On Goat Neglect...

A few days ago Emily and I stopped at a local greenhouse to pick up some pumpkins. Out front was a collection of potted perennials for sale, including one scrubby-looking plant sporting a sign that read "Thrives on Neglect."

"Yeah, right," I scoffed, "Don't believe it. They said they same thing about goats, and look how that turned out."

"Actually, Mom," Emily countered, "I don't think we've ever neglected our goats, so how would you know?"

Right.

Last week the local weatherman warned of "unseasonable chills" and autumn's first frost. Concerned that the goats had not yet developed their thick winter coats, I worried about whether they could stay warm enough that night. I carefully swept out their shed, tightened the window and put down clean sleeping mats for them. Turning on their night light, I coaxed them into the shed, giving them a bucket of steaming hot water. Hopefully my efforts would be sufficient for the cold hours ahead.

Just before I went to bed, I decided to allay my worries and check on the boys one more time. Bundled up in a fleece jacket and mittens, I ducked through the small door into the shed - empty. Where on earth are my goats?? Did they leave the shed to pee and become disoriented by the cold, unable to find their way back to shelter? GOATS! WHERE ARE YOU?? 

Heart thumping, I turned on all the outdoor lights to search - and there they were - snuggled up next to each other, sound asleep in one of the flowerbeds. I was tempted to cover them with a blanket, but I refrained. Maybe Emily doesn't need to knit those four-sleeved sweaters I commissioned after all.

Bottle Babies No More?

Hard-to-feed babies are sort of my specialty...As a neonatal nurse for twenty-some years and a mother of premature twins, I can humbly say that I can coax or cajole almost any baby into taking a bottle. A four-pound preemie, a newborn with a bad heart and a weak suck, an infant who's been tube-fed for months and needs to learn to eat - I relish the challenge. Teaching our new little goats to take bottles last spring was an incredibly difficult task and a huge accomplishment, but bottle-feeding has since been one of the greatest rewards of our goat experience.

The fact that Em and Ellie, at nearly two years old, have suddenly decided to refuse their bottles, is making me crazy!

I know, I know...why on earth are two full-grown, seventy-five pound goats still taking bottles?? According to the manuals, goats should be weaned by eight weeks old, and my goats are now roughly eighty-six weeks old (had to do a few calculations there - see, Megan, there is a purpose for knowing basic math skills!). We kept meaning to stop, and we did cut down to one bottle a day, and only warm water, but it just never seemed like the right time.

There are practical reasons to bottle, of course - all that fluid flushes out the kidneys and helps prevent urinary calculi, plus Emerson's medicine gets dissolved in his bottle. Warm water aids in the digestive process as well. Truly, though, the reason I still bottle the boys is for those precious moments of morning bonding, for the blissful look on Emerson's face as his eyes go closed and he leans against me, for how Elliot chugs his bottle with such enthusiasm. It is our time to snuggle close, to forget about sharp needles and crusty skin sores and bleeding feet.

The past week has suddenly been a bottle struggle. I've done nothing differently, yet they both turn away and refuse. I am not giving up yet - this morning I got half a bottle into Em by pinning him between my knees and prying his mouth open. Elliot is stronger and harder to catch, although if I can force the bottle in his mouth he will usually suck it right down. Maybe it's time, but I'll keep trying a few more days. If you've ever bottle-fed a goat, you would understand.

A Shot, a Bath, and a Run Down the Hill

All in all, not a bad goat day. We trimmed hooves, gave Elliot an injection, and scrubbed both goats in lime sulfur again. The boys are once more stained a greenish-yellow hue and stink almost worse than the chicken manure the farmer across the road spread on his fields today, but at least their feet are beautiful. Hoof trimming is one of those tasks which creates a great feeling of satisfaction, the difference between "before" and "after" is so extreme. It's like when you clean your refrigerator after neglecting the chore for way too long, and you open the door to - wow! Did we get new appliances or something?

Last week our vet sedated Ellie to perform skin biopsies; the samples were sent to a goat pathologist at a laboratory in an Ivy-League institution. Finally the results are back - inconclusive. No mites were found in any of the specimens, although there was tissue damage suggestive of mite activity. Fortunately there was no evidence of any dread auto-immune or genetic diseases, and sometimes skin problems in goats are caused by zinc deficiency, but it seems the elusive mites are still our number-one suspect. (Yes, the goats do get supplemental zinc...)

So we will continue the lime sulfur baths for another few weeks and see what happens.

This afternoon I really should have cleaned out the refrigerator, but instead I took the goats on a walk. I opened the gate for them, and Elliot took off down the hill in ecstasy, flinging himself sideways into the air in great gleeful leaps as he hurtled toward the most wonderful weeds in the world. Moments like these are the reason I have goats.

(Well, that and the fact that I haven't yet convinced my friend Theresa that two goats would be the perfect addition to her backyard menagerie. I think I read somewhere that the presence of goats around chickens can increase egg production by fifty percent...)

Rub-a-Dub Goat?

Ever feel bored with the daily routine? Wishing for some excitement in your life? Toss out those brochures for bungee jumping, para-sailing, and cave diving. Instead, for an unforgettable experience, consider giving a goat a bath in lime sulfur dip.

While we wait for skin biopsy results, I am also watching the weather forecast for the next warm day. The lime sulfur bath, you see, is a weekly treatment...and here's how you do it.

First, gather your supplies. You will need disposable clothing, so raid your spouse's closet for old work shirts and ripped jeans. Make them fit somehow. Old shoes, too, and a large trash bag for everything when you're done. Locate a few throwaway sheets and blankets, a bucket, a stiff scrub brush, rubber gloves, and protective goggles.

Dilute your lime sulfur (a thick, noxious-smelling yellow goo) in a gallon of warm water. Then, wearing your designated clothing and protective gear, secure the goat. If you are fortunate enough to have a goat already sedated for a skin biopsy, your job is much simpler. Simply lather his unconscious body head to tail in the sticky mixture, making sure to work it into every crease and crevice until he is entirely yellow. Do not rinse it off. Be sure to get out of his way before he wakes up, as the mixture will dry slowly. You will be tempted to comfort him as he stumbles around disoriented, but restrain yourself. He is making a vain attempt to get away from the horrendous odor which is actually himself, so there is nothing you can do. Save yourself. If you pet him with bare hands, you will have to cancel all your engagements for the next few days and call in sick to work. Yes, the smell is that bad, and yes, it does stain your skin neon yellow. Trust me on this.

If you have the misfortune of then bathing a second, non-sedated goat, your task is more difficult. (Sound familiar, Emerson?) You will require one person to restrain the goat while you attempt to scrub him with the gooey mixture. At first he may seem cooperative, thinking he is simply getting a massage, but once he realizes what you are doing he will kick and buck madly.Work quickly and be careful not to let him knock over the bucket. (It will stain your driveway, and you will have to always park your car over the area so your husband doesn't notice.) Hold your breath if the smell gets too bad. most of all, remember this - when you finish and finally release the agitated goat, hurl your body out of the way before the goat can vigorously shake himself off, like a wet dog emerging from a muddy pond. (Right, I made this mistake once...)

And if the stuff gets on your skin, don't bother taking a shower. All you will accomplish is staining your tub yellow.

Anyone interested in helping with the next bath?

Is There a Goat Planet?

A friend of mine recently slipped on a walnut while training for a marathon, badly spraining her ankle just two weeks before the big race. A family we know had to cancel a long-awaited vacation when they found their basement flooded on the morning of their planned departure. A teen I know failed her driver's test, again. Some days you just want to go back to bed and start over - or, as we say in our house, "Someone needs a visit to the Bunny Planet."

One of our most beloved childrens' authors is Rosemary Wells,  creator of Max and Ruby, McDuff, and our favorite tiny trilogy entitled Voyage to the Bunny Planet, in which Wells' delightful characters experience one woe after another (getting a shot, being sick in front of the whole class, cold liver chili for dinner) until they are mercifully rescued by Bunny Queen Janet and transported to her planet for "the day that should have been." (If you are now questioning my sanity, take a trip to the library and you will understand - you are never too old for these wonderful stories!)

On Monday, Elliot needed a visit to the Bunny Planet.

When the vet pulled into the driveway, he hid behind the shed. She found him, then stuck a big needle in his hip. He got all woozy-feeling, jumped up on a bench and promptly fell off. By the time he woke up later on a blanket in the driveway, he had gotten seven shots, five deep skin biopsies, and ten stitches. His belly and three of his legs had been shaved, and he had been scrubbed all over with a foul-smelling yellow goop which was air-drying in fluorescent crusts on his fur. He awoke wet, sticky, sore and hung-over. This was not the day he wanted.

We tried - really - though as anyone who's ever used lyme sulfer dip on an animal knows - you truly have to love your pets to be anywhere near them once it's applied. Although it is renowned for its anti-bacterial, anti-fungal and anti-parasitic qualities, the odor is ferocious and the neon yellow stains clothing and skin permanently.

So now we wait. Possibly the antibiotic and steroid and Vitamin B6 injections will help, and a goat pathologist in another state will microscopically examine his tissue samples. At least for now, the cone is off. For Elliot, that alone is a voyage to the Bunny Planet. A few extra treats and a big hug from Emily help too. She's not that worried about turning yellow - after all, her hands are already stained from the blukote spray we use on his sores. Yellow, blue - maybe she'll just turn green after this!

Read My Lips!

This weekend my daughters and I attended one of our favorite events - the annual book sale at our local library. With hundreds of books for less than a dollar each, we found several treasures. Megan's best deal was a hardback fashion manual claiming to contain "100 little-known, free beauty tips," while Emily found the complete works of Ms. Dickinson, her favorite poet who shares her name. Back home, I left them devouring their books while I went out to check on the goats.

Elliot ambled up beside me, rubbing his face briskly against my leg. Along with his other skin ailments, he has a fungus-like rash around his mouth, and he seems to find relief from the itching by rubbing it against the rough denim of our jeans. (Yes, it does leave a bit of a slimy residue, but how can we deny Ellie that small measure of comfort?)

Inside, I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands (always a good idea after close personal contact with the goats these days) - but what on earth?? Megan stood in front of the mirror, vigorously rubbing a dry washcloth back and forth across her mouth!  Horrors - could Ellie's itchy fungus-face be contagious to humans?

"Megan," I gasped, "What's wrong? Why are you doing that?"

She stopped rubbing and gave me one of those squinty-eyed teenager looks. "Duh, Mom, I'm exfoliating my lips, of course." She nodded toward the open page of her new beauty book.

Well, it does clear up one mystery - now I know how Ellie got to be such a beautiful goat!

Hot Buckets

Another photo from the past - the pre-cone days, the phase when the goats regularly consumed cardboard boxes (no idea why Ellie is wearing this one) and when they ate hay from two red buckets, instead of the larger tubs we use now. Ellie used to stuff his face down to the bottom of the bucket, where the tastiest hay apparently went, but he kept getting the metal handle stuck on his head, so we stopped using the buckets for hay.

The buckets have a new use now - a handy replacement for the teapot. The boys could  slurp down all the hot water from the teapot in a minute - we needed a larger container for steaming hot water - something like the bucket, and somehow it became "hot bucket" - as in "Come back to your pen, you stupid goats - Apples! Sunflower seeds! Hot bucket!"

And then we spontaneously break out into the "hot bucket" jingle, adapted from the television commercial for the pocket-shaped frozen/microwaveable sandwiches ("hot pockets"). It wasn't even that funny the first fifty or so times, but still we sing...Sometimes you have to find the humor anywhere you can.