We decided, goodness knows why, that we wanted some goats.

Actually, we’d been talking about it for a long time. Rich had goats before, and loved them. But he was concerned about what a tie they were – they need to be milked twice a day, and it’s difficult to get people to fill in for you if you need to go away. Milking a goat is a tricky business, and people who have goats of their own need to stay home and look after them.

So we’ve discussed it, off and on, without ever making any decisions.

Then something tipped us over the edge – I think it was when we took Benji to the chest clinic, to talk about managing his bronchitis. He has eczema and border-line asthma, and gets deep, wracking coughs that turn into secondary chest infections – far too many infections for such a sturdy little boy.

Goats milk apparently provides a virtual cure for eczema and asthma – Rich says that when he and his girls were drinking goats milk every day, none of them had any eczema. Nowadays, on cow’s milk, they all do. As do I. And Joli.

So we’ve got a household of people with eczema, a load of empty stalls in the barn, and 25 acres of green fields. It was time to get a goat.

I fancied a Golden Guernsey. I had seen them on a trip to Folly Farm, and was enchanted by them – they’re a gorgeous caramel color, delicate as deer, with fragile faces and shaggy coats.

Rich kept Saanen goats before, which are apparently so “milky” that you can even milk the males!

We got online and looked at a picture of the Saanen. I was unimpressed.

“They’re ugly,” I objected.

“They’re practical,” Rich pointed out, in our eternal chorus of aesthetic v. real world.

We looked at Anglo Nubians, which he had also kept. I liked them better, with their long floppy ears, but one website promised Anglo Nubian kids for £150 apiece! And that seemed like too much.

As we did more and more research, it seemed harder and harder to actually find a goat that was for sale. All my online searches drew a blank, and I was forced to resort to emailing goat societies, all of whom were very nice and promised to get back to me if they heard of any goats for sale, but none of whom had any at the moment.

It was very frustrating.

Then, after we took Benji to the doctor, we decided on a whim to take a drive, and see if the man who had sold Rich his goats the last time, was still there.

We drove over the green, sunlit hills, and turned down a lane that Rich thought – but wasn’t quite sure – was the right one. He chewed his lip and made guesses as to where we were going, and we ended up at a charming little house down tucked into a valley, studded with snow drops and early daffodils.

The lady at the door pointed us to her husband, who came up in overalls. He was, indeed, the same man who had sold Rich goats before, and he actually had some with which he was willing to part!

We went to look at the goats in a sunny stone barn, and I immediately fell in love with Lola, a little coal-black Anglo Nubian-ish kid, only one month old, all long legs with one ear that pointed out sideways.

I instantly fell in love with Lola...

I would have to bottle feed her, the farmer warned. But I thought that sounded like fun, and decided it would be a good way to get her tamed and easy to handle.

Since it would be ages until Lola was ready to produce milk, we also looked at Buddug (pronounced BITH-ig) a large, placid, matronly goat who had a handsome year-old billy goat son.

Buddug was dramatically splashed with black and white, like a backwards Dalmatian, and had a lovely temperament.

We decided to buy them both – the elderly nanny and the little kid – and settled with the man that we would come back for them in a few days, once we had gotten their stalls ready.

We drove back to the farm in high spirits, a little shaken by what we had done, but still game…

Buddug, the calm and gentle old nanny goat

Back at the farm, we cleaned out one of the old stalls, power-washed and disinfected it. Rich scrubbed down the milking bench, a concrete affair just the right height for the goat to stand on for milking.

The next day, we drove back in a state of excitement to pick up the goats. We had a nearly full contingent of kids with us – Benji, of course, and Joli and Elly came along to meet the new additions.

But once we got there, the farmer had come up with a problem. Lola had been nursing her mother for a month, and was likely to be difficult to wean onto the bottle. Rich agreed, it would be a problem. Once goats or lambs get used to the teat, it’s tough to get them to switch over.

Rich looked at me. I looked back at him imploringly. I had lost my heart to Lola, and love just isn’t logical…

We worked out that to buy Lola, we would have to buy Lola’s mother, as well, to feed her – a wild-eyed brown goat with horns, who we called Nessa, after the stroppy character from Gavin and Stacy.

And if we bought Nessa, we would also have to take Lola’s little twin brother (who we named Dexter) because he was too young to be left behind…

So Rich, sighing deeply, loaded four goats into the trailer instead of the expected two.

Instant herd!

Stroppy Nessa and the twins, Lola and Dexter

I picked up Lola, Rich picked up Dexter and the unlucky farmer dragged Nessa, kicking and bucking all the way, up the drive to the trailer. We loaded them in without too much complaint.

Then the farmer went into a different shed to get Buddug. She came out calmly, along with her handsome, glossy son, a billy of about a year old. Even I could see that it was impossible for us to take him - male animals, as Rich often says, aren’t much use on the farm, and we already had one billy too many, thanks to me.

But we were all nearly in tears by the time that Buddug was loaded into the trailer, bleating piteously as she was separated from her son, and he was standing there looking after her as the door was shut, crying back and looking bewildered…