Cat versus...what?

Sometimes scary things happen...and sometimes things happen that are just too embarrassing to talk about, but  maybe I should start at the beginning...and by the way, this post is not about goats.

Those who know me well may realize that while I care for (and care for) Emerson and Elliot, my heart belongs to someone else. For the past nine years, Benny has been so much more than a pet - he is joy and affection and love and companionship all rolled up into fourteen pounds of unfathomably soft fur and the light of my life. Born in a wishing well and abandoned by his feral cat mother, he was bottle-raised almost since birth and will snuggle up with us like no other cat I've known. (And for anyone who is wondering, no, I do not still give him a daily bottle). Benny is gentle, quiet and unassuming, which explains how he came in last evening from his nightly foray into the yard and lower fields and sat silently in the corner of the kitchen, dripping red all over the floor and waiting patiently for someone to notice that his entire chest was covered in blood.  

Frantic, Emily and I tried to clean him up, to find the source of all this bleeding, to know what to do. It took me less than three minutes to realize that we needed to put in an emergency call to the vet. Several years ago Benny was attacked by a hawk, barely surviving the deep puncture wounds of the predator's sharp talons. Another time, a nasty respiratory virus kept him hospitalized for a week. As we bundled him into a fleece blanket and sped the two miles to our local veterinary clinic, I wondered what could have done this to him. My husband had seen a red fox in the field last month, and owls and hawks populate the woods below our house - what fierce creature had harmed our gentle cat this time?

Antiseptic irrigations, injections of antibiotics and painkillers, and the most humiliating shaving of most of the fur from his chest and shoulder, I was finally able to bring him home this afternoon. I spoke to the vet (whom we have trusted with our pets these last twenty-some years and whose veterinary knowledge seems limitless) and I asked him what animal could have caused these grievous injuries. Gravely, he showed me each site, describing tissue depth and wound patterns, explaining how, although the bleeding had been profuse and the area extensive, the cuts were not deep enough to be blamed on a hawk, not large enough to attribute to even another cat. Based on all the forensic evidence and decades of experience, his professional opinion was that our beloved Benny had been bested by...a mouse.

A desperate mouse, to be sure, probably a mouse scrabbling and kicking in Benny's paws and fighting for its life, and possibly even a large mouse, but definitely still...a mouse.  

First, the unilateral baldness and awful scabs, then the humiliation of being sat on to have a pill forced down his throat twice a day for a week...the embarrassment of admitting his foe is almost too much to bear. If you believe in the beasts known as ROUS* which terrorized Wesley and Buttercup in The Princess Bride, stick to that story. We have decided to tell people it was a fierce wolf, a herd of vicious possums, a mountain lion perhaps. He fought off a pack of wild dogs to save a newborn kittten...please help me keep his secret!

   

*ROUS - Rodents of Unusual Size (read the book or watch the movie!)



Happy Goat Day!

Who can understand the mind of a goat? I found this older photo which shows the tiny plastic house the goats lived in until my husband built their deluxe shed - it is hidden behind the higher platform, a yard-sale find which served them well most of the summer. Now that they have much more elaborate living quarters, I moved this lightweight hut up onto the deck, figuring that they could keep warm and dry in it while hanging out by the back door to our dining room...FORGET IT!

They act as though they have never seen this frightening foreign apparatus before - choosing to huddle against the windowsills rather than go into the little house. Even when I put their buckets of hay in it on a rainy day, they stand outside the structure and stretch their necks in to yank out mouthfuls of hay. I have cleaned it, lined it with familiar black mats (which Elliot is also now nibbling, following his brother's example) and even tried sitting in it myself to coax them in. Maybe I should show them the photo. See? You spent many happy months here! Goats!!

We have decided there are two kinds of days - goat days and not-goat days. When the weather is dry and sunny, even if the temperature is sub-zero, those are the days for goats. They will lounge outdoors for hours. Any sort of precipitation, however, sends them frantically hovering inside the shed all day. Not even gentle snowflakes will be tolerated. Of course, all day in the shed means massive clean-up for us...

Today is a goat day. The weather chart says "brisk" but the sun is shining. All is well with their world.

Rubber...It's What's for Dinner?

One of the benefits of having teenage daughters is that occasionally you can pawn off some of the housework on them...Megan, for example, is an awesome laundry helper and often empties the dishwasher without being asked. Emily is a decent cook - well, usually. Tonight she favored us with a new, healthful recipe she's been eager to try - vegetarian black bean burgers. My husband claimed he had eaten a late lunch and wasn't hungry, so the girls and I dined together in the kitchen. I'm not sure whether it was the texture, the taste or the general appearance of these burgers...but for some reason I was reminded of a problem we're having with Emerson lately. (Keep thinking about those burgers...)

Ok, although most domestic goats are housed on a bedding of straw or hay, ours have been raised with their living quarters lined with interlocking vinyl black mats, a situation we found to be much cleaner and less allergenic (to us) than copious amounts of straw everywhere. Since our goats are trained to eliminate their waste only in specific areas, this has worked exceedingly well for us - until now. Two days ago Emerson started eating the mats.

We first noticed a few chewed corners, then I caught him nibbling chunks off the edges of the deck mats. Eight months this has never been a problem - why now? It's like a recurrence of his shingle-eating several months ago. My options are limited here. I could remove all the mats, forcing the goats to sleep (and us to sit with them) on the cold ground, or I could treat the mats with nasty deer-repellant spray. This would likely cause them to avoid all contact with the mats forever.  

As I have recently nursed our scampy Emerson back from the scare of urinary calculi, a fearsome malady few goats survive, it is difficult to be too harsh with him. But really, Emerson?? We finally have a handle on this whole goat thing - Emily and I even custom-cut mats to the exact dimensions of their shed, their driveway house and their deck hut. There are mats on the deck for sleeping, even a mat in their outdoor pen that Elliot uses to pee on when the grass is wet. (Yes, spoiled, I know...) I really don't want to take the mats away, but I'm also fairly certain that large quantities of rubber cannot be good for caprine digestion.

Back to those vegetarian black bean burgers, I'm not sure what made me think about eating rubberized vinyl during dinner...but maybe Emily will bake chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Otherwise I might have to join Emerson for a snack outside; I'm definitely still hungry (since most of my burger "accidentally" fell into the trash can...) Hey - I wonder if goats can eat black beans? We have ten burgers left...

Happy Thanksgiving!

"And what time exactly will you be serving our pumpkin pie?"

Raking Leaves With Goats

Our church sponsors an annual "Community Leaf Raking Day," helping elderly or disabled neighbors with the autumn yardwork. I contemplated having us participate as a family this year but just wasn't sure how the goats would behave...so I sent Mike off with a van full of youth rakers while I stayed home with Em and Ellie. I figured they could help me rake our own yard - a beautiful sunny day ideal for outdoor mother-goat bonding time. As crunchy dried leaves are one of their most favorite snacks, they've been doing their best to graze the yard clean, but there was still a few leaves left for me to gather.

Here's what I learned. Raking leaves with goats is a bit like raking leaves with toddlers. It sounds like a fun idea in the beginning. Both enjoy jumping in the great piles of leaves (undoing all your hard work), and both will constantly pester you for snacks and attention, slightly peeved that you are showing more interest in a wooden-handled tool than in playing with them. Also, there will be frequent bathroom breaks.

If you have a choice in leaf-raking companions, stick with small children. Although they will still bolt for freedom every time you try to drag a heavy tarp through the open gate, escaped toddlers are slower and much easier to catch than runaway goats. In addition, children eat plastic tarps rarely, and rakes, never. (The same cannot be said for goats, who eat nothing you want them to and everything you don't.)  

I wonder if you can teach goats to shovel snow...

Light for the 'Fraidy Goats

When I read in a book that goats are afraid of the dark, I scoffed. These are outdoor animals, native to places like Tibet and Wyoming where surely there is ample darkness - and how exactly would you know this fact anyway? Are herds of wild goats clustering around lone streetlights in the desert, or building little campfires?

Yet, a mere eight months into our own goating experience, I believe this is true. Unlike my nocturnal cats who howl at the door to go out every evening, Emerson and Elliot fear the night, often sleeping outside (illuminated by the moon) instead of in their cozy (but scary dark) shed. Since our outdoor floodlight which brightens their pen also shines directly into all the bedroom windows, I used to turn it off every night before I went to bed, opening the side garage door to reach the switch. Somehow the goats learned to associate the sound of that door with the onset of terrifying darkness, and even after I bought room-darkening shades for the bedrooms and started leaving the light on for them, they still startle when we open that door for any reason, freezing in panic with ears perked up, prepared to bolt for the safety of the tiny solar lights which cast a dim glow around their shed. I have tried to decondition this fear by opening the door multiple times during the day and bringing them fresh hay and treats from it, but the terror is still too deeply ingrained.

Over the weekend the inevitable happened - the floodlight bulb burned out. As this is an expensive and hard-to-find specialty item, as well as being mounted just below the second-story roofline and requiring an extension ladder to change, I mentioned the task to my husband so he could leave some time in his schedule. He peered up at the roof, then got in his car and drove away, hopefully to go buy a new bulb, I thought. When he returned with three bags and several long pipes, I was puzzled. All this to change a lightbulb? Then he got a shovel and drill from the garage, and suddenly we were all drafted into digging trenches in the yard as he drilled through the block wall to run electric to the goat shed. Several hours later the goats were the proud owners of their own outlet (set up high, well out of chewing range) and a lamp mounted outside the shed so bright it can probably be seen from space. Unfortunately the only plug-in nightlight I had on hand was a pink American Girl "Coconut the fluffy dog" light, and they are very embarrassed by that, but it casts a wonderful soft glow in their shed...life is good in the goat world. What's next? Maybe their own TV?

Sleeping in Boxes...

What is it about animals and small spaces? Keep in mind all our pets have soft, comfortable beds available to them... 

Yeah, I bought the pan already but was waiting to get the turkey until next week - maybe I won't need a turkey after all! She's a perfect fit!



The Proposal - Goat Style

Every morning after my husband and kids are out the door, the goats and I watch the Today Show together. I catch up on news and weather while cleaning up the kitchen, and the goat boys hang out on their mat right outside the screen door (kept open at least a crack so they can hear). I figure as long as they hear voices they'll think someone's keeping an eye on them and are less likely to misbehave if I leave the room...but you just never know whether all news is goat-appropriate.

Yesterday one of the stories featured a fascinating new career choice - "proposal planner." Amazingly, you can pay these people several thousand dollars to choreograph a proposal to your beloved - if they are successful you will then need the services of a "wedding planner" (which when I got married was called "your mom and maid of honor" but now is almost mandatory for successful nuptials). I found the whole thing a bit absurd. Really? Any guy who can't come up with a creative way to pop the question himself doesn't deserve you! And so, in lieu of another post about goat bodily functions, I will instead share my own proposal story (and the goats will come back at the end).

It was 22 years ago, and Mike's extended family was vacationing on a guided tour of the British Isles. At the same time (ok, maybe we planned this part a little) I was visiting my younger sister who was an exchange student in London. My sister and I arranged to meet Mike's group in Edinburgh, Scotland and spend the day touring with them. As we climbed the steps in the city's famous castle, I was slightly annoyed that Mike kept stopping to look at armor displays and we had fallen behind the rest of the group. We stood alone at the wall atop the castle, overlooking lovely Edinburgh, when Mike suddenly dropped down on one knee and produced a diamond ring from his pocket. Stunned (he had kept this secret even from his own family - I never suspected) and enchanted, how could I refuse such a romantic proposal? The best part is that he thought it up all on his own without having to pay a professional.

However, little goats may have big ears, because this morning I overheard Emerson and Elliot plotting ways to earn money so that they could hire one of these "proposal planners." (Apparently they want to sell their droppings for fertilizer and hire themselves out for childrens birthday parties...) It seems they have some proposals for me - and by sneaking up behind them I know what they want...unlimited grain, apples and carrots increased to twice a day, and an open-gate policy during the day. They also propose access to the basement and a guarantee of at least six hours a day of outdoor human companionship, no matter what the weather...Better save up your money, goat boys, if you want to convince me of all that!

Emerson Update - Cautious Optimism

This is an update on Emerson's condition (so if you haven't read yesterday's post, you should do that first). Thanks to many of you who have expressed concern for him.

He had a rough afternoon yesterday after the vet left - restless and uncomfortable. He was finally able to sleep for several hours on the deck after another dose of the pain medicine (a pill I hid in pockets carved into apple slices - he never suspected!). I was quite concerned about how to tell Emily about him when she got home from school, but when Emerson saw her, he jumped up wagging his fluffy tail, and when she took him to the yard and told him to "pee," he did, seemingly without effort. That was after I had given him a second bottle with the ammonium chloride, so the combination of medications must have started working. 

Although he was still a bit stiff-legged and sluggish last night, this morning he was back to his usual exhuberant self, dancing on his back legs and head-butting his brother for the best pickings from the hay bucket. He has had no further difficulty passing urine and his main complaint is the lack of grain (strict no-grain diet for a week). The photo above would be from happier days when his grain bowl was filled!

Though he seems to have beaten the odds, we are not out of the woods yet. Since urinary calculi has a high rate of recurrence, we will continue the ammonium a few more days, looking for the right balance between therapeutic effect and toxicity - it is a nasty and caustic chemical. We need to test his urine ph (many of my friends are rolling their eyes right now, I know!) and adjust his diet to bring it into the proper range. But for now, the immediate crisis seems to be averted, and it is wonderful to have our little scampy Emerson back. I guess nobody ever said having goats was easy...Wait, that is what people say, that's why we got into goats in the first place...

To my friend hospitalized with severe abdominal pain and my close relatives battling illness, Emerson sends his regards and says now he knows what it is to feel "crappy" - wishes and prayers for better days ahead!

Emerson

"Life turns on a dime..." As the drama of the presidential election unfolds around us, the veterinarian has just pulled out of the driveway, leaving me a countertop of medications, a very sick goatie and a dim prognosis. I noticed this morning that Emerson did not seem his usual naughty, energetic self, instead perching stiffly on the windowsill and ignoring the box of fresh hay on the deck...When I brought out their bottles ("Bottles!" - usually the highlight of his day) and he hobbled slowly down the steps and then turned aside after only a few sips, my concern grew exponentially - and when I saw him straining to release a scant amount of urine on the driveway, my worst fears were confirmed.

Urinary calculi is the dread of all who raise male goats, an oft-fatal malady caused by the anatomical structure of neutered goats ("wethers") and which causes the formation of calculi, or "stones," which block the urinary tract. Without successful treatment, the end result is rupture of the bladder and subsequent death. Even with treatment, the prognosis is only around 50%, and recurrences are common.

Emerson has had injections of antibiotics, muscle relaxant and painkiller. I coaxed into him (via bottle) the only medication which dissolves these stones, ammonium chloride (luckily had a bag in the garage from a yard sale, which I was able to give even before the vet got here.) Apparently the ammonium is very bad-tasting and alsmost impossible to get goats to take, so it is a fortunate thing indeed we are still using bottles. (He is now prescribed 2 bottles a day with the ammonium.) The vet may return tomorrow.

Emmie is uncomfortable, anxious, confused. It was awful to hold him down for the shots. He paces, trying to rest, straining to pee. The blockage is not complete as he dribbles out small amounts. For now I will watch, moniter, medicate, comfort, pray.  If  you had asked me a year ago if I might love a goat, I would have laughed. Now I hold back tears. Perhaps the last eight months have turned me to lunacy. I guess there are worse things to be. 

Daylight Savings Time

"Spring forward, fall back..." Who doesn't relish the idea of an extra hour of sleep one day a year? Sounds marvelous - but who's really sleeping in? Your teenagers, your husbands maybe...certainly not moms with young children (who have their own internal clock) or goats...

I woke up Sunday at the usual time - but with the blissful awareness that I had sixty whole extra minutes to get everything done before church. What a gift! Since Mike had a crew of helpers over the previous day to put a roof on his storage shed, there were many more dishes than usual in the sink, a chore I would have taken care of Saturday evening except that we had treated the girls to a local theater performance after dinner (Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire  - fantastic!) so it had been a late night. I tiptoed to the kitchen and cleaned up, fed the cats, put on a pot of coffee then mixed up a batch of gingerbread muffins for a youth group bake sale that morning. Daylight now, it was time to tackle the goats. (Yes, I could have woken Emily, but just like sleeping goats, sleeping children are best left alone...and actually I really enjoy being the bearer of their now-miniscule ration of grain on a brisk morning....filling the hay buckets...scooping two or three tons of poop...)

Thoroughly chilled, I came inside to find Mike and Megan in the kitchen, drinking the coffee I'd made, eating warm gingerbread muffins, but surprisingly not reading the coveted Sunday paper. Since they grudgingly take turns making the 1/8 mile trek down the driveway to retrieve it from the damp grass,  I asked, "What? No paper today?" They both looked at me sheepishly, but it was Mike who spoke first.

"It's so cold outside - we were hoping you could go get it."

Knowing that fresh newsprint is one of the goats' favorite treats, I was very tempted...but instead I pretended not to hear him and just took a long hot shower...

Word of the Day - Altruism

Captivated by news coverage of storm-ravaged New York and New Jersey, I am heartened by the stories of altruism - of neighbors helping neighbors, people sharing food and water with strangers, of those who put the needs of others before themselves even in a desperate situation.

Believe this - if New York City was populated entirely by goats, the Big Apple would be in big trouble! (And I'm not just talking about the sanitation aspect, either.) Goats may be interesting, curious, affectionate and even snuggly at times - but they are definitely not altruistic. From my observation, a goat will never put the needs of another before his own, no way, no how...

Every afternoon, I cut up an apple into bite-size chunks as a treat for Em and Ellie. Creatures of habit, they run to the picnic table and stand on top of it as I feed them individual pieces. Two goats, two hands - so they are both eating at the same time, plenty for everyone...except that between every bite, they fiercely head-butt each other in the sides in an effort to push the other goat off the table. I guess the thought process is something like, "If I shove my brother onto the ground, maybe she'll give me both pieces of apple next time!" Elliot has the weight advantage (56 pounds to Emerson's 42), but Em is quicker and more devious...it's a draw who ends up on the grass. Sharing? Why would we do that?

Humans are not always altruistic either. Although I was inspired last month when a friend spent several hours helping a distraught stranger search for missing car keys, I confess that sometimes I fail miserably. Last week I picked up Emily after sports practice, and when she grabbed a magazine in the car a huge spider dropped out on her leg and then crawled up her shorts! I was naturally sympathetic as she shrieked and then yanked off her clothes (yes, in the front seat of the moving car!), but really what my selfish mind was thinking is this - "I'm just so glad that spider landed on Emily and not me!" I know I am not alone here as recently a friend confessed that when she discovered a bat in her child's room, she ran from the room and slammed the door, leaving her young daughter alone with the bat!

Maybe we are more like goats than we think. (And truly, I have no idea who ate the last chocolate cupcake...)