Tom – The BFG

Our BFG 

It may stand for the Big Friendly Goat, but he had many of the qualities of a Big Friendly Giant. Big, kind, gentle and always ready to give you a nudge of affection every time you come and visit. I have fond memories of feeding him out of a bottle when I first started high school.  I used to walk through the goat paddock on my way to school and he would chew on my uniform so I had to go to class covered in goat slobber.  

He died last night. My mother thinks he fell over and he couldn’t get up but I tell myself that he died peacefully in his sleep. He never slept in his goat house, he just never could get comfortable, so he’d sleep outside in the freezing cold and rain which gave him bad legs and foot root. It never seemed to bother him though. He still enjoyed his treats each morning, and head butting his sister, Gerry.  

Mum and Gerry

After my brother said matter of factly, “Tom died last night” my mother and I made our way down to the goat paddock to find a lonely Gerry. She came to greet us and nudged into us. Even though she got food portions for two goats, she has left half of her food for her brother. I stood with her for a long time while Mum went to see the mass of white in the paddock. She feels guilty that she wasn’t with him when he died.

We’ve always been like this with our animals, I have memories of watching television with my pet chicken, and mum was known as “the goat lady” because, before they got too big, she used to walk them with our dog Lassie. Getting attached has its downside though because it makes it that much harder to say goodbye.

The Goat Lady

The burial was quick. There is a development happening around us, and Mum and Dad haven’t always been on the best of terms with Kensington Park, but they kindly dug us a hole for Tom and helped us lift him in. Mum and I threw lavender and rosemary in to humanise the big hole dug in two minutes by an industrial digger.

Thank you Kensington Park for helping bury our friend Tom.

They gave us a couple of moments with him to say our final goodbyes. Gerry comes and nudges into us almost as if she wants to be part of the rushed burial. Her companion nothing but a pile of atoms in a hole. She goes off in a huff, and we try and follow her, but she wants nothing to do with us. How dear we put her mate in a hole like that? The developer awkwardly coughs, “Just let us know when you’re ready.” Five minutes later the hole is smoothed in and the digger speeds off to get back to work. He turns his radio on again, and the unfortunate song choice, Goyte feat Kimbra, “now you’re just somebody that I used to know” comes on (that song seems to follow me around in sadness). He quickly turns it off.

 Good bye Tom, thank you for cutting our grass, eating our scraps, and keeping us company for the past 14 years. I will miss you.