk owls up to the list of potential predators.

Speaking of the list, I find it fascinating how many people have an opinion on what kind of animals could be stealing from our flock. The boss, the checkout lady at Athens Seed, Grandpa, the roommates. Everybody's got a theory. Whatever it may be, it's getting a lot of attention. What do you think? A penny for your thoughts...

"I will not abide another toe!"

For two nights in a row, I have been awoken by the sounds of screaming chickens. Clearly, our perimeters have been breached.

The first night resulted in nothing more than a brief chorus of chaos inside the coop and a half nude sprint to the flock to verify its safety. Last night, on the other hand, our flock was not so lucky.

Upon hearing the chickens again, I bolted out onto the deck, scaring away our phantom predator. Unfortunately, I arrived just a few minutes too late...

Lodged between the door and frame was a very unlucky hen. Apparently en route to its dining quarters, the predator left the chicken wedged in place in its haste to avoid my wrath. At first glance, she appeared in bad shape. Shocked, bleeding, and noticeably hurt, her chances at survival didn't look good.

But where there's a will, there's a way. This hen has proved herself to be quite the trooper. Aside from a bad limp and unattractive head wound, she appears to be on the path to recovery. After a rough morning, she spent the day drinking, eating, and resting. We'll keep a watchful eye on her over the next few days and monitor her progress. Keep your fingers crossed.

In the meantime, I'll be waiting patiently to greet our uninvited guest with some sort of unpleasant projectile...

"Leads? Yeah, sure. I'll check with the boys down at the crime lab."

Behold, a dozen golden eggs. We leave for a few days, and the ladies have a full carton waiting on us. What's not to like?

Nothing. Any animal that makes me breakfast is always welcome at my home. Which is why it pains me to report that two more of our flock - the black and white Domineckers - have fallen victim to another (or the same) neighborhood predator.

A tribute to our fallen hens

So far, we've lost four birds. (Now, only the original three Rhode Island Reds remain.) Our only clues to the identity of our predator(s) are the location of the kills. The ducks were attacked back in the bamboo grove, while these two chickens were killed in the more exposed, open part of their run.

Hawks are certainly a possibility, at least for the deaths of the chickens. There's a nest in a nearby pine, and theres always a few circling overhead. But it could also be a number of other animals: foxes, dogs, raccoons, garden gnomes, rogue poultry murderers, etc. Whatever it is, it should know it has started a war. I just recently saw the movie Fantastic Mr. Fox, so I'm already in the mood to do battle with varmints. Bring it on.

"Hey, I'm not messing with your special lady."

As of recently, my roommates and I have enjoyed life as new urban chicken owners. There are a total of five new ladies in the backyard - 3 Rhode Island Reds and 2 Domineckers - all of which are laying eggs daily. (We had two ducks for a short time, too, but they were quickly eaten by an unidentified neighborhood predator.)

Aside from providing fresh eggs every day, the chickens have proved to be quite entertaining. You'd be surprised by the reaction a trophy earthworm can illicit. One favorite past time involves throwing treats at one end of their run then the other, effectively racing our hens back and forth. Their running style is pretty hilarious. Like a flock of mini velociraptors.

It didn't take long for merely hanging worms over them to evolve into trying to feed them by mouth. Chickens flying up at your face is pretty unnerving, but that's what makes it a worthwhile, noble activity, right? Aren't you proud, Mom?

I'll post more poultry-related material in the future, but for now, they're most useful in that their enclosure can double as a temporary goat enclosure. The goal is keep a couple of goats for two days and see how much damage they can do.

Right now, the enclosure is completely overtaken with non-native invasives: bamboo, autumn olive, and English ivy. If I had to guess, I'd anticipate the goats honing in on the bamboo leaves at head level. That would be ideal - limbing up the vegetation to increase visibility into the enclosure while at the same time preserving the shade and cover the bamboo offers.

"Way to go, Donny!"

Check it out. Looks like the University's catching on to the alternative grazing approach to ecological restoration. You can read more about it here.

Oddly enough, I used to ride my bike daily right by the parcel of land they fenced off - a linear strip of privet and honeysuckle sandwiched between the Oconee River and River Road. I can remember thinking to myself, as often is the case now, that "my goats would be perfect here." It's good to know I'm not the only one.

I had lunch the other day with two men from the University Architects office. They were interested in and encouraged by the blog, as well as very receptive to the idea of somehow incorporating goats into the equation in the future. At the very least, I offered my time and labor in an effort to stay involved with the project.

"What is that, yoga?"

We have at my house no shortage of bamboo. Whatever spiteful gardener that previously lived here has left us and our neighbors with an infestation. But, as we now know, one man's trash, is another goat herder's treasure.

So, with the Jeep loaded down with the results of a heavy thinning, Brian and I headed to Mrs. Charlie's to share the haul with the herd. As anticipated, they were happy to see us.

What we hadn't anticipated, however, was getting lucky enough to be present for a goat birth. Unbelievable timing. And as if the timing weren't perfect enough, this happened to be the last remaining pregnant goat of the season.

Notice Abbey in the background. As you can tell, those dogs are incredibly vigilant and protective. Mrs. Charlie could not speak highly enough of her two Great Pyrenees. She stressed that had the goat given birth in the evening out in the pasture, one dog would have escorted the herd back to the barn for the night, and the other would stay by the newborn kid and its mother all night. She added that her predation rate since the two dogs' arrival has dropped to zero. Man and goat's best friend.

This particular goat is a Toggenburg named "Cripplet." (Her not-so-subtle name is the result a knee-stiffening birth defect that initially made walking impossible.) The sole leftover of a donated group of goats, she's the only one of her kind in Mrs. Charlie's herd. In most cases, though, Toggenburgs are used primarily as dairy goats.

Also, I'll take advantage of the corny segue opportunity and mention the birth of this blog's Facebook page.

Dana/Mikey Goats

Next stop on the garden tour is Mikey and Dana's. Remember, this property had 4 goats on it for about a month. That's some intensive grazing. Given the time, the goats stripped the yard of any leaves under six feet. Even the plants they first shied away from - aucuba and holly - were completely denuded.

Now that I think about it, the length of time it took for the goats to naturally transition from more palatable invasives to less attractive ornamentals would be valuable to know.

Notice the leveled plane of vegetation in the pictures below. Somebody over there came up with the idea of hanging weights on the limbs to give the goats access to more leaves. Sheer brilliance.

Above is the previously impenetrable corner of privet, honeysuckle, and English ivy. A little elbow grease and a couple of goats, and voila, recovered yard space. What's also interesting is the goats' stripping the bark off the trunks of the larger privet. Those privet "trees" were left standing, but perhaps girdling them in such a way would be enough to kill them. Guess we'll find out...

Dougie House Update

Here's the first of a flurry of posts. Plenty to catch up on.

No better place to start than the Dougie House. Pictured below is the back yard as of this Spring. Notice the remaining bare privet behind the benches. The last image shows what the goats started out with about 2 years ago. Holla at ya herd.

"I like your style, Dude."

This picture was taken in early December. From it, we can deduce that

a) Willy is a badass

b) 7 inches of snow isn't enough to deter a goat's appetite

c) Dana has a knack for frisbee/husbandry photography

"Racially, he's pretty cool?"

At both goat roasts, I've toasted the goats before releasing the masses to eat. And both times, I've delivered an average (at best) speech, worthy of nothing more than a head nod and stray "hear hear". Clearly, I'm no orator.

If I were smart, I would have incorporated some Wendell B. quotes. Nothing like a little agricultural activism literature to get a bunch of college kids jacked up, right? Add some alcohol and a spit-full of meat, and we could have a serious goat roast on our hands.

There's always next year to look forward to, though, so I've been digging around for some relevant passages. Mr. Berry's "The Pleasures of Eating" seems particularly appropriate. Aside from the all-encompassing phrase "Eating is an agricultural act," Berry suggests seven ways to better understand and appreciate our food. The first sentence of each point is listed in bold below.

1. Participate in food production to the extent that you can.

Turning over two overgrown backyards to a not-entirely-legal goatscaping experiment on a leap of faith seems pretty close to "the extent that you can." Check.

2. Prepare your own food.

Check.

3. Learn the origins of the food you buy, and buy the food that is produced closest to your home.

The total distance from fire pit to Ms. Charlie's barn is 12.2 miles. Check.

4. Whenever possible, deal directly with a local farmer, gardener, or orchardist.

Check.

5. Learn, in self-defense, as much as you can of the economy and technology of industrial food production.

Backyards beat industrial-scale feed lots any day of the week. Check.

6. Learn what is involved in the best farming and gardening.

That's why you're on my bookshelf, Wendell. Check.

7. Learn as much as you can, by direct observation and experience if possible, of the life histories of the food species.

When your goats' favorite hangout is the back porch, it's difficult not to learn the ins and outs of Capra aegarus hircus. Check.

"Just because we're bereaved doesn't mean we're saps!"

All hands on deck.

An excellent finish to another successful goatscaping season. Three and a half goats were roasted to perfection, feeding around 50 friends and family. Not bad for a few chubby goats and some side dishes.

And thank you again to those who brought food. Very cool. There's no way I'll remember all that was brought, but there were spring rolls, slaws, mac and cheese, spicy cabbage, desserts, beans, salads, and sweet potatoes. All to supplement the goats - one Texas barbecue, another Jamaican jerk, and the other Mediterranean. It was quite a spread.

Come n' getcha some goat.

It seems like I overheard the Jamaican jerk goat getting the most high praise. No surprise there. This year, we were lucky enough to have a goat seasoned by Kelly, owner of the legendary Kelly's Authentic Jamaican Food. He kept his recipe pretty close to the chest, letting us only see the final seasoned product. Whatever he did, he did it well.

A big Dougie Shoutout to all involved in this year's goat project.

A Job Well Done

What a day. It's difficult to describe an afternoon and evening dedicated to killing and skinning four goats. Either in conversation or with text. So, I'll save the struggle for the next time somebody asks me in person.

Now, I can say that it went as well as a day like that can go. From start to finish, the guys insisted on being involved, eager to be a part of the process and learn as much as possible. I was impressed with just how willing they were to get some serious hands-on learning. Job well done, men.

Pictures of the process can be found here. Be forewarned, if goat guts aren't your thing, perhaps direct your attention here, instead.

Now comes the fun part: scheming about just how we're going to prepare these bad boys. The theme of regional cuisines has been tossed out, with each goat cooked in the style of a goat-eating culture. That could mean a Jamaican Curry Goat, a Mediterranean Goat, a North African Goat, and a repeat of last year's Texas Goat. Everybody's a winner.

"If you will it, Dude, it is no dream."

Today is killing day. And only now has the unidentifiable heavy feeling in my stomach begun to set in. It's not a nervous or guilty feeling, but whatever it is, it's there. A respectful anxiousness almost. It was there last year, too, and I hope it's there every time I'm in a similar situation.

In nearly every conversation involving goat slaughtering, someone inevitably brings up the "sadness" or "guilt" I should supposedly be experiencing. "Was it hard?" "How could you kill your pets?" "But they had names!" Heard 'em all.

And why shouldn't people be shocked? Killing and eating our own food is something most of us have become distanced from, either by choice or convenience. To be honest, before last year's goats, I was no exception. I sped past the animal rights activists passing out flyers just as fast as the next guy.

So, putting ourselves in a position to buy, raise, kill, and ultimately eat a large animal seems counterintuitive. But, the knowledge gained from last year's experiences - and several more this past hunting season - has resulted in an entirely new personal philosophy on eating food. Now, it makes too much sense not to.

Credit should also be given to the recent increase in food conscious movies and literature. Food, Inc., Supersize Me, King Corn, Wendell Berry, and Michael Pollan created a perfect storm of influences that has helped alter my views, as well as the views of countless others. The fact that this year's goat owners are adamant and excited about today's slaughtering is proof enough.

If you, the reader, are struggling with the idea of our four goats dying, I say to you:

1. Read and watch the media above. This essay by Michael Pollan is a good starting point.
2. Understand that our goats lived the happiest of goat lives
3. Rest assured the killing process will be as quick and humane as possible
4. Come celebrate the goats - and food sustainability - next weekend with the end-of-season roast