33rd Annual Falmouth Goat Races...Worth the Trip!

Today we left our own goats at home and traveled to tiny Falmouth, PA for this epic event - the annual "Running of the Goats." So popular is this local tradition that we had to park in a field miles away and wait in a long line for the "shuttle bus" to pick us up. (Well worth the $3.00 fee, to be sure!!)

One thing you realize at the Goat Races - there are many different kinds of goats (as well as all kinds of goat owners!) Goats come in all sizes...

and colors...

The most interesting goats we met were Simon and Peggy - a pair of three-legged racing goats both owned by the same veterinarian. (Sadly, Peggy was eliminated early in the day, but Simon, who lost his front leg after being kicked by another goat and sustaining a severe joint injury, made it into the finals.) Simon is a black Nigerian Dwarf (like ours!) and bears an uncanny resemblance to Emerson, though slightly larger. (Peggy, missing a back leg, is the whitish goat next to him, and also shown in some of the race photos.)

And now for some photos of the actual races...

                                                          And the prize to the winners -





Maybe next year we'll take our goats!!

If at First You Don't Succeed, Goat Guilt and other Musings...

Banner day for Emerson...after thousands of failed attempts, today he was finally successful at wedging himself through the screen door as I went outside, and he got all the way into the house. Fortunately he was so startled to be inside that he just stood there in the dining room momentarily and I was able to grab him and put him right back out...otherwise I cannot imagine the havoc of a very sly and slippery goat dashing from room to room. Should I eat something? Jump on this?  Poop on that? The posibilities are endless...

I read something recently about "The Law of Unintended Consequences," as in when the results of an action are more severe than you anticipated...Now recall the issue of the shingle-nibbling goat (yes, wicked Emerson again) and the noxious deer-repellant spray. My aim was merely to stop him from eating the roof shingles - yet since I sprayed (just a little on the edges!!), the goats have not returned to the roof at all. Well, they must have been up there once and decided never to return. I am consumed by guilt! The shed roof, once their most favorite hangout, is now apparently a stinky uninhabitable contamination zone. Today they spent all afternoon crowded onto a tiny wooden table in the far corner of the yard, looking wistfully at their prior haven-in-the-sky. Just call me Cruella deGoatmommy. Maybe  the rain will wash it clean...

Sad, sad goats...

Caught in the Act

                                                                    WANTED!!

With a covert stakeout through the bathroom window, we determined the shingle-eating culprit to be...Emerson. No great surprise - this conniving escape artist and devilish destroyer of personal property gives new meaning  to the word "naughty." Apparently he started eating acorns which fell onto the shed roof from the nearby oak tree, then just decided to keep nibbling away at the shingles. I did some internet research about "goat repellent" and learned that many other goat owners have similar problems, though mostly in regard to valuable shrubbery. You can make your own "goat-away" spray with rotten eggs, garlic and cayenne pepper, though one contributer admitted her goats loved this, voraciously devouring every plant she sprayed. (Maybe she should spray her weeds!) Or, as I did, you can purchase a commercial deer and rabbit repellent from your local feed store (made from mostly the same ingredients). I did spray the roof - we'll see what happens. 

My guess? Either he'll relish the taste ("mmm, putrified egg solids - my favorite!")  and soon the goats will have a skylight in their house, or else he'll  hate it, and since it will have rubbed off on his feet and fur from sleeping on the roof, he'll stop grooming himself and will soon stink as bad as the spray.

One last caution - if you ever use this product, wear gloves - it is nearly impossible to wash the horrendous odor off  your hands!!

Better Than a Toaster?

Thanks to my daughter Megan for finding me this information while doing research for her Journalism class - apparently in New Zealand the sales of Mitsubishi autos are down, so someone in management came up with a great new promotional offer. BUY A NEW MITSUBISHI TRUCK - GET A FREE GOAT!

I swear, I am not making this up.

I wonder how this is working out for them. Do you get to choose your goat? I wonder if we'll see this locally. How can you refuse? Spend twenty or thirty grand for the truck, and you get a decade's worth of insanity thrown in.

Incidentally, my husband is in the market for a pickup truck - we were looking for something old and dented and cheap...but now we may need to reconsider. I hear New Zealand is lovely this time of year...

The New Food Pyramid for Ruminants?

Goats are a bit like magicians or circus performers - they can get into anything, out of anything, on top of anything; they can knock anything over. Basically nothing breakable, hazardous or edible is safe around a goat (except for those weeds you want them to eat - those they will blatantly ignore.) Today as I was climbing onto the shed roof to attempt some hoof-trimming, I noticed that a big chunk of one shingle was missing, and then I noticed that all of the shingles in that entire row had the corners bitten off. I don't want to blame anyone unfairly (it could be shingle-eating birds) but Emerson was chewing on something...

Really, goat boys?? The roof is their favorite place in the entire world, and they are systematically destroying it? This cannot be healthy for the goats or the roof. My husband, who only recently built them this deluxe home, is unlikely to want to re-roof it every few months! These are the same goats who refused my hand-picked weeds this morning because the plants were still slightly damp with morning dew. Yet, they are feeding on roof shingles. Maybe Emily and I can work on this after school...

Speaking of contortionists and acrobats (and sheds) - the goat shed has a narrow shelf inside for storage just below the roof line, about six feet up. It is useful for stowing rags, newspaper, scoopers and other things we don't want the goats to eat. This morning I reached up for a rag - and came down with a handful of brown pellets! I was more perplexed than alarmed (as a mother and a nurse I know there are many worse things to come in contact with than dried goat poop) - but how on earth are the goats getting these up there?? In the semi-darkness of the shed I stared, puzzled, at the pellets in my hand, unable to conjure up any explanation for how the goats could have deposited their droppings six feet in the air -  until one of the "pellets" began to move - and then flew away.....EWWWWWWW!! Okay, goat poop I can handle, but a nest of sleeping stinkbugs was almost more than I could take that early in the day! I couldn't get to the shower fast enough...

Home Security?

I was thinking it might be time to change the locks...do they sell dead bolts for screen doors? (But can you really blame Elliot for wanting to get out of the rain?)

Goats and Grammar

I come from a family of linguists- among my relatives and ancestors are several English teachers, award-winning writers, a gifted poet and speechwriter for a past president. I actually won the coveted "Grammar Award" in high school and started college as a Literature major before switching to Nursing when I compared job prospects between health care and Medieval English Lit...(no pressure here, college-seeking daughters of mine...)

Anyway, I am frequently appalled at what is happening to the English language - between complete dependence on spellcheck and the horror teens call "texting" (where ordinary words are shortened into near-nothingness), nobody cares about proper grammar anymore. Even words which are clearly nouns have morphed into verbs - my daughter told me recently she had "friended" someone on facebook. Really - when did "friend" become an action verb? (Maybe when Pluto ceased to be a planet??) And yet, perhaps this trend is contagious, as the other day I heard myself tell Emily (home late from tennis practice, and in reference to afternoon feeding), "Start your homework - I already grained the goats." Good heavens - did I really say that??

A favorite time for our goats is the twice-daily time they spend on our deck. We have learned that the bladder capacity of a Nigerian Dwarf goat is roughly two hours, so in order to avoid puddles outside the screen door, we encourage the goats to take care of this bodily function before coming up to the deck. Sometimes this is accomplished by simply leading them to the area of the yard where they usually urinate, or snapping our fingers and sternly saying "Peepee time!" Often they will go on command. Sometimes other measures are necessary. (ATTENTION - if you are a personal friend of myself or Emily, please skip to the next paragraph now. Just too embarrassing. Strangers may keep reading.)  Occasionally, I admit we need to crouch down next to them in the rigid "tripod" elimination position, and the little mimics will generally follow suit. (I only hope that anyone driving by will assume I am doing yoga, not actually "watering" the grass with my goats!!)

Yesterday we were working outside, and as evening approached I realized Emerson and Elliot were anxious for their slightly-overdue "deck time." I went to tell Emily that I was bringing them up, but she was one step ahead of me. "It's okay, Mom," she called from the yard. "I already peed the goats."

I give up.

A Morning Mystery, or "Arma-goat-en?"

As I was making coffee this morning, Emily came inside after taking care of the goats, and I asked her, "So, where did the boys spend the night?" For some reason it is of interest to me to know where they sleep - mostly they prefer the shed roof, although sometimes one of the three platforms catches their overnight fancy. You can always tell in the morning where they slumbered by the mounds of forensic evidence left behind...sometimes the entire roof is covered...apparently even the fact that they are not eating during the night does not slow their digestion at all.

Emily's reply was alarming: "I didn't really find piles of poop anywhere, so I'm not sure. I checked all the usual places. There just wasn't any." What?? This is not possible!! Quickly I yelled for my family members to grab some emergency supplies and bottled water. If it was really true that there was no goat "evacuation" for an entire night, we would need to immediately evacuate ourselves (ok, I'm using two different meanings of the word here) because one of two drastic scenarios was occurring. Possibly the world as we know it was coming to an end (though I did note the sun's rise, and I saw no flying pigs outside) or else the goats, now gorging themselves on grain and hay on the deck (JUST OUTSIDE OUR KITCHEN!) were about to let loose some eight hours worth of toxic waste and our property would soon be uninhabitable anyway.  I threw some granola bars and a jar of peanut butter into a backpack, but strangely my husband and children just ignored me and continued eating breakfast...and then it was time for the bus and as Emily went out the door she turned and said, "Hey, Mom? I think I forgot to check inside the shed. It was still kind of dark outside..."

Oh, yeah...when I finally worked up enough courage to venture out to the yard, I quickly realized that the contents of the shed were far beyond the capabilities of an ordinary dustpan and brush. Luckily the farmer across the road owns a skidloader...

But at least I know that all is right in our little corner of the world...)

Goat Hoof Trimming - No Job Too Large or Too Small

It was a busy weekend. I walked one entire development yard sale, did two loads of laundry, helped my daughters with homework in three subjects, cooked and cleaned up four meals...and trimmed the hooves of five goats (only two of which are ours).

I'm not sure how this happened - but somehow I am now the goat expert on both sides of our extended family - the person who takes the early morning phone calls when a goat has projectile vomiting (Obi, who ate rhododendron leaves), when you get a new bottle baby by default (sweet Rosie Lynn) or when your not-at-all-tame-but-very-large mixed-breed goats haven't had their feet trimmed in five years (FIVE YEARS!!!) and their misshapen overgrown hooves now resemble the horns of the other goats in the barn.

Again, I did not ask for this. Until less than half a year ago, I had never even had personal contact with the caprine species. Sure, as a nurse I'm used to the frequent questions about human health. Stepped on a nail? Child with a mysterious fever? Broken leg on a holiday weekend? I'll take your call. Grandfather with a heart rate of 30? Bare foot lacerated by broken glass in a scummy pond? Attacked by a stingray in the ocean? Small child jumping off an embankment onto an old mattress who fractures his ankle? I'm here for you. (It is a well-known fact that I never travel with my husband's relatives without a crate of first aid supplies; somehow they attract these bizarre injuries!)  Once I even gave advice about how to trim a rabbit's teeth (fingernail clippers or wire cutters work well). But goats? How did this happen?

Having learned (out of necessity) the art of hoof trimming mostly from the internet, I now apparently give lessons and treat difficult cases. A few months ago I helped my sister trim the feet of her unfriendly rescue goats - quite a stressful ordeal for all of us. This Saturday the girls went with me to see our other farming cousins and their new bottle baby Boer goat, given to them by a family who could no longer keep her in their garage. We had promised to assist with her first hoof trimming. Sweet little Rosie, who gleefully frolics around the yard inhaling grass, tolerated the procedure fairly well on my sister-in-law's lap (with Emily distacting her with pasta noodles).

That was easy - but then I was asked to have a look at Nibbles and Sabrina, two older goats who live in the barn, who were "free" goats several years ago and supposed to clear out all the weeds on the property - guess how well that worked out? Easily ninety pounds each and not at all accustomed to human contact, these two were a different story altogether. Wrestling these beasts to the ground in a dank stall of fetid hay and then going at their horrendous feet with razor-sharp cutters - it is nothing short of miraculous that any of us emerged unscathed (although by the end I was coated in damp bedding, rotted hoof tissue and goat excrement. I think I resembled one of those monstrous apparitions from a Tim Burton movie...picture a wild-haired Johny Depp but with hoof trimmers - and if you have no clue what I mean, go rent the movie "Edward Scissorhands"). At one point three other people were restraining a kicking animal while I hacked away, praying fervently that I wouldn't gouge out anyone's eye by mistake!

It was incredibly satisfying, however, to see the difference between "before" (huge curled-over hooves filled with stinky rot) and "after" (not exactly perfect, but certainly an improvement). I did that! These cousins also have two more giant horned goats who are both pregnant and in need of hoof care - but I took a raincheck on that one for now. That's an adventure for another day - maybe after the kids are born. Maybe next year. Anyone interested in becoming an apprentice? Plenty of work for both of us!

Sleeping Like a Baby

For a truly restful sleep, many humans require an adjustable, thermoregulated Memory Foam mattress with dual controls, ergonomically-contoured pillows, room-darkening shades and a white noise machine, and occasionally a glass of wine or some pharmaceutical assistance.

Too bad we're not goats. All Elliot needs is a shingled shed roof and some rustling corn stalks in the backgound...this is the life! He slept here all afternoon.

(If you watch closely, you might see me sneaking up behind him with the hoof trimmers...)

Of Mice and Men...and Goats

I had my day all planned out - a bit of cleaning at home then errands at five different stores, whip together a casserole for dinner before heading off to work later. A few phone calls to make, a brief list...but as long as I stayed on track I should be fine.

I haven't had much time to read the classics lately, but I believe it was Steinbeck who wrote, "The best laid plans of mice and moms...often forget to take the goats into account." (Well, something like that...)

Emily forgot to set her alarm last night, so with only minutes before the school bus arrived, I was faced with a dilemma - do I send her outside to care for her cloven-hooved pets and then drive her to school later, or do I commit myself to the goats today and whisk her out the door now? Not wanting to be seen in public in my grungy clothes, I handed her a granola bar in exchange for a promise to clean the bathrooms after school and sent her to the bus just in time. Little did I know that in a short while I would be driving to the high school anyway, after a call from the principal's office. (You know those obscure rules about what clothing violates the school dress code? Apparently they really mean it!)  A stricter mom might have left her wayward daughter sitting in the office all day, but compassion won out (plus the thought of what extra chores I could now pawn off on this one!) I grabbed Megan's favorite Batman T-shirt from her closet but then realized I had a complication - I had just brought the goats up to the deck (where they spend two happy and loosely-supervised hours each morning and night.) The deck railings are well within their leaping range and even our cats can open the gates, but strangely the goats have never tried to escape the deck. It would take an entire bag of animal crackers to entice them back to the yard, so I just spoke to them sternly before I left, threatening that any misbehavior would have them scooping their own poop for a week. (Actually then I was kind of hoping for some mischief...) They were angels.

After that I don't know where the time went - I ate some oatmeal then took them down for bottles and weeds, got them into the fence and started cleaning up the overnight messes. I do not like to climb on the roof of the shed as Emily does, so I just reached what nannyberries I could  and swept the rest down with a broom. I also swept up the driveway, upper and lower decks and sliding board. It had rained last night so the shed was a mess inside, and I decided to put fresh wood shavings in the plastic tray where they "potty" when it's too wet to go outside. Unfortunately I forgot how much they love fresh wood shavings, as they quickly swarmed onto the tray and wolfed down most of it, scattering the rest all over the floor. Enough is enough. I went inside to get ready for my errands (now woefully late), and before I left I peeked out the window for a last check on the goats. Golden opportunity!! They were now both sprawled on the shed roof, completely passed out. (Remember the man floating in the river a few weeks ago? Like that.) I have been trying to trim hooves all week but they are always too wild - no way could I pass up this chance. So I cautiously crawled up on the roof with the trimmers and actually got five of the eight hooves done before a passing breeze blew down some leftover raindrops from the tree above us. Thinking it must be a hurricane, my aquaphobic goats instantly sprang to full alertness, leaped off the roof and dashed for the cover of the shed. I reattached my severed finger (just kidding) just in time to see them both in the plastic tray (mostly devoid of wood shavings) letting loose two hours worth of waste products...Since there is not really room for both of them at once most of Emerson's poop went elsewhere...and so the cleaning begins anew.

What I am mostly wondering is this...does anyone think it's too late to start homeschooling?

Resting (Not) in Peace?

Now that the "goat shed" is finally complete, my enterprising husband has moved onto the next project - a major renovation of the "people shed" where he stores his tools, lawnmowers, old car parts, etc. This involves tearing off the sides and roof in preparation for a complete overhaul, lots of loud sawing, hammering and smashing down walls. On Saturday afternoon we were in the midst of this incredible fun (which Mike has deemed a family project) when we noticed increased activity nearby and realized that there would soon be a graveside service at the small cemetery across the street. Not wanting to disrupt the service, we took a break from demolition and turned off the power tools. I went inside to make some lemonade and collapse on the couch, but very shortly I was roused by a loud commotion outside. What on earth? Hadn't I told the kids to stay quiet until the funeral was over?

Oops - apparently we forgot to tell the goats - who were up on the roof of their shed bawling their heads off in an effort to get all the interesting folks across the street to pay attention to them. Probably the only funeral ever disrupted by goats..."Dearly beloved, we are gathered..." MAAAAAAAA "And as we remember..." MAAAAAAAAAA "Let us pray." MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA  

I sent Emily to get them down, but that just made them want to play all the more. As the service concluded and everyone drove away, I thought I caught a scowl from one of the pallbearers, but I just shrugged as if to say, "Pesky stray goats! I wonder who they belong to..."

I was reminded of an anecdote from when my own daughters were about four years old. Spying the canvas tent, flashing lights and crowds of people from our front yard, they ran to me so excited and cried, "Mommy! There's a carnival across the street! Can we go?"  So can I really blame the goats...?