Hot Bowl, please!

The flooding of the goat shed was actually my fault - a tactical error brought on by good intentions...

When my daughters were about a year old, my sister accused me of being obsessed with their hydration status, noting how I fretted about their fluid intake and constantly offered them sippy cups and little juice pouches. As teenagers, they easily regulate their own fluids, but my long-dormant nurse instincts now have other critters to monitor.

Two key fact about goats. First,adequate water intake is critical for wethers (neutered males) because of their tendency toward urinary blockages. Second, goats detest cold beverages, preferring to drink only water warmer than 60 degrees F. (As my daughter Megan says, "I read that on the internet, so it must be true!") Over the winter we regularly treated our goats to "Hot Bowl," which used to be a teapot but is now a gallon milk jug of steaming hot water from the bathtub tap poured into their favorite metal bowl. Additionally we discovered that a splash of apple cider vinegar made this heated treat nearly irresistible, and I took pride in every bowl they drank. It's something like the satisfaction a mother feels when her child eats broccoli...

With the advent of spring weather, I have encouraged Emerson and Ellie to accept their water simply warmed by the sun, but they are resistant to this change, often circling the bowl with sniffs of disdain. We can't drink this tepid stuff! Where's the steam rising off the bowl? Unacceptable! Periodically they gag down a tiny sip to quench their parched throats, sometimes even lifting their tails over the bowl so I am forced to refill it with clean (and hopefully warmer) water. And don't forget the vinegar this time, human!

Friday was cool and rainy, and the goats were stuck in their shed for most of the day. I noticed that the water bucket was still full after several hours and was of course concerned about dehydration. Poor goaties - when they saw me coming with the steaming hot water jug, they leapt up in delight, slurping the bowl dry in less than a minute before looking at me expectantly. More? I ran back inside to refill it, not once but three more times as they gleefully guzzled the hot water. Four entire gallons those thirsty goats drank, before I kissed them goodnight and headed in to bed myself, relieved that I had rehydrated them and likely averted a health catastrophe. I was tempted to warm myself up with a cup of tea, but decided against it to avoid a middle-of-the-night call to the bathroom. Only as I was drifting off to sleep did I wonder what would happen to those four gallons of water filling two goat bladders...Was it sort of like giving your potty-training toddler a super-sized juice cup right before bed?

Much worse, actually. Fortunately they could cling to the hay rack to stay afloat, though it took me all morning to mop out the shed. From now on we have a one-bowl limit at bedtime...

Not the Meatloaf

I pulled into the driveway late afternoon, after a grueling day of re-certification testing at work. Mentally exhausted and stressed from fighting through horrendous traffic and road construction, all I wanted was a bowl of ice cream and a few minutes on the couch before I thought about cooking dinner. My two daughters greeted me on the sidewalk, an unexpected but pleasant surprise. (I didn't realize how much they missed me!)

"Mom, we have two things to tell you..."  Trust me when I say this is never good to hear from a teenager.

Apparently Emerson had somehow gotten into the house earlier, squeezing himself through the back door left open "just a crack." The girls quickly reassured me that they were cleaning up the damage, and hadn't I always said I didn't like that blue armchair anyway? It's almost like the goat did us a favor, shredding up those cushions...

At my icy stare, they retreated, still blocking my way to the front door as I asked, "And the second thing you have to tell me?"

"We made supper! It's almost ready."

It was like heaven's angels erupted in song around me - my wonderful children, all is forgiven! For a night off from the detested chore of cooking, I'd let Emerson eat an entire couch. I hugged the girls and opened the front door to a savory aroma which effectively covered any lingering goat scent...mmmmm! Peeking in the oven I spied sizzling potatoes and a lovely meatloaf. Even my husband (who moans that I cook too much chicken and fish and not enough red meat) would be happy tonight. Maybe the girls would let me take the credit...

Emily served everyone a plate and Mike eagerly took his first bite, just as Megan asked, "So, Dad, how do you like the lentil loaf?"

I think the events which followed are best summed up like this - while the healthful "lentil loaf" (a close cousin to tofu, in my mind) may look and smell like meatloaf, it has a taste all of its own. Or, as Mike growled while he scraped it into the sink, "You know what you should add to make this edible? How about meat?"

Actually, I was thinking bacon...

I wonder if goats like lentils?

Pods!!

Last fall we discovered that the goats' most favorite crunchy snack was these long brown seed pods from our honey locust trees. Since they quickly devoured all the pods from our own two trees, this led to a hunt all over town for similar trees so we could stock up on winter treats. Emily and I hit the jackpot one November day at a local park and harvested enough pods to fill the entire trunk of my car, and last week a friend gifted us with two more large trash bags of pods which had survived the winter covered in snow. The goats were ecstatic, but now we have a storage problem as the garden shed is already full and the pungent odor of the pods makes me reluctant to leave them in the garage.

Yesterday, driving down the road, we spied the solution - a portable container apparently designed just for goat-owners, capable of holding all the stinky treats you'll ever need. Now I just have to convince my husband that one of these will look perfect in our driveway...