Hurricane Games...

As the storm raged outside, we kept busy eating all our non-perishable snacks and playing board games - anything that didn't require electronics or electricity. The girls pulled out Battleship and Clue from the back of a cabinet, but our favorite is "Speed Scrabble," a fantastically-fun version of the popular spelling game involving all the letter tiles but not the board. Between games we went out to the garage to console the lonely goats...who, we discovered, had also invented their own game to pass the time...

Confined to their improvised hurricane pen inside the garage (warm and dry but frighteningly unfamiliar), Emerson and Elliot apparently spent several hours engaged in a new activity we called "Poop & Stomp." To  play this game (not that I really expect any readers to do so...), the goats first deposit their pellets (that's the "poop" part) all over the garage floor, preferably while running in circles for maximum scatter-ability.  Then (this is the "stomp" part) they butt heads, rear up on hind legs in choreographed tandem, and bring down their forelegs in a forceful stomp, flattening anything that happens to be on the floor. This can be repeated dozens of times until exhausted. The end result is that, instead of an easy sweep of dried pellets with a broom, clean-up now requires individual scraping of each pile and pressure-washing of the concrete floor. Well, at least they were having fun...

Needless to say, the first chore we tackled once the rain stopped was moving the goats back outside. We still need to pick up some fallen tree limbs and bring out the porch furniture, but that can wait. We have water, electricity and a dry basement - blessings for which we are so thankful. Our prayers go out to those who fared much worse. Yet I beg one last attempt at humor in a serious situation. If there's one thing Sandy taught me about emergency preparedness, it's this - before the next storm, I really need to teach the goats to play Speed Scrabble!

The Goats Brace for Sandy

Two things our goats hate most of all are getting wet and change to their regular routine. This may be a rough week for them.

Along with much of the east coast, we are trying to prepare for Hurricane Sandy, an epic "Superstorm" forecast to unleash a wake of devastating winds, snow, flooding and prolonged power outages. We're stocked up on all the essentials - flashlights, batteries, water, peanut butter and Tastycakes. I did three loads of laundry yesterday so at least we'll have clean clothing if no showers...The cats are inside - but now we have the goats to consider. We could just lock them in their shed (hoping it doesn't blow away!) and brave the storm several times a day to take them fresh hay and scoop up their waste - but the most sensible plan seemed to be moving them into the garage for Sandy's duration.  It's warm, dry and attached to the house; they happily lived there for the first few months we had them. So last night we moved in some portable fencing and gave them a lovely 6 x 12 foot  pen with all their necessities (hay, water, sleeping mats, pee tray). I figured they'd love it as they are always trying to get into the garage to explore...

They HATED it!!

Together they ran frantically around the perimeter, knocking everything over and crying in desperate goat wails of terror - What is this scary prison?? Why are we here?? How can we get out?? Even sitting with them, trying to explain, and singing lullabies had no effect. Finally I left them and went to bed, although since the garage is directly under my bedroom I could still hear their mournful howls well into the night. When I went down this morning they were still distraught, and it looked like a nuclear poop bomb had gone off in the garage. Enough already! Now they are back outside in their shed, fed and bottled, until the worst of Sandy arrives this afternoon. We'll lure them back into the garage and try again...

Best wishes to all of you in Sandy's path. As Tom Hanks said in Apollo 13 (anticipating loss of communication around the back of the moon), "See you on the other side!"

The Goaties Get a Checkup: First Vet Visit

One of my best yard sale scores ever has to be a tiny yellow scrap of paper with the unlisted phone number of a private goat veterinarian - given to me by the couple who sold me this wooden shelter - anyone who has ever sought a vet who treats goats will appreciate what a treasure this was. Nervous about someday needing caprine medical care and having nowhere to go, and even though this vet was reportedly not accepting new clients, I decided to call (and beg!) and today she agreed to come and meet the boys, give them rabies shots and take away a sample of their droppings. Quite the morning...

Wanting to make sure I had a fresh sample for her to examine, I sat out on the deck early with a plastic cup, waiting for the goats' breakfast to reappear out the other end. Apparently it is best to catch a sample mid-air before the pellets touch the ground.  Knowing my goats, I figured I wouldn't have long to wait. Boy, was I wrong! Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty...what on earth? I felt like Horton the Elephant waiting on that egg, "and she sat, and she sat, and she sat, and she sat..." Success was a long time coming, but finally I collected the precious specimen for the veterinarian.

Although she was impressed by the Em and Ellie's deluxe living accomodations as well as the fact that they are litter-trained to "pee" in a tray of wood shavings (apparently unheard of in goats), she also told me that they appeared somewhat "rotund" and strongly suggested we cut back on grain. Also, she thought maybe we should start weaning them off bottles...oh how sad. As I wiped the tears from their little goat eyes, she reached down to check their horn scurs, those nasty and persistent sharp growths where their horns were twice burned away. Ellie especially had one worrisome scur which curled downward toward his scalp and threatened to puncture the skin. I held Ellie (loving a new person petting him!) when suddenly he emitted the most ghastly howl of agony and thrashed off my lap - and there stood my new vet with bloody hands and holding two little scurs ripped from his head. Despite my shock and horror at seeing Ellie's also-bleeding head (scurs have a rampant blood supply), I was actually quite impressed, as the alternatives are anesthesia and re-burning with a red-hot iron. I never knew you could just rip them off!

Emerson's single scur fortunately required no attention, and he was quite content to snuggle with me while getting his rabies shot. Elliot, however, would now have nothing to do with us, and we embarked on a wild chase around the yard, me with a shaker of treats and the vet with her needle, until I worried that Ellie (fast and wily but terrified) would have a heart attack. (Goats are not supposed to be stressed...) Then I worried that I might have a heart attack as this was more than my usual level of exertion. We did finally corner him in the wooden house and he got his injection with me lying on top of him. (At least, I think he was the one who got the shot...)

What a relief to have a competent vet for the boys - like when you find the perfect pediatrician for your newborn. The only problem is Ellie still won't come near me. Guess I'll have to give him lots of extra attention this weekend. I don't think I'll take away his bottle just yet...

A Mole of What?

We just enjoyed a week-long visit from my youngest sister, a nomadic biologist who constantly traverses the globe in search of new botanical knowledge and opportunities...she hasn't been to our little corner of the world in over a year so it was great to see her again. One of the best parts of her family's visit was introducing the goats to my 7-year old nephew.  Micah lavished lots of attention on Em and Ellie, climbing onto the roof with them and imitating their play with each other by "pushing" them on the deck (which they loved, always coming back for more). Micah also earned points with me by being a very adept "poop scooper" and would eagerly grab the nearest dustpan and brush whenever needed (usually about every five minutes...) I love that kid!!

Having driven twelve hours to watch her son clean up goat excrement, my sister finally gave her opinion of our "No Poop Left Behind" philosophy. "I don't know why you have to clean it up all the time," she remarked (clearly noticing that the scooper has become a natural extension of my right hand and our conversations were constantly interrupted to attend to this task). "Why don't you just let it dry up and biodegrade, or simply scoop it all up once a week?"

WHOA, WHOA, WHOA. This is the stuff of nightmares! Emily and I just looked at each other, both envisioning the yard overcome with higher and higher mounds of "nannyberries" until only the shed roof was visible (picture a National Guard rooftop rescue, like in flood zones) - of being unable to open the sliding door to the deck for an avalanche of poop - my goodness, if we waited a week the entire town could be covered...It is beyond comprehension, the potential disasters averted by my little scooper - a small sacrifice for the greater good.

Emily recently learned the concept of "mole" in Chemistry class - a number represented by 6 followed by 23 zeroes (or for you math geeks, 6 X 10 to the 23rd power). Apparently a "mole" of marshmallows would cover the earth in a layer twelve miles deep (ok, that's a lot of smores potential!) So an interesting question - what about a mole of goat droppings? Well, they are significantly smaller than marshmallows, but I'm still imagining a pretty unpleasant situation. I think I'll keep up the frequent scooping - just my own little effort to save the planet!

It also occurred to me that my sister is an educated scholar - how could this not be evident to her? Then I realized - her field is botany, and the waste product of plants is...oxygen! Now I know what we did wrong! Instead of goats, we should have gotten a pair of cute little houseplants.  (We probably could have even figured out a way to bottle-feed them!)


 

All the Comforts of Home

Another busy day as we took advantage of a warm fall weekend - along with other outdoor chores we swept out the goat pen and got a coat of paint on their shed. Also, because goat grain at my favorite feed store is on back-order until Tuesday, Emily and I carefully measured out all our remaining grain (not nearly enough!) into portions to get us through until then. (The goats will not be happy with smaller meals, but it's better than switching brands - remember it only comes in 50 pound bags - with all the gastronomical distress that would cause!) By evening my clothes were covered in paint, straw, grain flecks, goat hair...where did the day go?

We had tickets to a show at a local theater (ok, my daughter's high school play, but we don't get out much) and there was just enough time to clean up, put the goats away and  meet my in-laws at the box office. I scrubbed my hands, splashed some water on my face and grabbed the cute new black sweater I planned to wear - perfect with dress pants and just the right pair of earrings. Quick check in the bathroom mirror and we were out the door. Only as we pulled into the parking lot did I relax enough to notice...WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME I WAS STILL WEARING MY GOAT JEANS?? That's right, the straw-dusted, paint-splattered ones with a giant hole in the knee, faintly aromatic of the goat pen. DIDN'T ANYONE NOTICE? Silence...then a quiet voice from the back seat, "But Mom, you always wear those jeans."

 Technically almost correct - BUT NOT IN PUBLIC! NOT WHEN THE REST OF ME IS ALL DRESSED UP! At least the auditorium would be dark, I could spread out the program on my lap during intermission, and the play was so amazing I'm sure nobody noticed. It reminded me of something profound Emily said one day last week as we were sitting outside with the goats. "Mom," she remarked, "I think our house is like sweat pants."

Being of the Seinfeld generation (remember the quote about how wearing sweatpants is like giving up on life?), I was puzzled. I may not vacuum every day, but is it really that bad? Please elaborate, I told her cautiously. "Well," she said, "It's nothing too fancy and not the best for lavish dinners (this speaks to my abhorrence for hosting big family holidays), but it's warm and comfortable and fits our family just right."

Yeah, I can live with that. However, if she ever compares our home to my goat pants, I may have to make a few changes...

All the Better to Bite You With...

We celebrated an amazing milestone yesterday. After eight years, two months and one day, Emily was officially discharged from the care of her orthodontist. (Keep reading, we get to the goat part in a minute...) That means that for fully half her life she has been in various forms of spacing appliances, palate expanders, braces or retainers, including several extractions, two oral surgeries and hundreds of orthodontist visits. (I stopped adding up the money a few thousand dollars ago.) What price can you put on a great smile?!

So, here's a fact - for all the flaws goats may have, one terrific thing about goats is that they never need braces!! It's true. I did find one website which recommended consulting a "goat nutritionist" before making any dietary changes (my yellow pages has no such listing, sadly) but absolutely nowhere have I heard of a goat orthodontist. I have learned some interesting facts about goat teeth, however...and now you will too!

All You (N)ever Wanted to Know About Caprine Dentistry

1. Goats are born with eight very sharp baby teeth. They start losing them (to be replaced with permanent teeth) between one and two years of age. (And here I thought I was done playing tooth fairy...)

2. A full-grown goat by age five has 32 teeth, and you can fairly accurately tell a goat's age by counting its teeth.

3. Goats actually have no upper front teeth - just one big gum or "dental pad"  to mouth you with. Therefore, being bitten by a goat is not a real risk.

4. However, a goat's back teeth are razor-sharp, so if you let a goat suck on your finger, be prepared to lose it!

5. Occasionally very old goats will lose teeth as part of the aging process. (Dentures, however, are rarely required.)

6. The best oral care for goats is simply a good diet - lots of coarse hay and a salt lick to gnaw on. Brushing is not recommended.

                                            "Just relaxing on the deck, cleaning my molars..."

Boxy Boys

Recently a friend overheard me telling someone that the goats ate "about a box a day." Curious, she wondered, a box a day of what? Hay? Animal crackers? Apples?

No, I had to explain, not "a box a day" of anything. Just, a box. As in the plain brown cardboard variety. It's like a toy and a treat all-in-one. A nice sturdy box can keep them busy for hours. Plus, I figure it's good roughage for the rumens since they don't eat many weeds. (Somehow I don't think tender lilac leaves and hostas count as the "course roughage" so crucial to healthy caprine digestion...)

I am always on the lookout for cardboard - yard sales, farm markets, anywhere I can stow my purchases in a box. At one local market I package my items in discarded boxes at the checkout, and the friendly cashier always says, "Thanks for boxing!" as I leave with a cart full of boxes (carefully arranged with only two or three items in each!) Plus, think of the environmental benefit of not using all those plastic bags. Tomorrow this box will be fertilizer for the lawn!

Who's Fluffy Now?

Cold weather...first frost warning of the season...as I haul tubs of sweaters and mittens up from the basement, I pray the goats will develop winter coats thick enough to keep them warm for the next few months. (Plan B is to fence off a small corner of the living room...)

Emily noticed several weeks ago that when she went out to see the goats on chilly mornings, they seemed extra "fluffy." I disregarded this claim as goat-triggered insanity, but one morning Megan went outside too and when she came in she exclaimed, "It's true! I got to see them fluffy!" Well, now they are fluffy all the time with puffed-up, coarser fur. Something must be working, because instead of spending these frosty nights in their warmer, protected shed, they still sleep on the roof.

I could worry about this. Emily (who spends a lot of time on the internet learning generally-useless information) recently informed me that the leading cause of death in one North African country is people accidentally rolling off their roofs at night. Apparently the houses there are built from cinder blocks, which retain heat, and so  people often sleep outside (on the roof) to stay cool. I had many questions about this, naturally. Are the roofs flat, or sloped? Why do they build with cinder blocks if heat is such an issue? (It's not like they are a naturally-occurring crop in that region!) Are they sleeping in the center of the roof, or the edges? Do their animals sleep up there too? Having slept for the past many decades in a bed and never rolled out, I find this a sad yet puzzling statistic.

Just to be safe, however, maybe I'll buy some trampolines and set them up around goat shed...except the rascals would probably figure out a way to get enough bounce to vault themselves over the fence into the front yard...I'll have to think about this a bit.

The Rooftop Rumble: Goat Party Part 2

More on the saga of the "goat events" party we hosted this weekend...

As it turned out, the youth group gala was the tamest part of our weekend. In comparison to my computer crashing (thus the recent lack of photos from this borrowed laptop) and my husband getting a chunk of hot metal embedded in his eye, having 20 teenagers over for goat activities was almost no stress at all. Emerson and Ellie were delighted when all the kids arrived and rushed into the yard; Ellie was so excited that he, well, allowed a natural bodily function to occur...one of the boys pointed and yelled "Eww! It pooped!" Elliot was downcast and mortified until one of the girls wisely commented, "Well, Michael, you poop too!"

Yeah, I really miss middle school...

The kids ate, rode the go-kart in the mud, took turns holding an adorable baby (also named Elliot!) who belonged to one of the leaders, and played impromptu field hockey. Curious, the goats jumped onto the roof of their shed for a better view of the game. Goats on the roof?? Suddenly there was a mad rush for the gate and a dozen or so kids climbed up on top of the shed with them. Emerson loved this, running among the kids in tight circles on the roof and dancing on his back feet as the concerned youth leader (coated in go-kart mud and counting potential injuries, I'm sure!) earnestly urged the kids to come back down. It was right about then that parents began to arrive to pick up their children. (They may think twice about signing that liability waiver for future events!)

The goats were sad to see everyone leave, all except one father who made a comment (within hearing range of the goats!) about suddenly being hungry for some "good goat curry." Now, I have often appreciated his flavorful, spicy curry at  church potluck suppers, but it made me realize that if we ever invite this family over again, it will have to be a closely-supervised visit! (And if I ever find out that all the curry I ate before wasn't actually beef...)

Perspective is a wonderful thing. Making wise decisions - even better. I'm still not sure getting a pair of baby goats wasn't a foolish mistake - but is it any worse than being lazy about backing up computer files, or grinding metal without safety glasses? I'm hoping to get my PC back Saturday, Mike has another appointment tomorrow with the opthamologist, and the goats are lounging on the deck with Emily. It could be worse.

Goat Obedience

          As my sister said, maybe we can find a sign that reads "PLEASE DO NOT CLIMB ON CARS."

Two Goats on a Lexus?

For their safety and our sanity, our goaties stay securely fenced in, except for the brief twice-a-day dash between the gate and the deck steps. (Sometimes they just charge right up the steps, but occasionally that taste of freedom provokes an escape attempt and they take off. That's why I never let them out without a plastic container of animal crackers in my pocket - one rattle of that shaker bottle and they're all mine...)

My sister's goats, on the other hand, have free run of their property - and having been bottle-raised in the laundry room, the littlest two love hanging out around the house, especially waiting on the brick patio for snacks. Unfortunately they also love jumping on all the cars in the driveway. One quick leap onto the hood, another leap to the roof, slide down the windshield, then repeat...hours of fun! Sounds cute - until you see the damage a thirty-pound goat with sharp hooves can do to a paint job. (My husband cringes, my sister asks her guests to park at the far end of the lane.)

Recently my sister had an in-home appointment with a consultant, an affluent woman who arrived dressed to the nines in her brand new Lexus. (Who's guessing where this is going?) Forewarned, my sister had her children take the goats to the upper field with a bag of treats before her guest pulled up to the house. The appointment went well, and as the woman was closing her briefcase, my sister casually mentioned the goats and their penchant for jumping on vehicles, assuring her that the children were keeping the rascals far away from the driveway.

Business concluded, they stepped out onto the patio as they exchanged farewells. Goats, you may recall, have supersonic hearing, and from the far upper field Leia and Obi heard my sister's voice on the patio (the snack patio!) - and on also-supersonic hooves they broke away from their young watchers and charged down the hill toward the house. And the driveway. And the 2012 fully-loaded silver Lexus. Time stood still...

But today the goats would be denied their favorite jumping pastime - their fun thwarted as the frantic guest, in high heels and designer dress, vaulted across the patio and hurled herself onto the hood of her Lexus while shrieking "Stay away! Stay away!"

Sometimes having goats is just so much fun...

Party Crashers?

Big day coming up for the goats...but let me start at the beginning.

Last week I was leafing through a clutttered pile of papers from our church mailbox - announcements and such. I ignored the Nursery News and quickly skimmed  over the Junior High Youth events, since my own daughters are now in high school (though my husband still helps out with the middle schoolers).  I did notice that the junior high kids had scheduled a cookout (always fun) complete with outdoor games, a campfire and - what's this? - goat events? What a fun idea! I knew there was a reason I liked this new youth pastor! Excitedly I wondered if they might need another adult chaperon to go along - surely with all my goat knowledge...so I checked the calendar for the location (likely a nearby farm or petting zoo) - but wait! That address looks strangely familiar...could there possibly be another location with the same exact address as ours??

Is it all husbands, or only mine, who would volunteer our house for a picnic with 20 kids, and offer "goat events" - and not even check the date with me first?? Or even think to mention it??

Once I finished screaming at him and rescheduled my plans for that day (next weekend!), I broke the news to the goats. They were ecstatic! Nothing suits goats more than lots and lots of attention (you know how neglected they are most days...), and there's always the chance of stray snacks being dropped on the ground. Really, it should be fun. Any party calls for great food, and some of these middle-schoolers are among my favorite people in the world. I organized the food; now I just need to figure out the "goat events." Maybe we'll just do our own Goat Races in the lower field...

I did have to nix the campfire, though, since the fire pit is in the goat yard. Mike thought we could just roast marshmallows while the goats casually browsed the yard eating weeds, sensibly avoiding the dangerous flames coming from their favorite jumping rocks...ok, what planet is he on? (Well, not Pluto, we know that...)

                                                  To be continued...(after next weekend).

What time are those kids coming to play with me?

Now Who's the "Crazy Goat Lady?"

At the Goat Races on Saturday, we spied a woman pulling this wagon with two tiny goats sleeping inside - and amazingly, when we got closer, I realized I knew her from years ago when our daughters went to elementary school together, before their family moved upstate so they could buy land with more room to raise goats. (I believe she now has 32...) I admired her T-shirt ("Crazy Goat Lady") and stood in awe as she told me they had traveled two hours in their SUV to get there - with two adults, two children, two full-grown goats and these two babies. (Fortunately they were allowed to park on-site and did not have to wait in line for the school bus!)

Her older goats had raced but did not advance to the final rounds, and were calmly munching a pile of hay, not seeming to mind this all-day disruption in their routine. The tiny kids in the wagon were adorable, and I asked, "Is one of these other goats their mother, or did you just bring bottles along?"

"Oh. no," she answered, "Those are both males." (Oops - my mistake...) "And the kids are eight weeks old, so they're fully weaned."

Yes. Right. Of course they are. After all, no one would still be bottling two eight month old, I mean eight week old goats - how silly would that be? 

(High point of everyone's day!!)