Estelle O'Brien

I live in a narrow valley surrounded by beautiful mountains with rocky escarpments and rugged steep slopes. I climbed half way up there once to rescue one of my dogs who had gotten stuck on a ledge…the view was like looking down from an aeroplane. It took all of my courage and strength to climb up and I would never have done it if I didn’t love that little dog so much!

Living high in the rocky mountain are three families of wild goats. They are lovely animals; intelligent, proud and nimble. They often came down from the mountain to graze in our back paddock and say hello. A year or two ago a neighbour found a kid and brought it to me to rear. I named her Millie (the Kid) and she lived in my chicken house with my chooks. She would jump up onto the roost with them at night to sleep. I soon won her confidence and tamed her and during the day she would play with me and follow me about my garden, helping me to trim the weeds. Goats are smart and funny, they love to interact and play. She was a beautiful friend for a while, she grew up sleek and strong and pure white…and one day she happily ran off with a mob of big black goats. We would catch glimpses of her sometimes high up on the mountain, a white princess among a bunch of long-haired black “bikie” goats! If we called out her name – a shout echoes around the hills- she would raise her head and give a little kick of recognition, as if remembering our kindness when she was an orphaned baby.

A couple of weeks ago we had a letter from the Dept of Parks and Wildlife asking permission to shoot on our property, which we declined to give. A ranger subsequently appeared on our doorstep to try to convince us that the wild goats are a menace to society. Their argument is that there is some sort of plant that grows only up on the rugged rocky terrain on the top of our mountain and the goats are eating it. My answer to that is that the bush is so rough and rocky and rugged up there, it is only accessible by mountain climbing and helicopters -who would ever know whether a plant was or was not there? And which beaureacrat who thinks he’s God makes the decision that a plant is more important than an animal?

He thought I was mad as a hatter when I told him I would tell the goats to hide- bad men were coming with guns. He thought my husband was even madder when he challenged the prevailing “wisdom” of killing animals from the air. He left without the permission he sought, and advised us that they would shoot around our boundary. The next day we heard the ominous deep ratta-tat of the helicopter as it flew over the mountain.

The chopper was so loud it was almost deafening as it hovered above the trees, low enough to cause the leaves to swirl off. We only own the land half way up the mountain…the top belongs to the State Parks Authority and so they swept up and down our fenceline, pausing and hovering every time they saw goats.

My horses were terrified, I ran out to their paddock to reassure them and keep them as calm as I could. Pilgrim had been galloping about in fear as the gunshots began, and both horses stood beside me with their heads over my shoulder as chopper thundered around and we heard BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. Every time there was a rifle shot, the horses flinched in fear. I stood with them with tears running down my face as I heard each shot and thought of my dear little friends up the mountain.

After about 45 minutes, their cruel work was done. I couldn’t bear to look, but Dennis had been watching them through binoculars. He saw the goats standing petrified on the rocks and saw them fall one by one, too scared to run away. He saw our little Millie lying on a rocky ledge high upon the mountain. I am crying again as I write about it…it is such a distressing thing to write about. But people should know what is done in the name of “conservation”.

For hours afterwards we heard desperate bleating…some were probably injured and lying where they fell… to die a slow agonising death. It is too rough for us to climb to the top and try to help the ones who were gut shot. Even with the high powered army rifle they were using, it is impossible for the rangers to have clean shots from the air. It is so cruel.

In Canberra the same week, they were culling some kangaroos, who were “over-grazing the native grasses” What rubbish- kangaroos don’t stay where there is no feed…they move on. But these kangaroos had some animal loving friends who were activists and attracted some publicity…and so the government made them tranquilize the roos before they killed them. Why do they think kangaroos can feel fear and pain… but goats can’t? Because it was done in the nation’s capital in view of the public, humane methods were used…but goats on a mountain where no-one can see what happens, is a different matter. Why is one animals life more important than anothers? Who makes these illogical decisions?

I am a realist and I sometimes eat meat, so I am not against killing animals altogether…but only if it is to eat them and only if they are killed humanely. I would never buy caged chickens eggs or eat lot fed beef, both are terrible practices. But I cannot understand why so called civilized people think that aerial culling is acceptable. It is terribly cruel – they have no way of knowing how many animals they left up there injured to die slowly. It is barbaric and should be stopped.