It was sad to read of the local Humane Society's plan for trapping that herd of wild goats, who've roamed the hills in the 850 acres of the Medford Quarry ever since the herd's patriarch- known as Billy to the quarry's workers- took up residence there 10 years ago, after escaping from the jaws of death at the nearby livestock auction house.

For years, he led a carefree, bachelor's life, whiling away his time foraging in the rocks for vegetation, and gazing down, like an overseer, from the top of the pit on the workers digging and blasting stone. But his solitary life ended, when other goats joined him after their getaway from the auction house. He must've been thrilled to see 'em, particularly the nannies.

As their leader, they followed him everywhere, and he never ventured off the quarry property. But when, a few years ago, Billy went to the "big pasture in the sky" his mantle was passed on to a younger buck, whose wanderlust caused him to sometimes lead the herd off the property, where a few motorists complained to the Humane Society (HS) about seeing them on Nicodemus and Medford roads.

It was those complaints, coupled with the HS's concerns that it could possibly be sued, if someone had an accident from hitting a goat, that led to its decision to trap and corral the entire herd. Six have already been caught, and stand to be euthanized, along with the rest of the herd, unless a refuge can be found that'd take 'em in, which is highly doubtful due to their wild nature. Plus, they'd probably escape and try to find their way back home.

Now, I know very little about goats, other than they're among the most useful of domestic animals, supplying people with milk, cheese, wool, meat and leather; that they can survive on land not fertile enough to support cattle or sheep; that male goats have a rank odor and long beards; and, that contrary to popular belief, they don't eat tin cans, but simply lick off the labels to obtain the glue on the backside. And perhaps to get a "buzz."

I can attest to their attraction to glue. I had an aunt who lived on a 500-acre farm in Georgia. Her husband had bought a small plane, which he planned on using for commuting back and forth to his business office in Atlanta. But he never got to fly it. For in returning to the farm after a business trip, he found (much to his horror) that his herd of goats had chewed their way through the entire, outer covering of the wings and tail to get to the gluey substance underneath it. Needless to say, their normal life span of about 15 years was considerably shortened.

The only other recollection I have about them is when I saw a TV spot, showing how some enterprising woman in Los Angeles was making a good living out of her goats' cast iron stomachs. Under the contract she had with the city, she'd load her herd into a huge van and transport 'em to designated sites along the roadways where the city's equipment couldn't reach. After a day of filling their gullets on the underbrush, she'd give a whistle and they'd jump right back in the van, undoubtedly looking forward to their next feast at the city's expense.
Some people have asked, in defense of the goats, why the HS isn't doing anything to control the much more plentiful deer seen on the roads. The HS's response: "Under the law, they are only required to protect the public from roaming domestic animals, not from wild animals;" and that "goats are technically domestic animals, albeit they're not domesticated." (According to the Department of Natural Resources, in 2001 there were 4,000 deer-vehicle collisions in the state, with repair bills exceeding $8 million, but no known goat-vehicle collisions.)

Personally, I think the HS is making too narrow of an interpretation of the law as it applies to the quarry's herd. To begin with, after living in the wild for so long, they've lost their identity as domestic goats. And from the close-up photos of four of 'em I saw in the paper, they come a lot closer to resembling a Rocky Mountain goat than the typical barnyard goat, what with their burly size, long hair and huge horns curving downward to their shoulders.

Could, then, this possibly be a case of mistaken identity on the HS's part? DNA tests could determine whether or not they're a hybrid. If so, they could forevermore enjoy their freedom. And Billy would surely give an approving "baa-baa" from on high.