Raven's Rest Farm

By Warren Kagarise

Staff writer

GRANT-VALKARIA - Frightened like a possum, and as stiff as a rocking horse, a reddish goat stopped, went rigid and dropped, sideways, onto the soft grass.

Other goats, accustomed to this kind of thing, braced themselves and shuffled along on unbending legs. Seconds later, the fallen goat rose and trotted off, as good as new.

Tennessee fainting goats, farmer Terri Lenoci points out, do not actually faint. They carry recessive genes that cause them to stiffen and fall over when startled. Through it all, the goats remain conscious.

"It doesn't hurt them, and it lasts about 10 seconds," she said last week at her Grant-Valkaria farmstead. Still, she would prefer it if guests refrained from scaring the goats stiff. Sometimes, she said, even the excitement of feeding time can cause the goats to topple over.

"They're so sweet," Mrs. Lenoci said. "They make the perfect pet."

Waist-high, a mature goat can grow to more than 100 pounds. While the muscular goats make for good eating, Mrs. Lenoci prefers to sell them for pets.

Two years ago, Mrs. Lenoci and her husband, Dr. Marty Lenoci, a podiatrist, began raising the goats on 10 acres they call Raven's Rest Farm.

Initially, the Lenocis traveled to a Sanford farm to buy a horse. There, Mrs. Lenoci spotted some fainting goats. They bought a herd of 20.

"I fell in love with them because they're just so gentle, even the bucks," she said.

So, the Lenocis sold off rabbits and miniature pot-bellied pigs to make room for the fainting goats. Today, they raise 60 goats at Raven's Rest, along with chickens, guinea fowl and miniature Zebu cattle, an ancient breed.

Goats, however, draw the most attention.

Popular YouTube videos and a 2007 episode of "Dirty Jobs" on the Discovery Channel featuring the faint-hearted animals fueled interest.

At Raven's Rest, most of the goats are familiar with the Lenocis, and no longer faint in their presence. Their granddaughter, 5-year-old Kamryn Marshall, stunned a handful of goats last week.

Afterward, she sat in the goat pen. Some of the weeks-old kids chewed on her pigtails, while others climbed atop the metal hood of a parked Mule cart.

"Even if I only have a few, I will always have goats," Mrs. Lenoci said.

Each of the 60 goats has a name, like Donkey Kong for his big ears, or Brian, named after the Lenocis' son-in-law, who helped deliver the animal.

To register each animal with the International Fainting Goat Association,(www.faintinggoat.com), Mrs. Lenoci must document each goat mid-faint. It's a process, she says with a laugh, which results in a lot of snapshots of what look to be dead goats.

Though the origins of the rare breed are difficult to trace, according to lore the goats were introduced to a Marshall County, Tenn., farm in the late 19th century by farmworker John Tinsley, whom neighbors believed came from Nova Scotia. Nowadays, Marshall County holds the Goats, Music & More festival each October.

As far as she knows, Mrs. Lenoci is the only farmer raising the fabled goats in Brevard County.

Standing in her rubber boots amid the scattered hay of a goat pen, Mrs. Lenoci called the goats' quirks endearing. Goats bah-ed and chewed all around her.

"If I've had a bad day," she said, "I can sit out here and have goat therapy."