Sayings of the Goat

An animal cracker in the mouth is worth a whole bunch in the hand (but I'll eat those too!)

If at first you don't succeed, cry, cry again (or back up and get a running start).

Many hooves make light years of work.

All men are created equal...but ones bearing food are definitely superior.

The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence - but goats don't eat grass anyway. (We wouldn't want to deprive the peoples of the pleasure of mowing the lawn.)

Early to bed, early to rise...is best accomplished by making noise outside the bedroom window as soon as the sun comes up (and gets your morning grain sooner!)

Insanity is hereditary - you most definitely get it from your goats!

Goats, Guests & Grain-Based Headwear: A Recipe for Disaster

Having goats can be very educational. In the spirit of the new school year, here are a few lessons we recently learned...

1. If you have guests over on a sunny day, and one of your guests is wearing a fetching straw hat, it is wise to inquire whether her hat is of the inexpensive-and-easily-replaced-yard-sale variety, or whether by chance it is a rare-and-very-pricey authentic Australian Helen Kaminsky Original straw bonnet. Depending on her answer, it may not be prudent to let the goats out. (It may, in fact, be recommended to keep them separated from this guest by at least one, but better two, fences.)

2. If you have omitted Step 1 and, while you are serving iced tea, your goat leaps onto the chair next to your "hatted" guest and begins to gently nuzzle her neck, and she remarks how sweet and friendly your goat is, BEWARE! You may be tempted to smile proudly and agree (as such compliments to goats are rare), but this is definitely not the correct course of action!

3. A human cannot outrun a goat, even when the goat is handicapped by the weight of an authentic Australian Helen Kaminsky Original straw bonnet in his mouth. Also, although time with family and friends may be priceless, an authentic Australian...(you know) with half the brim munched off is, well...nearly worthless.

4. and finally...Contrary to the popular Hallmark phrase, sometimes it really is too late to say you're sorry!

(Note: photos are for facetious re-enactment only. Sadly, the actual hat described is no longer available.)

What's a Weanling?

I learned a new term from a "Goats for Fun and Profit" type book - a weanling is apparently a goat from the age of weaning off milk (usually about 8 weeks) to one year old. This morning, as I was bottling our almost-seven-month-old goat babies, I thought about this. If a goat reaches a year old and is not yet weaned, what do you call him then? There does not seem to be an appropriate term.

It's possible that there is, however, a word describing the owners of such goats. Recently I had emailed a friend about picking some produce from our garden, and then I had to email her again because I forgot to mention something, and then again...and again. In the fourth email about the same topic, I apologized for cluttering her inbox, writing, "You must think I am a lunatic for sending so many messages about these tomatoes!" My friend (whose name I will not mention, in case any of her four adorable daughters read this), replied, "Oh, I already know you're a lunatic, because of the goats."

I really cannot argue with her.

Today my own daughters returned to school - somehow I got everyone out the door with the appropriate backpacks, lunches and sports equipment. With Emily away, I'm on my own now for morning bottles. Not a problem - I can easily bottle two goats at the same time - I've managed twins before, after all. When the goats saw me holding the bottles, they dashed down the deck steps, leaping sideways across the driveway in utter delight in anticipation of their favorite time of day. We sat for a while on the wooden "feeding swing" together, me, Emerson and Ellie (missing the girls already), then I hand-fed them their morning weeds, followed them back to the pen, scooped up a night's worth of nannyberries, and that was that. The house is very quiet. People ask me how long we'll keep giving them bottles, and I don't know the answer. But if anyone happens to be in the neighborhood some morning around nine, just stop by; you can feed Elliot. Maybe then you'll understand. 

The World As We Once Knew It...

Emily just informed me that yesterday marked the six-year anniversary of Pluto not being a real planet. I remember when this came out, although it doesn't seem like six years ago. How can Pluto not be a planet? What about all those clever models we made in elementary school with styrofoam balls and coat hangers? All the hours we spent memorizing the order of our sun's nine planets? What's next - George Washington actually wasn't our first president, or six times seven isn't really 42? How can we know what to believe when they keep changing the facts? ("Yes, Winston, Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia..." - if anyone still reads Orwell... )

It was also five months ago yesterday that we brought home our goats. Suddenly, everything we had previously believed about our lives was turned upside down. In the days when we were actually in control of our own time and space, Saturdays were for sleeping in late and watching old movies, laundry could safely be hung out on the deck (and we could also eat outside), the garage was used for storage of vehicles rather than hay bales, grain and goat care implements. Now we are slaves to gates (never, ever leave one open, even for a second!), guilt ("please don't leave us alone in this big, scary yard - hold us!), and goat droppings by the bucketfuls... though it's actually hard to remember when it wasn't this way.

I guess sometimes change isn't so bad after all.

Rooftop Resurrection?

While on vacation a few weeks ago, we read in a local paper the account of a woman who, while hiking, had spotted a body floating face-up in the river below. She called the police, who confirmed the corpse sighting and in turn called the coroner and river rescue team to the scene. (All this time the body continued its downstream journey through the murky, deep water.) Inevitably the media showed up to film the retrieval of the body. As dozens of onlookers watched the operation, the motorboat was launched - when suddenly - the "corpse" started thrashing around and sat upright in the water. Turns out the "floater" was a life-jacketed swimmer who had somehow fallen asleep and drifted downstream, blissfully unaware of the uproar his catnap was causing. Now he's a local celebrity...

We came home from shopping a few days ago, and as usual, looked out the window to check on the goats. (Did they hear us pull in? Do they know we're home? Are they crying pitifully at the gate for attention?) Apparently our entrance had been successfully stealthy, as both goats were still sleeping on top of the shed. Elliot gave me a lazy look through the window, but Emerson was completely passed out on the roof. Even when I opened the window and the girls came to see him - no movement. I took a couple of photos through the screen - still nothing.  I began to get just a little bit worried. I've actually never seen a goat this unresponsive - all stretched out like he's comatose. Keep in mind this is the same animal who hears a person using the bathroom at 4 AM (with the window closed) and starts howling for attention.

The usual rule is, never wake a sleeping goat...but I need to know. Everyone, on three,...as loud as you can..."Hi Emmy! We're home!"

 "Oh Elliot, I was having the best dream...hey, the peoples are home! Let's call them outside to play with us now!"

Biking with your goat...

A friend shared this photo - from a site called "Redneck Hangout." How much fun would this be?? Actually I am not sure the goat is having fun... Also we wondered if they make a double with one on each side.  Let's go, boys!! I may have to investigate this further.

Weighing in the lap goats

This morning we weighed the goat boys - just curious, I guess. Elliot, always the bigger of the two, weighed in at 46 pounds, while little Emerson was  38 pounds. (To accomplish this I had to weigh myself, then re-weigh myself holding each of them, and do the math.) They are about six months old now, so hopefully close to their mature size.

The issue now is that Elliot has once again (after a few month hiatus) decided he wants to be a "lap goat" - if he sees an unsuspecting person sitting somewhere, he will get a running start and leap up into the lap. This was adorable when he was tiny, funny when he was a bit larger, but downright dangerous now. You could just be sitting there in a chair and suddenly WHOMP! 46 pounds of shank-footed goat lands on top of you. Then he turns around a few times trying to get comfortable while you are gasping for breath. At this point Emerson will notice and become jealous, so he'll try to climb on as well. Emily is brave here, but personally I think it's less risky to just sit on the ground when I'm outside. Then they're usually content to snuggle up next to me.

The day in March we brought them home was chaotic and crazy as we tried to get everything set up and acclimate them to their new surroundings. They were frightened and didn't seem to like us. After about two hours we left them in the garage and went inside, somewhat discouraged, to eat dinner (leftover Chinese takeout). After we ate Emily went back to the garage, planning to sit in a chair in their pen and just talk to them so they would get used to her voice. As soon as she sat down, both goats ran over and jumped into her lap. Guess they had figured out who their new mommy was! It was such a gratifying moment - so it's hard to ever turn down a goat who wants to be held, no matter how big. (I'm just glad we didn't get Boer goats, who can weigh up to 200 pounds!)

Read the Signs!

Looking for a place for our family vacation, I did a little research online until I found one that sounded perfect - a quaint mountain cabin on a beautiful lake, with a dock for fishing and two boats and a lovely wooded setting. As a bonus it even included a full kitchen and laundry room. I sent in the payment and we started packing.

It was one of July's hottest days when we arrived at our scenic getaway - and as we pulled into the rocky lane I saw the cabin was every bit as adorable as the web site photos. Eagerly we dragged our luggage inside - and then we saw the signs. The first one we spotted was right inside the kitchen door - "Please use bottled water. Tap water is not safe for consumption." Guess they forgot to mention that on the rental agreement. (Sure wish we had stopped at that market fifteen miles back and bought some!!) Perhaps it was a good thing we wouldn't be drinking much, because of the signs in the (one) bathroom - "Please use toilet paper sparingly due to septic limitations." Another missive directed us to limit shower use and turn off the water while lathering with soap to conserve water. Actually, we wouldn't want to be in the bathroom long anyway as the door latch was broken (however a large rock was conveniently provided to push the door closed for privacy.)

We also quickly learned that the washing machine was off-limit to renters (the water thing again) and that because there was no garbage pickup, we would need to take all our trash home with us at the end of the week. In addition, when my sister put her four-year-old to bed on one of the upstairs doubles, the entire bed came crashing to the floor. Not quite the idyllic retreat we had expected...

It's kind of like that with goats. We fell in love with our cousins' tiny bottle-baby kids and then cute photos on the breeder's website, and we jumped in with both feet and little idea what we were getting into. Only after we had Ellie and Em home did we notice the little signs popping up everywhere -

"Please discard all previous fencing and build higher barriers to keep us safe."
"Please leave no poop unscooped."
"Please feed us at least six times a day and devote every spare minute to keeping us content!"
"Please do not wear any clothing that cannot survive being chewed on by sharp teeth."

Would I have gotten goats six months ago if I had any concept of what was involved? Not in a million years.

Would I give the goat boys back now, having known (and loved) them for six months?  Not on your life.

Emily and I were sitting on the deck the other night, each holding a goat, and she asked, "Who would have thought we could fall in love with goats?" But we did...and when you really love someone or something, you just learn to adapt to the inconveniences, to live with those pesky little signs.

And by the way, last week marked the third consecutive year we have rented that same mountain cabin - guess we found out the the good parts outweighed what now seems minor quirks. (Also, we located several nearby rest stops where trash can be disposed of discreetly after dark!)

Enslaved by...who?

Goats, we know, are creatures of opportunity...

When we returned home after a week's vacation Saturday, a top priority was spending time with the goats. The cats are used to our occasional absences, but I was certain the goat boys would be terribly stressed - Where are the peoples?? Who are these new ones feeding us? Why aren't we going on the deck?  Come back, family!

So after throwing a few suitcases in the house, all four of us headed out to the goat yard for some quality time with the boys. I grabbed two things - a large bowl of succulent sweet watermelon I had just sliced up for a snack (maybe we'd share a chunk or two with Em and Ellie - they adore watermelon), and a great book we've been reading together - Enslaved By Ducks - the biographical tale of an absolutely crazy couple who allow their entire lives to be taken over by their manipulative winged pets. Really, who would do all this for their animals - building expensive habitats, spending hours pampering them each day, the massive, unending clean-up...?? Difficult to comprehend but worth a lot of laughs!

We'd only been outside a few minutes when we heard the screeching of tires, the unmistakeable sound of horrific impact. Living near a major thoroughfare, we've been through this before and the whole family sprang into action. Mike ran to see if he could help, I dashed inside for the phone to call 9-1-1 and the girls took over traffic control.  Quickly the scene turned to sirens and flashing lights, the injured were whisked off in ambulances, the crumpled vehicle was righted and removed. We went back to the goats, ready to apologize for leaving them again so soon, but I realized they hadn't missed us one bit. All that was left of the watermelon were the rinds. (Oh, Emerson, isn't this scrumptious! Do you think we should save some for the peoples?...No, me neither. They must have wanted us to have it...) 

And I still maintain that goats are way better than ducks any day! (Maybe not any less work, but definitely more snuggly!)

Home at Last!

A week in a remote wooded cabin - no internet, no cell phones...plenty of time to relax, read books, swim in clear mountain streams- sounds like a perfect vacation. Leaving the goats for a whole week - awful!!

I knew I had found the ideal pet-sitters for the goat boys - a local farm family where all the children are Goat 4H  members, who regularly breed/show/sell dozens of goats, very competent in all aspects of caprine care. What more could I want?  Before we left, I asked them to come over and meet Emerson and Elliot, as well as our two cats. This is sort of where it fell apart...

I caught a quizzical look when I explained how one of our cats does not drink from bowls, only from a slowly-dripping kitchen sink, but maybe they just aren't used to indoor cats...Carefully I showed them the twice-daily feeding routine for the goats - a scoop of grain, one spoonful of black oil sunflower seeds (for a shiny coat) and one spoonful of baking soda (we read that helped prevent urinary problems), then a mixture of two types of hay in a bucket - that was easy. The morning bottle routine is a bit more complex (mix the milk with 6 ounces of water, microwave 40 seconds, make sure not to switch the bottles because Emerson will refuse Ellie's bottle, though Ellie will drink from anything.) I have no answer for their obvious question - why goats this age are still on bottles at all...Moving on to the toy routine...every night they get eight animal crackers in their red plastic "Kong" toy, a marvelous invention which releases treats when the goats roll it around with their noses. (Emerson is quicker and snatches up most of the treats, so we always sneak Ellie a few when his brother isn't watching.) Also, one sheet of newspaper each day to shred/stomp on/eat. By this time the 4H kids are openly staring at me, but there's still a bit more...the cleanup.

I show them the tall broom for sweeping off the driveway, as well as the four duspan and brush sets, for scooping the droppings from the goat shed, swingset platforms, feeding house, picnic table and such (a chore which seems to consume several hours of each day!) Since the goats have taken to spending most of their time on the roof of their shed, this is where most of the goat poop accumulates, necessitating a thorough daily cleaning. Literally, the entire roof can be completely covered each morning - I cannot fathom how two small goats can produce this much waste! Maybe they are having clandestine "pooping parties" for all the neighborhood goats each night! So I explained how the best way to clean this is simply to climb on top of the roof with a dustpan - well, I am sure we were the source of many laughs around their dinner table that night. I casually commented to the older girl, "I guess your goats don't have all these things?" She answered, "Our goats live in a barn with a field." Well, yes...

open sesame?

"I just don't get it, Emerson. She always lets the cat in! Let's keep standing here and see if we can figure out the password. Or maybe we can sneak in behind him when she opens the door..."

(This might explain why the goats have been practicing their meows!)