It occurred to me the other day, while I was carrying on a conversation with Nico, that I had a farm Wookie. He had said one particularly long drawn out complaint about me being late with his dinner, and he sounded just like a Wookie in the movies, Star Wars. In fact, he has always sounded like a Wookie.
I don’t know if any of you are Star War fans, but Harrison Ford had a best friend that looked like a tall skinny hairy bear, who always wore an ammunition belt from his shoulder down to his hip and he didn’t verbally say distinct words, but it was all long drawn out versions of “Ahhhhhhh”, either as a growl or a complaint or a whine, whatever, but you always knew what he was meaning. This “ahhhhhhing” skinny hairy bear thing was called a Wookie.
Now Nico doesn’t look like a tall skinny hairy bear, being a Boer buck, and fortunately he doesn’t carry an ammunition belt, but he sure has the vocabulary of a Wookie. We’ve owned him since he was three months old and he’s five years old now. Well, really, he thinks he owns us and to keep him happy and I let him think it. But, the whole time he was and is a talker of the Wookie language.
He tells you when he is content. He tells you when he is unhappy. He tells you when he is mad about something by growling. He has an unbelievable range of Wookie speech that is easily understandable, if you happen to be a Star Wars fan.
Nico doesn’t constantly talk like our Nubians did in the past. Those girls were the gabbiest girls I’ve ever seen. They didn’t sound like Wookies, they were just a bunch of chatter boxes. They discussed everything. They discussed the weather, they discussed the grain they were eating, they discussed the pasture, they talked about each other. Oh, my, they were terrible gossips. They could be clear to the top of the hill, see someone pull into our driveway, and they would stand there and discuss our company. You could hear them plain as day. Those Nubians told me if someone pulled into our driveway before the dogs did.
As I have mentioned before, the Angoras were a different lot. They didn’t talk. They were a quiet group, never mentioning anything, sourly looking at the Nubian chatter boxes who added so much noise to the beautiful, otherwise peaceful, countryside. I found the Angoras to be silent, curly white ghosts. You never knew if they were around. And, you had to watch out because you could back up and accidentally fall over one because you didn’t realize they were there. You’d never do that with our Nubians. You knew exactly where they were because odds were they were discussing the clothes you were wearing that day.
The Boers are my intermittent talkers. They don’t chatter on as my Nubians did, but neither are they almost mute like my Angoras were. When they have something to say, they say it, and that’s that. Now, I’ve had some master blasters in the herd. One particular girl blew out my baby monitor down at the barn once with her unbelievable lung capacity.
I did have a group of kids being weaned that a family came to see, and so help me, one of the little doe girls stood back and said the father’s name just as plain as you or I would have said it. I think his name was Mike. The whole family went into shock because she not only said it once, but two or three times. Then they all nearly fell down laughing because she had said it so plainly.
I really thought that this was a sure sale, but evidently they did not want a goat around hollering, “Mike. Mike. Mike.” Instead, they picked out one that kept saying, “Nay, nay, nay.” I have yet to have a goat actually say, “Baaa” as they are suppose to. Maybe they aren’t suppose to. Maybe that’s a sheep thing to do.
I do have a couple of opera stars in the Boer herd. The volume and depth of their voice is quite impressive. I don’t know where they got their training. Maybe from listening to me singing around the barn. Well, I try to sing. You have to realize that I grew up in a time where every song was a nasal honky tonk song. So, no matter what I sing I sound like I’m singing nasal honky tonk, which is quite embarrassing in church.
When my opera stars decide to turn loose and give a performance, well, I think the whole valley gets quiet to listen. Or, maybe the valley gets quiet trying to decide whether to run or not. What volume, what depth, I’m just full of admiration as I hurry to get out of range and try to save my ear drums. These particular girls can really belt it out.
Fortunately Nico may be my talking Wookie, but he rarely sees the need to raise his voice. He knows if he talks, I listen. And, I really don’t see the reason to change his name to Bodacious Wookie. Somehow that name doesn’t quite carry the prestige this fellow deserves. Even if I would attempt such a thing, Nico would definitely let me know what he thought about it, in his Wookie fashion.