Farewell, sweet Apple

It is with great sadness that we say goodbye today to Apple, a very special canine "cousin" to our goats. I have previously mentioned "Aunt Karen's Animal Rescue" (aka my sister's house) as the inspiration for our own family becoming goat owners. Some people have a heart for lost animals, and my sister is one of these - be it a blind horse, two homeless Hurricane Katrina dogs, three newborn kittens abandoned in a wishing well, a baby bird fallen from its nest, or even a pair of abused goats - none were turned away. It was when our cousins last year adopted Jedi and Yoda (two adult Nigerian Dwarf goats who had been mistreated by their previous owners) that we were first nibbled by the "goat bug" - of course little Leia and Obi this spring sealed the deal. Apple was their friend, and they often followed her around, unaware that they were not also dogs with all the indoor privileges that status entailed.

A Jack Russel - Chihuahua mix, Apple entered my sister's family (and captured her heart) some nine years ago after being rescued from a shelter where she was scheduled for euthanasia. A jaw malformation (we used to joke about orthodontists for dogs) initially gave her the appearance of a perpetual snarl, until you came to know her loving disposition and desperation for human affection. She quickly attached herself to her new mother and rarely left my sister's side (although she would snuggle with anyone if her first-choice human was unavailable!) I can now admit that Apple surreptitiously came along with us on several family vacations to places where dogs were not allowed, it being so traumatic for her to be separated from Karen. Whenever my sister was out of Apple's direct sight, Apple became frantic to find her, and sadly it was this "wanderlust" that led her out onto the road and into the path of a passing car. Her end was quick, and at an estimated age of at least twelve with complete deafness and a newly-diagnosed heart condition, perhaps spared her future sufferings, but today there is an "Apple-Snapple" sized hole in all our hearts. So loved, so loving, so missed. Rest well, sweet Apple.

The Resurgence of Scurs

Just when you think you have everything under control - good fencing, a weatherproof shed, a reasonable schedule - that's when you'll be reminded that with goats you are never safe from the bizarre and unexpected. Friday night I picked up Megan from camp, and after helping to haul in her suitcases, I decided to go check on the goats, leaving the rest of the family enthralled by the Olympic opening ceremonies on TV. Em and Ellie ran up happily to greet me, and in the fading daylight the first thing I noticed was that the white patches on both of their heads were no longer white, but red. What on earth??

My powers of goat deduction worked rapidly. Two goats - both with bloody heads, this has to be related to head-butting, scurs or both. (And yes, it's the weekend, which means if we need a vet we're on overtime rates. Let's hope this is a problem solved by a liberal application of BluKote!)

With Emily helping hold them for a thorough examination, the verdict was this: Elliot was bleeding where a knobby scur (horn bud) seemed to be knocked off. Emerson was not actively bleeding, but a nasty little sharp scur we had noticed recently was very loose. Head-butting - scur contact - who knows? We washed away all the blood and sprayed Elliot's head blue (no easy job as we had to hold him absolutely still to avoid his eyes).

Scurs are apparently quite a tricky thing with goats. Our boys were disbudded (horn buds burned off) by the breeder soon after birth, then done again when they were banded (neutered) since the horns were growing back. It was a ghastly, horribly traumatic and painful procedure and I don't think I would attempt to have it done again - I'm not sure you can even do that to goats this age. Also it doesn't seemed to have worked very well the first two times! Scurs, though, can be an ongoing problem as they are connected to the blood supply of the brain and therefore bleed profusely when knocked off. In a species so prone to head-butting and rubbing against fence posts, this seems like a bit of a design flaw! The only bright spot is that we only have three scurs to worry about - while Ellie has knobby horn buds on both sides, Emerson thankfully only has one (the sharp pointy one). For Em, the red hot iron at least took care of his right horn bud.

By morning, both goats seemed fine, no more blood (though I haven't seen any head-butting either and they both shy away from letting us touch their heads). Emerson's loose scur fell off altogether, and Emily actually found it on the roof of the goat shed. Something to keep for the memory box! I'm sure another one is ferociously growing in to take it's place! 

Elliot even felt well enough by the next day to help shuck corn with the girls, though Emerson prefers to watch and supervise!

Don't Lie to Me!

At the time when we first got our goats, our family was fairly addicted to the TV series Lie to Me, the adventures of lie-detection expert Dr. Cal Lightman and his team of forensic truth-finders. I had actually purchased the entire three seasons on ebay, and we looked forward to watching an episode every night. However, once the goats arrived, we found ourselves spending our evenings mainly in the garage, and there was rarely time to watch anything on TV anymore. It was Emily who came up with the idea to combine the two activities into one, which we aptly dubbed "Lie to Me with Goats" (LTMwG). We decided to give it a try.

Ok, it was a good idea. It actually worked for three whole lovely nights, until the goats decided that if they were being brought into the house, they wanted to explore - not stay on someone's boring lap! (Wow, Emerson, come see what I found to jump on! Check out this hallway I found!) Back outside, boys! We realized this, though - goats may be the source of many untruths...

LIES OTHER PEOPLE MAY TELL YOU ABOUT GOATS
They're almost no work at all - they practically take care of themselves!
You'll never have to mow the grass again, and they'll eat all your weeds.
           (Beware of these statements especially if heard from someone trying to give you their old goats.)
You can even litter-train goats and keep them in your house. (Yeah, right!)
Don't worry, Mom, I'll get up early and take care of them before school. You won't have to do a thing!

LIES YOU MAY TELL OTHER PEOPLE ABOUT YOUR GOATS
No, I don't mind scooping up 6 - 8 - 10 pounds of goat poop each day...
Oh, they just nibble gently, they won't tear your clothing...
I'm sure that stain will wash out...
Really, they're just like puppies, only cleaner. (This statement, uttered by my husband, is not technically a lie, as he truly believes it - he's just never been involved in the clean-up.)

LIES YOUR GOATS WILL TELL YOU
I didn't knock over/chew/shred/pee on that - it was my brother!! He did it!
If you just take the leash off for one second to untangle it, I promise I won't run away!
But nobody fed us yet this morning! Hungry! Hungry! Hungry!

LIES YOU MAY TELL YOUR GOATS
Oh no, we seem to be all out of animal crackers...
I'm just looking at your foot - I'm not going to try to hack off half your hoof with these sharp clippers.
If you'll just step through that gate, a wonderful surprise awaits you...

Now tell the truth - don't you wish you had goats?

You have the right to remain silent...

Recently we read the police log in the newspaper - always amused by the "stupid criminals" section - there was a story about an intoxicated man who head-butted the officer attempting to restrain him. Not a really smart move, as he was then charged with assault as well. Head-butting? Actually, we have some of that going on here...actually, many of the reported misdemeanors seem a bit familiar to our family...

Destruction of personal property - yeah, remember that new pair of sneakers I had? And that clean laundry hanging on the deck?

Disturbing the peace? Noise violations?  - How about every morning at 6 am?

Failure to respond to a summons? - Get in that pen, NOW!

Unauthorized use of a vehicle? - That would be the goat cousins every day, and Emerson the one and only time he leaped onto my husband's car (hey, I warned him not to park so close to the goat pen!)

Urination in a public place - no explanation required

Intent to commit mayhem? - this one is definitely their specialty.

And in case you have no idea who the perpetrators are...

Life in (and on) the Goat House

Since the goats moved out of the garage in May, they have been living in a small plastic trash can shelter in the yard. Unfortunately, as they have grown, the little house has not grown with them, and we knew something else needed to be found, bought or built soon. What I read in my goat books is this - if you give your goats a deluxe brand-new fancy house, they will love it. And if you give your goats a ramshackle, thrown-together hut of old scrap wood, they will love that too. Basically, as long as they are dry and sheltered from extreme weather, goats are not hard to please. I actually brought home two possible solutions from yard sales (both free!) - a wooden child's playhouse and a small garden shed, figuring my handy husband could make a few modifications and turn either one into a rainproof shelter for the goat boys. Having been married to Mr. "This Old House" for twenty-some years, I should have known better.

The wooden playhouse was hacked apart in our driveway, after my husband pronounced it "shoddy" and cheaply-made, clearly not suitable for our property. The garden shed had promise, however many of the boards were rotted and it was quickly reduced to a large pile of wood scraps (which did make a spectacular bonfire!). Probably afraid of what I would bring home next, Mike took matters into his own hands and suddenly we had a full-scale construction project in the yard, The Goat Shed. From years of watching shows like "The New Yankee Workshop" and "Hometime," he knew exactly what to do, and our entire family has spent the last four Saturdays (yes, even in the heat advisories) working on Em and Ellie's new digs. No shortcuts here - everything is measured twice, perfectly level, and trimmed to the nines. It is a thing of beauty. We had one small setback when Mike realized that while the side trim was 2 and  1/2 inches wide, the trim on the back measured only 2 and 1/4 inches. It appeared that we were going to have to re-cut all of the trim to matching widths. I know my perfectionist husband well enough to keep my opinions to myself on things like this, but Emily, after six hours in 98 degree heat and desperate to be done, exclaimed, "Dad, I really don't think the goats will mind!!" Only the threat of an impending thunderstorm made him reluctantly agree. (Friends and family, please don't ever mention the mismatched trim if you visit - we might have to start the whole project over!)

And actually, I think the goats are a bit bothered by the trim discrepancy - every time I look out the window to check on them, they are madly chewing on the trim! Once it's gnawed down to nothing, then it will be even! However, they are having a wonderful time playing on the roof! (Shingles are next Saturday's project.)

Veterinary Disclaimer...and NOT the new time-out place

I realized last night I had forgotten to add a disclaimer to yesterday's "pizzle post" - which is this - please know that I make no claim to have actual caprine veterinary knowledge! (Caprine, by the way, is to goat what feline and canine are to, well, normal people's pets.)

Anything you read here, DO NOT TRY AT HOME!! (Really, I don't want to be responsible for any goat being maimed or disfigured.)

Just one brief story for today: After lunch I checked on the goats, filled their water, etc. before coming back inside. About fifteen minutes later a friend stopped over for a visit. Seeing the goats before she came to the door, she asked me, "Are you punishing Elliot for some reason?" Nooo...but why do you ask? "Then why is he locked in the fence with the air conditioner?"

Oh good heavens, Ellie! In the goats' yard we have a small area fenced off to keep them away from our air conditioning unit, telephone wire and a large poisonous rhododendron bush. Somehow Elliot had wedged himself through a miniscule opening between the wire fencing and the house, then could not get back out. Crazy goat! Just add "Reinforce AC fence" to the long list of goat-related projects on Mike's to-do list!

The Perils of the Pizzle - nothing to joke about

First of all, if you are one of those people easily offended by discussions of goat anatomy, bodily functions, etc...this is not the post for you. Go read something else. There, I warned you.

This entry actually started about two months ago. We were much newer at "goating" and still reading our goat how-to manuals for the first time. One morning while hanging out in the yard, I noticed Emerson urinating (can I just say "peeing?") three times in a short while. Recalling that neutered male goats can develop a dread malady known as urinary calculi, my alarmist personality kicked in and I panicked. Was he just marking his territory like a dog on every mailbox - or was this something serious? Time for some internet research.

Basically, neutered male goats ("wethers") are at risk for this condition, something like human kidney stones,  due to their narrow urinary tract. It has something to do with an imbalance in the ratio of calium to phosphorus in their system and is affected by all sorts of things - what they eat (how many weeds, what kind of hay, what type of grain), at what age they were banded, fluid intake, etc. Some you can control (like, never give them alfalfa hay, only timothy), while others are more difficult, like "Encourage your goat to urinate frequently." (Anyone have any ideas how to do this?? The sticker charts I used while potty training my own children years ago are not working!)

In my online reading, I came across something I had not found in any of our books. This is one of those words which seems fun to say, but then you wish you hadn't learned it! Apparently  male goats have something called a "pizzle," a very narrow "curly-cue" extension on the end of their...well, the only male part our goats have left. The pizzle is akin to the human appendix, according to this website, in that it serves no useful function and can sometimes cause problems. Because it is the narrowest part of the urinary tract, the pizzle can occasionally be the very spot where a calculi-stone is lodged, and if the pizzle is removed, the stone can be passed. Ideally this would be a job for an experienced vet, but in the event of a natural disaster preventing your vet's arrival (like a freak flood, earthquake or hurricane - nothing we see here...), a goat owner can apparently perform this procedure - restraining the already-hysterical goat, you use sterile scissors to locate, draw out and then snip off the tiny pizzle extension, being careful of course not to snip off too much or your goat will have a whole new problem... As this can be a life-saving maneuver I filed it away in my storehouse of goat knowledge, but all I could think of that day was, "Oh, please don't ever let me have to do this!!" (And by the way, false alarm, I now realize Emerson has certain spots in the yard he likes to regularly "water" and that's just who he is...)

Now the serious part. The whole pizzle thing has been the source of many jokes in our family, but we have learned that urinary calculi is nothing to laugh about. This is an awful, painful, incurable condition. We met a goat owner who lost both her pet bucklings to this while they were only a few months old. I almost cried hearing her story. Today was "Farm Animal Day" at the camp where the girls and I volunteer, and I had a long conversation about goats with the woman who brought her cows and chickens to show the children. Her family recently got out of raising meat goats ("too much work") but she also shared the heartbreaking story of how her son's bottle-raised wether developed urinary calculi during a goat show at the local fair and had to be euthanized right there as he was in so much pain. We are meticulous in doing everything we can to keep our goats healthy, but there is always an underlying worry - are we doing enough? One thing I know - every time I see Emerson or Elliot urinating effortlessly in the grass, I breathe a little sigh of relief. Safe for now, at least. Who would have thought a goat peeing could be such a beautiful thing?

And now I think I'll go give the boys a drink...

A Word for the Wise...

A few days ago my daughter Megan had her wisdom teeth removed - an unpleasant but necessary surgery as all four teeth were impacted and threatening to undo the results of several years (and a small fortune) in braces. Naturally the rest of the family was sympathetic during her recovery, bringing her bowls of Italian ice and putting new discs in the DVD player...but there is always that temptation to make jokes about her "chipmunk cheeks" as the swelling increased and of course her new "lack of wisdom" now that these teeth are gone. It made me think about a few of the unwise decisions I've noticed lately...

Although we are somewhat rural, there is a heavily-travelled road near our home which has been the site of numerous accidents since we've lived here, a treacherous maze of blind curves with absolutely no shoulder. My children have always been forbidden to bike on this road, walking their bikes through a cornfield instead to avoid that dangerous stretch. Last evening, just nearing dusk, I was driving home along this road when suddenly I came around a curve and up behind a bicyclist dressed entirely in camouflage! Really?!! I am driving a two-ton minivan and he doesn't want me to see him? I was tempted to pull over and ask if he'd had any teeth extracted recently...

Even goats can make unwise decisions - and this is a true anecdote about our goat cousin Obi (the orange goat from a few posts ago). Apparently he climbed into the motoboat parked in their driveway and discovered an interesting object - small, sharp, malodorous. Curious, he decided to investigate further by tasting it, and that's how my sister discovered him this morning - miserable and unable to open his mouth with an old rusty fishhook through his lips. (Do goats actually have lips? Well, whatever...)  Not really Obi's fault as I don't believe goats even have wisdom teeth...another visit from the emergency vet for antibiotics and a tetanus booster - next time just leave it alone, Obi!

That's got to be all for now - Emily needs help putting the goats away and I see about three pounds of droppings to scoop up and we still need to mix grain for the week and I just realized I left all the clean towels hanging on the deck (thanks for yanking them down, goats). Anyway, I'm so glad I didn't make any unwise decisions in the last few months!

...You Might Be a Redneck!

A few weeks ago our family enjoyed a blissful week at the beach (yes, of course we missed the goats terribly...goats? what goats?). Lovely house, great company, perfect waves...the only downside was the seven-hour drive to get there. To pass the time I brought along a couple of Jeff Foxworthy comedy CDs, his absolutely hilarious "You Might Be a Redneck" standup routines. (The fact that we can almost recognize some of our own relatives in some of his descriptions makes these even funnier!)  Anyway, as usual the conversation in our van eventually turned to goats and we came up with our own ideas - "You Might Be a Goatherd." (Please note that we refer not to those organized goat-farmers with regular barns and fields and steady profit, but rather to idiotic families like us who blunder into goats rather accidentally...and also apologies to Mr. Foxworthy, who is truly much funnier!) So here goes - and please understand this was about 4 am...

If all of your shoelaces are chewed into unrecognizeable fluff and most of your shirts have stains of dried goat "cud," you might be a goatherd.

If you frequesntly suffer from "auditory goat hallucunations" (hearing goat noises in places where there are obviously no goats), you might be a goatherd.

If you've ever sat outside in a plastic trash can shelter during a lightning storm with a hysterical goat, you might be a goatherd.

If you've ever spent an afternoon digging up 60 goat-toxic iris bulbs and replanting actual weeds in your yard instead, you just might be a goatherd.

If someone asks "Do you have kids?" and you immediately think of the four-legged ones in your garage instead of your own children, you might be a goatherd.

If your family can discuss goat excrement in detail over Sunday dinner and no one stops eating, you might be a goatherd.

If you've ever stored goat testicles in a ziploc bag in your freezer (even if just until the kids got home from school), you really might be a goatherd.

If you've ever had a painful, swollen arm because you reached into a clump of brush for your goat boys' favorite weeds and didn't see the large wasp nest until your fingers brushed against it, you might be a goatherd.

If you've ever been unable to read the newspaper because the goat on your lap has eaten an entire article, you also might be a goatherd.

and finally...If you've ever used a butter knife to dig out nannyberries stuck between the boards of your deck, you definitely might be a goatherd!

Goats on the Brain...

Sometimes you don't realize how crazy you really are until something like this happens...

When Emily took her PSAT exams several months ago, she listed my email as her contact address. Since that time we have received dozens (if not hundreds) of messages from colleges all over the country inviting her to check out their excellent academic facilities, blah blah blah...It was quite flattering for her at first until we learned that all her friends were also besieged by similar emails. The subject lines for these messages from Yokeedokie University and such are always very personal - "Emily, we know we are the school for you," or "Emily, we think you are a perfect match for our campus," and lately, "Emily, why haven't you responded to our previous six (or 22) emails?" Every morning I just delete a bunch of them, but the other day one in particular caught my eye. There it was, at the top of my inbox as soon as I opened my email -

"Emily, we want to help you with your goats."

My heart pounding, I finally remembered to breathe and yelled for her to come quickly. (Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!) This is the answer to all my prayers - a college that allows students to bring their cloven-hooved pets! No matter that I have never heard of this particular school or that it is nine states away - I'm sure it offers her major (whatever that turns out to be) and maybe they even have animal-based scholarships, and how did they know? I sit down at the computer to electronically enroll her, and that's when my bifocals show me what my brain could not see - the subject line actually reads, "Emily, we want to help you with your goals."

Oh.

Innocent mistake. But maybe I've been spending too much time in the yard...

Alphabet of the Goats

A is for apples and animal crackers,

most favorite treats for our two little snackers

B is for bucklings and banding the boys,

boisterous, bottles and buckets of toys

C is for curious, chewing their cud,

carrots and caprine and chasing through mud

D is our dwarf goats who dance on the deck,

devilish darlings who nuzzle your neck

E gives us Ellie, and Emerson too

also escaping and eyes that are blue

F is for fences (they got out again?)

while G gives us goat boys and gobbling grain

H is for hay bales and hooves that we trim,

head-butting, hornless, hearts full to the brim

I is for impish, J - "jump for joy"

K is for kicking and "kids" we enjoy

L was my lilacs (they ate the whole plant),

loving and licking and leap in your lap

M - Ellie's moonspots and still drinking milk,

munchies and mommies and "mmm, was that silk?"

N is for nibble and "No!" (which they hate)

O is on-top-of and "open the gate!"

P is for peeing and pooping (what else?)

and plants that are poison and pesky goat smells

Q is quadruplets (as our goaties were born)

and quickly disbudding to burn off each horn

R is a rumen, and running away,

rebuilding swingsets so goaties can play

S stands for salt licks and snuggles and sheds,

shoelaces, scooping and scurs on their heads

T is for trimming and waggly tails

U - understanding what goating entails

V - they're so vexing, W - weeds,

while X is for x-tra long leashes and leads

Y is the yard where they frisk all day long,

though Z stands for zoo (where they really belong!)

They're mischief and trouble from morning to night,

But honestly, goat boys bring endless delight.

Am I Blue? (and a bit about pigs...)

Cleaning out the garage, there are a few "goat items" we are not actively using right now - and one of them, thankfully, is BluKote. Basically this is like a stinging anti-bacterial permanent marker in a spray bottle, useful for treating any open wounds on your goat boys. We were instructed to use it after the boys were banded (neutered) as the skin pulled away and left a sore area...ok, not too much detail here...so dutifully we "blukoted" Emerson and Elliot twice a day until they were fully healed (about two months). Every day I asked the same question: Why dark blue? Wouldn't "ClearKote" make more sense? Whoever invented this staining product obviously never did a load of laundry...but in case it ever comes up, here's a quick how-to! Ideally you will have two people...

Person 1: the goat-catcher and holder. This individual definitely needs to wear navy blue clothing. Long sleeves and pants are preferred. Gloves and facemask are optional. Trick the goat into thinking you are just petting him, then suddenly snatch him up and flip him upside down so his vulnerable parts are showing.  Attempt to shield yourself from wildly-kicking hooves as the goat realizes what you are doing. Try to master the technique while the goat is still small so that you are an expert by the time he doubles his weight (and strength!) Once you have him, call for Person 2, who has been hiding behind a fence post with the spray bottle.

Person 2: the sprayer. When your partner-in-spraying has the goat ready, quickly uncap the bottle and get in position. Be sure to check wind direction so the overspray does not end up all over you. Keeping out of hoof range (you should have calculated the distance before), aim the spray nozzle and depress the plunger. One of three things will then happen:

             1. the goat is successfully blukoted and happily jumps down to continue grazing
             2. the goat moves at the last moment and your assistant is now sporting permanent color on some part of his/her body or clothing
             3. you miscalculated the wind direction and you are now "blue in the face" while the goat runs off making snickering sounds of amusement

Happily I can report that our goats are now fully healed and infection-free, so we must have done something right, but  recently my husband was asked to assist a nearby farmer with the castration of a litter of piglets. After hearing about this escapade, my warning is, NEVER DO THIS! SAY YOU ARE BUSY!!  This horrendous process involved two extra people (to hold the head and the feet), an unsterilized razor blade (which Mike saw the farmer absently put in his mouth between pigs) and an impromptu table in the barn. Each piglet was then spritzed with one spray of BluKote and  tossed back into the pen, inches deep in slop and manure. And that was that. It made me wonder about our months of twice-a-day treating and keeping the goat pen immaculately clean...but one thing is for certain - after multiple loads of laundry trying to get the pig smell out of Mike's clothing, I will never again complain about a little blue stain on my shirt!

Sleeping, Leaping Goats: Life's Precious Moments

Having recently spent a week at the beach, I can attest to the awe-inspiring wonders of nature: sunrise over an endless ocean, a tiny sand dollar no bigger than a coin, dolphins frolicking in the surf...but today the most precious sight in the world is a moon-spotted goat sleeping on top of a house of tupperware. It was five this morning, and in that instant I knew that, just like the waves cresting over and over on the shore, joy had returned to our home.

If you follow our story, you will know the phrase, "Life turns on a dime." One moment all is well, and then just that quickly your life is turned upside down. I had bought a 20-pound box of blueberries yesterday, so Emily was baking a cobbler after supper, Mike was mowing and Megan and I took the goats down to the weeds on their leashes for an evening snack. What happened was completely my fault. I knew there were wild black raspberries in the woods, and so I decided to walk down and pick a few, leaving Megan with the goats, in less than their usual amount of supervision (the one person per goat rule). When a bee startled the boys and the leashes got tangled, I didn't hear Megan's cries over the tractor, and by the time I got back to them (having only found 14 berries), Elliot was hunched against the bank with a wild look in his eyes, obviously injured. While Megan led Emerson back to the house, I scooped up Ellie (all 30-40 pounds of him) and carried him up to the deck. As the cobbler burned in the oven, we examined a now-terrified goat who would only put full weight on two legs. His front  right foot was swollen and he guarded the back left. His eyes were glazed, his breathing harsh. Although you may think goats are hardy mountain-dwellers, what all the books tell you is that goats are actually incredibly fragile. All sorts of things can kill a goat - a change in diet, a change in the weather, leaves from fruit trees, moldy hay, stress... what to do? How to calm him? We don't even really have a goat vet. I could whisk him down the road a mile to our small-animal vet and pretend he's a dog...call the emergency "meat-animal" vet, a quick Google search gave instructions on casting a broken leg yourself...Emily is holding Ellie as frisky Emerson chews my shirt and leaps around, oblivious to his brother's suffering. Thoughts cascade through my mind like crashing waves. How can we rehabilitate a two-legged goat? How can we stop his pain? Could I get an aspirin in him? Will he survive this? I swear I will never eat a raspberry again...

As tense moments pass, Ellie calms somewhat lying next to Emily. His breathing slows, then normalizes. Eventually he takes a sip of water from the bowl. We decide to let him rest for the night on an improvised mat in his familiar surroundings outside and see what morning brings. I can cancel my Tuesday plans and take him to a vet somewhere. He sleeps on the deck until dark, then we carry him down to the yard, leaving him on his mat next to the food bowl. Emerson snuggles beside him. Rest well, goaties.

It was barely light when I awoke, full of trepidation as I looked out my window. No goats on the mat. I have to go to another window to see the whole yard, and there they are - two goats sleeping on the roof of the Tupperware house (which is their favorite fair-weather sleeping place). Unless Emerson is stronger than I imagine and has lifted his brother up there, it means Ellie has jumped...and as I lean against the window and they hear me (did I ever mention goats have supersonic hearing?), they both leap from the roof and tear down to the gate, ready for the day. (Oh, were you planning to go back to bed?) Ellie has no trace of a limp, frisking around and dancing as always. The swelling is gone. All is again right with the world (but I don't think we'll ever use the leashes again). And I do believe in miracles.

Goats in the Hammock...

Advertised as "durable, highly resistant to mold and mildew" (no mention of goats!), our coated rope hammock has always been Mike's favorite spot for Sunday afternoon naps. However, since the goats came this spring, the hammock has remained in the garage. (I am still trying to find a stainless steel model, but no luck yet.) Today is the hottest day of summer so far, he drove seven hours yesterday, baled straw with his brother for four hours then still had the mowing to get done here. Today was a day for a nap! There was a slight breeze in the yard, so he decided to give it a try.

First the goats walked around under the hammock, sniffing his ears and pulling pieces of his shirt through the mesh. Then they got his shoelaces. Emerson started chewing through the rope, but Elliot knows a good thing when he sees it. It's 95 degrees in the shade...(which feels like 107 with a hot goat on your lap!)

       

                                                               Having a nice nap, dear?