Which character do you most resemble in George Orwell’s Animal Farm?
You may never have considered this. Neither had I until my literature-loving eldest son posed the question at a recent family gathering. Twenty minutes of feisty conversation later we agreed our family comprises a Napoleon, Squealer (!!), Mollie, Boxer and Benjamin. Will I divulge which one is me? No, but this did get me thinking. Which animal would I choose as my alter ego? That answer was easy: Muriel. She was wise, insightful and friendly. Because Muriel was a goat. And who doesn’t love a goat? Yes, they’re cute, but a study by Queen Mary University, London showed that goats are far more than a pretty face. With strong problem solving skills and impressive long-term memories, they have the enviable combination of curiosity, adaptability and intelligence. No wonder goats have such a knack of finding food anywhere – nutritious or otherwise.

Flagship animal
Locally of course we have the Saanen goat. You’ll see them in smallholdings dotted across the region, cheerfully munching grass, firmly tethered. And for good reason. Saanen goats are fabled climbers and enjoy practicing their escape-artist skills. That much I could have guessed, but did you know that their fair colouring makes them susceptible to sunburn? No wonder they do so well here.

As the region’s ’flagship’ animal, the Saanen goat is celebrated all over the place. Early Beck sells pralines decorated with their image, there’s a tableau of frolicking goats on the Saanen roundabout and if you want a goat-decorated tea towel, you’ll be spoilt for choice. But their popularity extends beyond the region too. I have a friend whose father was a frequent visitor to the Saanenland. Those holidays ceased when he was sadly diagnosed with a terminal disease. But his daughter was keen to give him one last taste of the Saanenland.

So my husband and I received an unusual request. Could we take a Saanen goat to him on our next trip to the UK? My friend wanted to temporarily relocate one in her father’s garden to remind him of the trips he had so enjoyed. Cue stunned silence. “Not a live one,” she reassured us. “One of the roundabout goats.”

My friend is very thorough and organised. She had already contacted the Gemeindeverwaltung in Saanen who had given their approval for the temporary removal of the goat (what I’d have given to be a fly on the wall the day her request came in). So that hurdle was accomplished.

The next challenge involved getting the goat into our car. An interesting experience. Even though our four-legged friend seemed three times larger than it had on the roundabout, we knew it would fit. It was just a case of figuring out how – a bit like the puzzle round on the Krypton Factor show.

What would have been?
From time to time I’ve wondered how the customs team at Calais would have reacted to our unusual passenger, but was never called on to learn. Unfortunately my friend’s father passed away before our departure date and the goat never got to make its 2,600 km round trip. I smile when I see ’our’ goat back in its spot on the Saanen roundabout, still going strong all these years later. No wonder Orwell made Muriel a survivor.

ANNA CHARLES