All I Want...is O.P.G.

The other day a woman came to my door. She had driven past the house, noticed the goats, and heard them bawling so hysterically that she actually turned around and came back, convinced that one of them must be grievously injured or caught in the fence, so agonized were their cries. She wanted to alert me to their distress.

No, I explained, I was just out there a few minutes ago. The goats are fine. Recently their "lonely" calls have changed from a pleasant "maaahhh - come play with us?" to a manic, heart-stopping shriek that did indeed bring me running in panic several times before I got wise to their scheme. "Helppppp us!! Our water is cold, our hay is stale, no peoples are paying attention to us! We are abandoned and dying out here!!" Talk about the goats who cried wolf...

I know several families who have goats. Some are pets, some are raised for show or sale, some are pampered (ok, those are mine) while some are so neglected it borders on abuse. Here's what I've noticed, though - no one else has goats like these. Most goats just eat, drink, enjoy attention when it's given, and generally mind their own business. Also, I've never met anyone else whose goats require cones. (That's right, Elliot now has one too...)

O.P.G. That's it. My list is written. All I want for Christmas is...Other People's Goats.

Never Trust a Goat!

He may look sweet and innocent...but don't let the baby blue eyes fool you. He's a scoundrel. Recently our family went away for a weekend, and I warily entrusted the goats to a new pet-sitter as our regular sitter (a 4H farm girl who raises goats herself) was unavailable. A bit nervous, I carefully penned three pages of instructions about the care of the goats - feeding schedule, daily medication doses, emergency vet number, common goat emergencies etc. I found space at the end to scribble a note about the cats as well as our contact information and cell phones, then marked the most important parts in red. It would only be a weekend, after all - as long as they followed my directions, all should be fine.

I only forgot one critical piece of information. NOTE: Read the instructions in the kitchen before going to the goat pen. Apparently, my new caregiver and her helpers (wise move - bringing reinforcements!) brought the papers into the pen with them, intending to read them step-by-step as they measured out grain and medications. I should have warned them that, after I get the mail every day, I sometimes give the boys an envelope to share. Spying what he likely thought was a yummy snack, Elliot snatched all the papers right out of his feeder's hand and quickly slurped them up - chew - swallow - gone. (And he didn't even share with Emerson!) Smooth move, Ellie. Oh, just give us buckets of grain and four apples a day and let us out to run free...Reminds me of when we were younger and my sisters and I would hide the note for the babysitter and tell her we were allowed to stay up until midnight...somehow she never believed us.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice...

Anyone following Emerson's cone saga will recall that we removed his cone two days ago to see whether he could now be trusted not to bite giant sores around his tail - here's your answer. After just one evening unrestricted, he was again bent around like a pretzel, his nether regions raw and bleeding once more. The cone returned. In order to protect the sensitive skin on the back of his neck, Emily and I improvised this fashionable "collar" from the sleeve of an old sweatshirt. (Isn't he so handsome?!) It also gives me something to hang onto when we attempt to smear antibiotic cream on his buttocks twice a day. (This may sound soothing and innocuous, but his frantic reaction would only be justified if we were rubbing acid on his bare skin. I could show you bruises...)  Today we are also planning a new treatment for the itching, a rub-in powder supposedly guaranteed to rid goats of biting pests, but also so toxic to humans we will don full hazmat gear to avoid accidental skin contact or inhalation.

After we wrestled Emerson back into the cone, I leaned against the fence to catch my breath. I didn't want anyone to see me crying, but sometimes the frustration overwhelms me. Each new day brings another goat nightmare. I think of giving them away, but with their seemingly-incurable and contagious skin ailment, who would take them? We can't even eat them, since by waiting until they reached three months old before neutering them, we ensured that their meat would have an unpleasant gamey and "testosterone-infused" taste (or so all the books warn).  The only upside to goat care right now is that their pen has a delectably fragrant aroma, since my husband recently cleaned out the garage...

Last fall when I harvested my garden-grown spices, I filled several glass jars with fresh basil and oregano, then stowed the additional dried plants in grocery bags on a top shelf in the garage, restocking my jars as needed. Apparently my husband discovered my "spices stash" the other day and decided to feed all my dried plants to the goats. After all, he reasoned, he does not store automotive tools in the kitchen, so why was I keeping foodstuffs in his garage? (This is the same garage so full of old motors, rusted-out snowmobiles and decrepit car parts that there is not even enough space for my vehicle, not even during a blizzard. Yes, that's what shovels are for...) I was rather concerned about the effect of so much basil on the goats' digestive systems, but they seemed to love the taste...

And this led to a horrible, dreadful, nasty idea...I know that recipe is in here somewhere...aha! Page 307 - Basil Goat Curry! I'm sure I could grow some fresh thyme and coriander - maybe if we fed them enough herbs we could eat them after all!

Another Bath Day

One of the last remaining days before school starts...hot and humid...a perfect day to take the kids to the pool or even just watch a movie in an air-conditioned theater. But of course, there are other ways to spend an afternoon.

Emerson was delighted to have his cone removed after two weeks - unfortunately the plastic was causing sore areas on the back of his neck. He is on a trial period to see whether he can stop biting his tail area and remain "cone-free." If we need to re-apply the cone, we'll have to modify it and pad the edges.

I am discouraged that even after all our recent intensive treatments, the skin problems have not abated. Elliot got a full bath today, and we found several new itchy and raw areas. Emerson just got localized scrubbing to a sore spot on one leg. Last night we went to a local agricultural fair and saw dozens of pristine goats waiting to be shown and then sold. No itchy, flaky coats, no bloody butts, no crusty noses. I just can't figure out what we're doing wrong. 

After we admired the show goats, we visited the petting zoo, and there I found the sweetest tiny goat who snuggled in my lap and listened to all my frustrations. I wonder if she's for sale...

Adventures at Farm Camp

Meet Sunny,  one of the main attractions at a local "Farm Camp" my daughter Megan attended as a Junior Counselor this week. (Petunia is the smaller goat inside the fenced area she shares with one other goat and two pigs; Sunny runs free around the property because he does not get along with the other animals.) Tonight, to close out a marvelous week of learning, nature and outdoor fun, families were invited to a program and potluck supper at the farm. Because this is the type of camp where parents would bring potluck dishes like fresh salsa, quinoa-cranberry salad and homemade applesauce, I knew my standard offering of box-mix brownies would not suffice. Imagine my delight to locate an impressive recipe for chocolate zucchini brownies which contained not only a green garden vegetable but also plain yogurt and whole wheat flour. (Sure to impress!) Before heading over to the side field for the program, I proudly deposited my brownies on the designated "Dessert Table" in the yard, nestling them between a pair of scrumptious-looking homemade peach pies. Mmmm...

I cannot pretend my mind did not wander as the camp director read us a story about caterpillars. What an amazing place! I wonder how much that fencing cost? I cannot believe all these parents paid money to have their children work in the garden and muck out goat pens all week! 

Time to eat! A herd of children ran off to get in line for food, but as I was still pushing my stiff knees up from sitting in the grass, I heard a cacophony of yells, moans, "Oh no, Sunny!" Apparently as we were singing and dancing the butterfly hokey-pokey, Sunny had helped himself to the desserts, feasting from tins and pie plates before knocking them to the ground for the chickens to finish. There he stood, one foot in the center of a peach pie, munching away. Only one lonely dessert remained, untouched, on the table. Were my zucchini brownies so awful that even a goat wouldn't eat them?

Actually, as now the only dessert at the picnic, those brownies were the hit of the party - not a single one left. Take that, goat!

The Cone - Part 2

The latest in goat fashion - "the cone" is both serviceable and trendy, and now Emerson boasts not one, but two, of these sporty accessories. (Observant readers may have noticed the slightly different style in today's photo...) The objective, of course, is to keep his mouth from being able to reach his rear end, where he has bitten and chewed gross bleeding sores in his flesh, and allow my multi-step wound treatment time to heal the sensitive area. His original cone, purchased at a local pet store, was a success for about 36 hours, until he learned first how to contort himself around the plastic to reach his behind, and then how to undo the velcro straps altogether. This larger cone, veterinary-quality and on loan from our canine friend Kelly, features a three-strap system with supplementary adjustable ties. It took Emily and I half a box of animal crackers and at least twenty minutes to "install" it on him. It reminded me of long-ago early Christmas mornings desperately trying to assemble complicated toys, those tense moments when it was unclear whether the frustrated parent or the impatient toddler would go completely berserk first.Only time will tell, but it has been on all day and the only thing he's been chewing are his brother's ears and my shoelaces. Well, I still didn't get the laundry done, but maybe I accomplished something today.

Conehead

What to do when your goat, infested with nasty microscopic mites which burrow tunnels under his skin, keeps compounding the problem by gnawing holes in his own behind? We're treating for the mites, I've tried every skin care product available in local pharmacies and on the internet, and we've taken turns sitting outside with him smacking his nose and yelling, "Stop biting your butt!" These fearsome open wounds will never heal until he leaves them alone - time for the last resort. Introducing every pet's worst nightmare...the Cone of Shame...

Unfortunately, the cone worn properly was ineffective, as he could still twist himself backwards and bite his tail. Goats are all about improvisation, though, and twenty-four hours later the cone is still intact (a miracle!) and Emerson  cannot reach his teeth to his backside. Maybe there is hope for us yet. Mangy creatures! And again I ask myself, why did we get goats??

Dad Strikes Again...

Working until well past midnight last evening, I entrusted the task of putting the goats to bed to my capable teenage daughters, confident that even if they "forgot" to wash the supper dishes, at least they could competently look after Em and Ellie.

I was wrong.

Rounding the corner of the garage this morning and spying the absolute disaster that was the goat pen, I stopped short. Emily (still sipping her morning tea on the deck) avoided my pointed stare.

"Well," I growled, "it looks like Dad has struck again."

"I'm sorry, Mom!" She shrugged apologetically. "I couldn't stop him..."

Warily we approached the tangled jungle overtaking the ordinarily-tidy  fenced pen in the driveway. Huge mounded piles of thorny weeds, scattered by hooves, sodden from the night's rain and intermingled with piles of goat droppings - chucking these over the fence would add an extra twenty minutes to the morning clean-up. Men!

My husband means well, really - after all, he sees me picking weeds across the road for the goats; I have even brought home bags of weeds from other people's houses. The difference is, however, that I bring the goats weeds that they like, while Mike brings them weeds he thinks they should like. I have shown him exactly the things they eat - oak leaves, but not sweetgum, crabgrass (but never yard grass), black-eyed susans, these tall weeds, this brush, none of the purple stuff...yet like the parent determined to coax a child to eat brussel sprouts by repeatedly serving them at every meal, my dear husband hauls vast quantities of unacceptable weeds into the goat pen, leaving them for me to dispose of the next morning, after the goat boys have rejected them and stomped them into a messy pile.Once he even bagged all the grass clippings while mowing and dumped them, mini-haystacks, in front of the shed. After all, he reasoned, goats should eat grass...that time I made him clean up the mess.

Need a shed built? Fencing installed? Goats held down for hoof trimming? My husband has no equal. I guess when it comes to weeds, though, some things just take a mother's touch.