A Merry Goat Christmas

                                          A very merry Christmas...from our goats to yours!

(All I really wanted for Christmas was to get them both in the same photo...maybe next year, Mom!)

Santa Came Early This Year

If the answer is "at least five," can you guess the question?

How about, "What is the number of free trees you can stuff in the back of a minivan, three days before Christmas?"

Restless after a morning of baking and decorating, Emily and I had gone out for some last-minute shopping when we drove by a parking lot with a large sign - FREE TREES!! Knowing how the goats savor evergreens as a crunchy snack (though they usually have to wait until after the holidays), we folded down the middle seats and dragged these into the van, ignoring both the rain and many odd looks from shoppers in the adjacent grocery store. (Don't worry, there are still plenty of trees left, although if I find an excuse to run errands in the van tomorrow...)  

We couldn't wait to show Emerson and Elliot their pre-Christmas bonanza, but goats are fickle creatures. Last January they devoured every castoff tree I could find, but apparently their tiny brains cannot retain memories that long. Curious, they sniffed a bit, rubbed their horn-scurs on the bark, then turned wistfully toward the soybean field. Nice trees, humans, not sure why you got so many, but now can we go for a walk?

                                                          Anyone need a free tree?

Who's the Smart One Now?

First of all, if you have not seen the recent popular film Ex Machina, then this post is not for you. Scroll back through the archived posts and find another one to make you laugh...This one is mostly for my daughters, who recommended the movie and are now responsible for the terror that grips me every time I go outside...

Thanks, girls. I can't feel safe anymore. Sure, it was interesting, perhaps plausible, even - that programmers might someday create Artificial Intelligence (A.I.) with consciousness and the ability to pass the Turing Test. Yet this is what gives me pause - how do we know the goats aren't A.I.? Am I imagining that silvery glint in Emerson's eye, and the way they hang at the gate - do they see me as merely a means to escape their confinement, manipulating me like robotic Ava used young Caleb?? If I peeled back a flap of black fur...

I always thought it was cute, how Emerson plays a little game of sticking his nose in my coat pocket to pull out my gloves - but what if he's really searching for a key card???  And, although sweet Elliot seems a bit brainless (hence the nickname "Stupidhead"), it could just be an act...

What is this world coming to, when you can't even trust your goats?!

So, while the ultimate nightmare might be this - being locked up with a bunch of robotic goats (well, any goats, actually...) a helicopter ride away from the nearest neighbor, there would be a few advantages to being more secluded, as I learned this morning when I went out to feed the goats. I should be used to this, but honestly, there were mounds of goat poop everywhere - the driveway, the picnic table, the feeding shed - and I just started shrieking at them.

"Where did all this poop come from?? Who did this?? Do you stupidheads really think I want to see all this poop so early in the morning?? Who's going to clean it up?? I'm so sick of all this poop!!"

Right. Tomorrow morning, before I start yelling at them, I'll remember to check that none of the neighbors are walking by along the road...

What are you staring at? Just keep walking, mister...

A Goat (takeout) Thanksgiving

True confessions - one year I served Chinese takeout to my family for Thanksgiving. Not even fresh, but bought-the-day-before, microwaved and dished out on Styrofoam plates. It was a bad year. We had all been sick with a voracious respiratory illness, my kids (toddlers) were grumpy and had just given up afternoon naps, and there was a mound of dirty laundry in the basement bigger than my dining room table. The turkey never made it out of the freezer.

So the question remains - what is more important for a holiday - the family togetherness, or the food? Or a combination, showing our dedication to those we love by the hours of meal preparation?

the food! the food! the food! Yes, goats, I hear you. And since the sun is finally shining after several dreary days of rain, my to-do list somehow includes gathering all of Emerson and Elliot's favorite treats.

First, stop at church to pick up a bucket of orange peels our youth pastor had the kids save from snack-time at a recent after-school event. Most Sundays I find a few smaller bags in my mailbox as well, gifts from friends who know how the goats love dried citrus rinds.  I thought of sponsoring a "Bring Your Compost to Church" day...

Next, make a trip to the local park to gather locust pods from around the playground area - the goal is to collect (with the help of a wonderful friend) at least 6-8 full garbage bags to last us through the winter. For the promise of "Pods!" my goats will do almost anything.

Last, hike to the field behind our house and glean stalks of soybeans. Yes, this is the same field where last year I narrowly escaped being run over by a huge combine tractor, warned away just in time by my panicked goats. Don't let the monster crush her, Ellie! She's our main food source! We discovered on Thanksgiving Day that the goats absolutely love soybeans, now conveniently available as gleanings from the recently-harvested field.

                                                         Happy Holidays, goatboys!

How to Oil a Goat

Sunshine streamed in my window this morning as the weatherman forecast a rare, balmy November day. Highs in the 70s, not a cloud in the sky...the kind of day that calls for a picnic, a walk in the woods, a lazy afternoon in a hammock. I crumpled up my planned to-do list of indoor chores and grabbed a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

Today would be the perfect day to oil my goat.

Those who know us may recall that Elliot has, for the past three years, been intermittently plagued by a tenacious and horrific skin condition which causes such intense itching that he bites and scratches open sores all over his body. Resistant to pharmacological treatments (steroids, antibiotics, parasectisides, baths, dips, sprays, shots...), this scourge is markedly worse in cold weather. Last winter our veterinarian actually shaved his fur to keep the wounds clean, so Elliot spent the chilliest months indoors and wearing a fancy coat for warmth.

Image my delight last April when the last snow melted under blazing sun and suddenly Elliot was better, his coat silky and pristine all summer. Now imagine my horror a few weeks ago when October brought autumn's first frost and the next morning Ellie started itching and biting himself again. Even with recent warmer days, the nights are cool and his coat is developing the crusted and ragged appearance that leaves me counting in desperation, how many days until spring?

After a frantic call to my sister (whose four goats suffer afflictions even more bizarre than mine), we came up with a new treatment plan. Under the assumption that winter chills aggravate Elliot's dry, flaky skin, we decided he needs moisturizer. Problem - how do you coat a 90-pound animal in soothing hand cream? How do you work it through the fur in a timely, safe and affordable manner? What could I use that didn't cost eight dollars for a tiny tube?

Aha. Oil. Baby oil? Too scented. Olive oil? Too expensive. What's in the cabinet?

And that's why Elliot is now wearing an entire bottle of mineral oil, poured over and massaged into his skin until he became a shiny, drippy mess. (This is a "before" photo, by the way. My hands were way too slimy for the camera after.)

I know, Ellie - winter is coming. Pray it is a short one!

Why Goats Hate Halloween

                                                                 Any questions?

Oh, Yoga Pants...

Ever have a day like this?

Invigorated by a crisp autumn morning, I decided to attempt some new yoga poses in the privacy of my lower driveway, behind the garage. Eyes closed and embracing the meditation, I startled to hear a door slam, and emerging from his truck a mere ten feet from my spandex-clad and enfolded limbs, was my plumber, here totally unexpectedly to complete some work he started several weeks ago.

Since his work is in the goat yard, I grabbed the leashes and heaved the goats toward their other fenced area, a journey they generally fight each tortuous step. Suddenly, Emerson bolted, like a four-legged Flash hurtling me at breakneck speed across the field as I fought to both stay upright and keep hold of his leash. Was this some diabolical revenge because I refused to let him enter our local Goat Races?? Somehow I finally got him through the gate, then went back for Elliot, then finally, gasping, back to the plumber, who had been leaning against his truck and chewing on a toothpick as the spectacular race unfolded. He squinted at me.

"Do you breed goats for profit, or the milk?" he asked. "What I mean is, what's the purpose of them?"

Oh, some questions are not meant to be answered, but I didn't hesitate. (Have you never shouted at your plumber?)

"The entertainment value isn't enough??!! Here you are on a routine septic tank repair call, and you get to watch a middle-aged woman in yoga pants do the hundred-yard-dash with a lunatic goat? Isn't that worth something? (Maybe even a discount on the bill...)"

Truly I still don't know if I actually snapped this reply aloud or just thought it to myself...I guess I'll know when I see the final invoice.

Leaving him to his work in the yard and the basement, I limped to the kitchen to console myself with a post-workout fruit smoothie. Nothing beats fresh juicy peaches...Only after I had peeled and sliced half a dozen of them, their sticky nectar oozing through my fingers, did I realize - all my water had been shut off.

Maybe the goats will lick my fingers for me...

Concrete 9-1-1

The day after we finished the air conditioning work, a routine septic tank inspection revealed that the outlet baffle (something I never knew existed, and more critical than the inlet baffle) in our underground concrete tank had completely deteriorated. Trust me, this is a bad thing. (If you really want to understand exactly what happens when your flush the toilet, I can now explain the process with the help of color-coded diagrams provided by the sewage hauler - though my recommendation would be - don't ask!)

Suddenly we needed to hire a septic-specialist as well as a backhoe operator to unearth the 900 gallon concrete tank, buried four feet underground and located inconveniently right in front of the goat shed. (Really poor planning when someone built this house fifty years ago!!) What on earth would I do with Emerson and Elliot for a week while their yard was being excavated? They graciously offered to move into the bedrooms of my away-at-college daughters, but my husband corralled them with a temporary boundary just outside the shed door, eliminating more than half of their usual space and causing them intense distress. What happened to our world?? Why does it end here??

For my husband, the greatest challenge was to dismantle a section of the yard fence which he had built nineteen years ago. I watched as he dug and heaved at a four-foot high support post that just wouldn't move, even when he wrapped it in chains hooked to the tractor. Only after the tractor nearly bucked him off did he admit defeat.

"I guess that post isn't coming out," he admitted. "I just remembered I set each post in concrete two feet below ground when I built this."

Well, that makes sense. After all, we did design the fence to contain our knee-high toddler twins nearly two decades ago. At least I never had to worry that I'd run inside to refill their juice cups and return to find they'd yanked out the fence posts and crawled into the road!

The project is nearly complete, we can once again flush and shower, and the goats have their yard back. New posts are securely set right next to the old ones, which got sawed off at ground level. Somehow this required an eighty pound bag of concrete, but I have learned to just look the other way. Apparently you can never use too much concrete...

Here's why I'm in a panic now. Yesterday Emerson got into the trash pile, and when I grabbed him I saw what he was so voraciously devouring - the bag of leftover dry concrete powder, which looks very similar to the mineral mix he loves.

"Don't worry," my husband assured me. "It would only harden if you mixed it with water."

Great - considering he just drank an entire bowl of warm vinegar water!! 

Suddenly the septic tank blockage doesn't seem so bad. Wait and see...

How to Keep Your Appliances (and Repairmen) Safe From Goats

This month's advice - when planning where your new pet goats will be housed, try to avoid areas containing poisonous shrubbery, air-conditioning units, and the access port to your septic tank. My goats live in a yard with all three. This blog is Part 1 of the story...

Until last month, a makeshift section of bargain fencing adequately separated Em and Ellie from our toxic rhododendron bush as well as the central air compressor. All was well until Elliot decided to charge through the fence while a technician was servicing the AC unit. Every job has occupational hazards, but I am certain this was the first time the technician was attacked by an amorous goat while bending over to replace a wire...

Mortified, I asked my husband to reinforce the fence to prevent further incidents. Perhaps we could use that pile of scrap wood behind the shed...and only as we were suddenly pushing not one, but two giant carts around the home improvement warehouse did I remember that my husband does no project in a small way.

Rhododendron, compressor, Mr. AC Technician - you are all safe now. Behold, the new "Air Conditioner Stockade." (Don't tell my husband I said that. We'll have the project materials paid off in a few easy payments...) As long as the goats don't crack the nine-digit code for the lock...

                                          Just try it, Elliot - this time you've met your match!

If You Give a Goat a Melon...

Knowing how my husband enjoys a horticultural challenge, a friend gave us several packets of seeds sent from her mother in California, where drought and watering restrictions have made gardening impractical. Since the clear plastic bags were labelled only in Chinese, we simply planted, fertilized, and waited to see what grew. From the nine varieties of seeds, three plants emerged - some bumpy white gourds, a spicy lettuce, and the largest melons we had ever seen. The melon plant quickly took over the entire garden, its vines aggressively curling out into the yard and over a wall as the fruit grew more and more enormous. I was reminded of Roald Dahl's classic "giant peach" and somewhat fearful of waking to find my house surrounded by vicious melons... When the most mammoth of them suddenly changed color and took on a chalky coating, I begged my husband to pick it before it became too heavy to lift.

Apparently similar to zucchini and meant for cooking, the melon fought us tenaciously, gripping my sharpest knife in its tough flesh and leaving my hands raw from contact with its spiky coating. I managed to hack apart some chunks to add to a simmering stew, but quickly realized this beast (with six others still growing outside) was more than I could handle. Where could I turn for help?

Fortunately, goats love Chinese cooking melons and had it gnawed down to a paper-thin rind within two days. I think I need to save some seeds and plant these again next year!

Lessons from the Goat Yard

My goats have enjoyed a rather uneventful summer. Elliot's skin pathology is, if not gone, at least dormant. The past few months have heralded only one escape (more frightening for Ellie than myself, I think, when I spotted him wandering along the road, and still no idea how he got out) and one incident of inappropriate contact with the air-conditioning technician (Emerson, and never, ever bend over in front of a goat unless you are absolutely certain the hastily-erected temporary fence will hold against his weight!) Relieved by the respite from constant goat drama, I am grateful for the lessons my goats have taught me these past three years. Take flexibility, for instance...

Several weeks ago my daughter and I were preparing a meal she had requested - herb-encrusted chicken on a bed of risotto and sauteed kale - when her phone made its peculiar chirping sound. Her eyes lit up as she read the text.

"Awesome! I've just been invited to a birthday party!"

Absently I drizzled wine over the sizzling chicken. "That's nice. What's the date?"

"Well, tonight. Six o'clock, actually." She already had her apron off, thrusting the risotto bowl at me, mid-mix. "Here, I need to get changed."

Quite a bit more wine splashed from the bottle as I spun toward the wall clock, sputtering. "Tonight?? Like, twenty-two minutes from now, that six o'clock? What about dinner?"

"Oh, it's my phone's fault. She actually texted me fourteen minutes ago; it just took forever to go through. And don't worry about dinner - it's a cookout, so I'll eat there."

Staring at a haystack of kale waiting its turn in the pan, I barely caught her voice from down the hall. "Oh, and I'll need a gift - maybe something you have hidden away, that you bought me for Christmas? Can you wrap it quick? I need to leave in five."

It's a lucky thing the goats like kale! Flexibility...This, however, was mere preparation for the following week when my other daughter arrived home from her summer camp job, dumping three months worth of luggage and laundry in the living room.  "I hope you don't mind," she announced, "but I've invited twenty-four people here for lunch tomorrow."

Maybe it was the dead silence, or my catatonic stare as she peered into the refrigerator..."Mom? Maybe we should go to the grocery store."

Oh, yeah. Either that, or we'll have to roast a goat...

In Search of the Silver Pellet

I am plagued by the question, can goats digest duct tape? -  but really it all started with Camp-Out Night. Trying to increase their appreciation for free-grazing as well as decrease the mess in the driveway, I recently left them overnight in their weedy fenced field.

Rats, Ellie, she dragged us into this prison again! Let's refuse to graze and just cry at the gate until she lets us out. I won't eat any weeds if you don't.

Lest you think me cruel, it was a warm, dry evening. How was I to know the township would set off all those frightening fireworks late in the night?

So traumatized was Emerson from this harrowing experience, the next morning during breakfast he lunged against the screen door in an attempt to be even closer to me. Don't ever make me sleep so far away from you again, Mommy!

No screen door is a match for eighty pounds of hooves and horns, and when flies began pouring in through the gaping, goat-shaped opening, generous portions of shiny silver duct tape seemed the obvious panacea, at least until my husband could make the necessary repairs that evening.

What I had not considered was that Mike's volleyball game would take priority over screen repair, and that goats relish the taste of duct tape even more than their new favorite snack (cherry tomatoes). The following morning as I stumbled for the coffee pot, I had two simultaneous thoughts: How did all these flies get in, and what is Elliot chewing on so vigorously? Then, seconds later, Hey, who took all the duct tape off the screen door? Caffeine kicked in at that moment, and as I rushed outside to pry open Ellie's mouth and retrieve the giant sticky glob, he gave a tremendous gulp and down it went, some four yards of the most indestructible substance on the planet.

Three days later, I still hover between panic and mild concern, imagining the monstrous blockage. Where could the stuff be right now? I feel for suspicious lumps; I watch him constantly. He's eating and drinking, so things are going in, and things are definitely coming out of him. He excretes mounds of raisin-like pellets all over the yard, same as always, but I'm still waiting for the pile that spills out glowing silver and slightly sticky. Where is the darn stuff?? Is it festering in his third stomach, or could he really have transformed that much duct tape into little brown pellets so effortlessly?

Maybe I have magic goats!

Beware the Howlers...

Recently we were privileged to host several international visitors in our home, and as always the goats were delighted to meet new people. Most of our guests had some experience with goats, although not in the "useless, money-sucking pet" category which best describes Emerson and Elliot. Stroking Ellie's back, one woman confided that she had received a goat for her sixteenth birthday, many years ago.

"What a wonderful gift!" I beamed. "How long did you have your goat?"

"Oh, about three days," she answered, "until we ate him at my party."

Cover your ears, goatboys!!

Bizarre as goats may be, however, they are far from the strangest creatures we could have chosen. Sipping coffee on the deck one morning as we watched the goats chase each other, one of our guests turned to me. "And you also raise howler monkeys?"

"What??" I sputtered, spewing coffee on the railing. "Howler monkeys? Of course not! Why would you even think that?" (Like goats aren't enough insanity, perish the thought that we might want our trees inhabited by gangs of four-foot long swinging monkeys who apparently drop fruit on people's heads...Plus, aren't they only found in South America?)

"I've heard them here several times," he insisted. "It's a very distinctive sound."

Well, yes, as I do recall from a grade-school science project, the loud gutteral cry of the Howlers can travel for miles - "Maybe you're hearing the turkeys across the field?"

No, he said, definitely Howlers. His wife agreed, having recognized their call numerous times overnight. Alarmed, I looked at their three children, who all nodded solemnly. Howlers. After all, this family lives in Mexico; they must know...my mind raced.

How did the monkeys get here? Aren't they found only in rain forests? Who do I call for a howler monkey infestation? Are they harmful to goats?


"There!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Did you hear that?" Eagerly his family concurred, but I had missed it. Frustrated, I asked them to listen again, explaining that I had been distracted by the whining sound of a car driving over the rusted metal bridge at the edge of our property. Only when they again identified the monkey's cry just as another car passed did we realize, this decrepit bridge, already slated for replacement, mimics exactly the call of an indigenous jungle monkey. All these years of living here, and I never knew. The new bridge will be concrete, wider and safer, but suddenly I feel a little sad...

Oh well, at least I still have my goats...

Signs of the Times?

Imagine my surprise to see this when I went out to feed the goats yesterday - Really, boys?? Am I rattling the hay tub too much and disturbing your naps? (Yes, I did slam the gate shut extra loudly just to spite them, ungrateful animals...)

As it turns out, I didn't realize my husband was doing some free-lance sign repair for a local church, and this had been dropped off earlier for him to paint. Still...

Why Goats Don't Wear Flip Flops

If there were a scale to measure quantitative danger levels of various pets, goats would fall somewhere in the middle, midway between kittens and venomous snakes. Are you looking for a companion more adventurous than a goldfish, but are not yet ready to adopt a poison dart frog? A goat is the ideal pet for you! Most goat-related injuries are easily treated with a standard first-aid kit, minor in comparison to a frightening peril highlighted this week by a segment on my favorite morning show.

What now?, you may be wondering. Carbon monoxide? Speeding trains? Exploding airbags? No - this is a more insidious hazard, an everyday object present in nearly every American home and a far greater risk than goats - the common flip flop.

I know, you are thinking - how can this be? I wear them every day! And yet, the numbers do not lie - fully 25,000 people each year visit emergency rooms for flip flop-related injuries! Unfortunately I could not locate similar statistics for goats, but surely it is much lower...

I know, I know...it makes no sense. Flip flops, while certainly lacking in arch support, cannot butt you, bite you, or gore you with their horns. Foam footwear is unlikely to hurtle down the hill and knock you flat, and the care of flip flops does not require straining to lift heavy hay bales, wielding razor-sharp hoof trimmers or handling toxic parasectisides. Additionally, flip flops can hardly send their owners into financial ruin or mental breakdown - and yet...

Don't take chances - trade in your flip flops for goats. You can never be too careful when it comes to the safety of your family.

Front Yard Bliss

Elliot is sweet, gentle, and simple. He lacks his brother's sleek coat and devious cunning, but for all his flaws you cannot help but love him. As life goes, Elliot has fair reason to complain. A chronic skin ailment causes him intense, flesh-biting itching; he endures painful treatments and the humiliation of shorn fur. His brother, the only other goat in his world, is a nasty bully determined to deny Elliot access to hay, weeds and even human affection. Plus, sometimes it rains...

Even a few raindrops send Ellie into his Oz-like "Wicked Witch of the West" impersonation - I'm melting! I'm melting!! - and he runs for shelter with his head tucked all the way to his chest. (If I can't see the rain, it can't get me?) 

When dark clouds threatened yesterday, I rushed outside to bring the goats from their remote fenced field back to their shed. Emerson ran directly in and was under roof before the storm began, but Elliot became confused by the first raindrops and took off in the opposite direction in his peculiar "rain gait" with his head bent and eyes closed. Apparently mistaking my husband's large storage shed for his own safe haven, he flung himself repeatedly against the closed door - Why am I still getting wet? Oh, help me, help me! Let me in!

Now soaked myself as the storm intensified, I chased after him and attempted to shove him back toward the house, but an eighty-pound soggy goat is not easy to move and all I accomplished was to send him off in again the wrong direction, toward the road. Completely disoriented, he suddenly skidded, stopped, and whipped his head around - Oh, look where I am! I'm in the front yard!! (Understand, the front yard, due to traffic proximity and ornamental shrubbery, is one place the goats are never, ever allowed. They know this well.) With no concern for the pelting rain, he flung himself up in the air with a frisky sideways kick, jumping in great circles and apparently celebrating with a jubilant dance...I'm in the front yard and I even got here first and this makes me so happy!!

Fortunately the front yard has a never-used gate into the goat pen, so when I caught up to my sopping-wet, crazy-dancing Ellie, I coaxed him over - Oh look, Emerson! I'm even going through that gate we're not allowed to use! Life is so good! - and then everyone was where they needed to be and I went to find some dry clothes. It may not have improved Ellie's overall situation, but I hope the memory of that brief joyful experience got him through the rest of the torrential storm.

I know several people facing difficult situations right now - financial strain, insurmountable illness, broken relationships, heart-rending loss. Along with the strength and healing I pray them every day, let me add this - may there also be an occasional moment of "front-yard bliss," even one small happy thing, just to brighten each difficult day and help ride out life's storms.

Happy Birthday Wishes

Sometimes the goats cooperate. Other times it takes a pound of orange chips dumped on the deck to distract them from the fact that they're wearing party hats. Either way,  if you're our goat-friendly favorite aunt in Alabama, this one's for you!

(Shortly after this photo was taken, Emerson ate the sign.)

Happy birthday, Aunt Robin! We miss you!

Ten Random Things Everyone Should Know About Goats

Nothing is more adorable and personable than a baby goat. (Years later, when you are sprawled on the driveway after being kicked in the head while scrubbing parasitic fungus off your goat's rump, you will remember why you ever got goats in the first place...)

If you bottle-feed a goat until he is nearly two years old, you will create a bond so intense that this goat will suffer everlasting separation anxiety whenever you leave him. He will even stand outside your open bedroom window on hot summer nights, crying for you whenever he hears you roll over.

Goats produce four times their body weight in poop every day. This is a fact. Also, excreted goat pellets are of the exact shape and size to wedge themselves tightly between the boards of your deck and the grooves of your sneakers...

Contrary to the belief of one high school student we know, goats are a distinct species. (Even living in the city is no excuse for asking, "What is a goat anyway? Is that just a male sheep?" ...though to be fair, I am hopelessly lost on any metropolitan subway system.)

If you are going to spend a small fortune in money and time fencing a field for your goats to graze, do not fence the one area on your property where there is absolutely no shade, not any at all. Not even if your husband insists on that spot because it will not disrupt his mowing pattern. Not unless you like baked goat.

Goats are frightened of many things - the dark, raindrops, small cats and soccer balls. Friends ask why we have soccer balls in every corner of the garden, unaware that this is a perfect goat barrier, especially when you find cheap sports equipment at yard sales. The mere threat of even a gentle toss keeps both my goats wary of the tomato plants.

Goats have no upper front teeth - just a hard gum area. Don't be deceived - it still hurts when they bite, and if you are foolish enough to contact the razor-sharp back teeth, you'll risk losing a finger.

Your goat may look stupid, but that is just to disguise the reality that he is smarter and trickier than you. Never turn your back.

Even despite the ruckus, the mess, the parasites, the financial drain, the upheaval of the life you once knew and your gradual descent into insanity, it is possible to love a goat. There is absolutely no logical reason for this, but it happens.

Oh, and nine is the new ten. (Just in case you were counting.)

A Day in the Life of...With Goats

First they knocked over the hay tub. Then, fighting over their breakfast (Emerson always wants both bowls), they spilled grain and seed mix all over the deck. This apparently set a pattern, because - Look, brother, here she comes with our water bowl - let's get her! - and as Emerson crashed through the screen door in excitement, Elliot leaped onto a bench and lunged for the bowl, knocking off my glasses as water flew everywhere.

Three years ago I would have never have thrown things and stomped and shrieked like this, but I am a different person now, and the words spit effortlessly: "I HATE YOU BOTH!! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!! I HATE YOU WITH...WITH...WITH A THOUSAND HATES!!"

That's when I heard a gasp. Now, goats emit many unusual sounds, but I have never actually heard a goat gasp, and why are they both suddenly doing their best sweet-and-innocent imitation? Warily I turned around - oh, hi Megan...

Staring at the ranting and disheveled apparition who only vaguely resembled her mother, she was clearly disapproving. "A bit harsh, don't you think, Mom? Really? A thousand hates?"

Soaking wet, scented in eau de vinegar and against the background of the wreckage of our deck, I squinted at her through my now-crooked bifocals. "What? You think I should have said nine-hundred ninety nine?"

Ha! I knew she'd have no response if I used a math problem.

Come on, goat boys. Ellie still needs a betadine bath and I haven't cleaned out the shed yet...maybe Mommy can find you some dandelions to munch while I sweep. Life with goats...

Strawberry Fields...for Emerson

This story has two parts - my goats, and my husband. Somehow they will merge into one explanation of why, for many goat-owners (as well as musical spellers), "Life is pandemonium." (It's fine if you don't get the reference. Go see "The Putnam County Spelling Bee" if you ever have a chance.)

First, the goats. Finicky to a fault, they do have favorites. Along with orange peels and sunflower seeds, they eagerly devour thorny wild roses, cabbage and kale leaves, poison ivy...and strawberry plants. Oddly, they disdain fresh strawberries, but find the leaves a succulent delicacy, a fact I discovered last summer when they once got loose in the garden.

Now, the husband. Master Gardener, Grower-of-Award-Winning-Produce, Weeder Extraordinaire. This is the man who measures out the green bean rows with a chalk line, who sees each weed as a personal affront, who as a small child apparently had to work in his family's garden ten hours each morning before he could swim in the neighbor's pond after lunch. (Yes, he is descended from those same great-grandparents who had to walk twenty miles barefoot to school in the winter, uphill each way.) His garden is flawlessly organized, immaculately maintained, and generously fertilized (this year with six truckloads of horse and cow manure, carefully measured and blended). Tended with meticulous care, the plants flourish - gorgeous tomatoes, squash, kohlrabi, beets - all but the strawberries, which inexplicably yield only a paltry few small berries. My husband, frustrated by their rambling nature, ferociously digs them up every year and replants them in straight rows, to no avail.

Now, the goats. Every morning I walk them from their shed by our house to a fenced weedy field to graze for the day. Creatures of habit, they always follow the same trail - past the wooden bench, avoid the scary tire swing, stop to pee. Jump on the low stone wall and walk to the end, run to the field, get a treat. Same routine, same path, every day. In the afternoon, reverse direction.

Now the husband. A few weeks ago, I saw him pushing a wheelbarrow from the garden up the hill toward the low stone wall (yes, where the goats walk every day, twice). He informed me that he was replanting all the strawberries along the stones, directly along the route I have worked so hard to train the goats to follow. His reply to my obvious question?

"Well, you'll just have to train them not to eat the plants, won't you?"

Yeah, and maybe I'll keep a bowl of dark chocolates on the coffee table and see how many times I can walk past them. Good luck with that...Elliot is actually rather distractable (kinder than calling him stupid), but wily Emerson discovered the plants right away and now makes a nasty game of trying to knock me over to leap into the berry patch whenever we go by. I'm not sure what's worse - the devastation to the plants or my bruises.

So if anyone has extra strawberries this year, I'll trade for fifty pounds of jalapeno peppers, or a twenty pound squash...or two very obedient goats  (hey, I always try!)

When is expired food too old to eat?

After helping Grandpa with a long-overdue cleanout of his food pantry, I was inspired to search the dark corners of my own cabinets, and soon the counter was covered with boxes of expired food items. Here is the quandary - for "non-perishable" edibles, how far past the label date can you safely consume them? We decided to sort into two piles - "throw away" and "eat soon."

Shoestring beets, 2010 - hmmm...do they always look that scary? Trash. Kidney beans four years past date - surely beans keep forever. Eat soon. I opened a box of dried plums, freshest by Sept. 2003 - let me tell you, there are rocks in my driveway fresher than those nuggets! We discarded a jar of pickle relish (2009) with a grayish-green hue, dried cranberries sporting a suspicious fuzz, and creamed corn more brownish than yellow. Always looking to shave a few dollars off my grocery bill, this process became increasingly painful for me, especially when my husband pushed a canister of soup crackers toward the discard pile without even opening the lid. 

"You didn't even check them!" I shrieked, snatching them back. "I might make soup tomorrow!"

Silently he pointed at the plastic top - BEST BY AUG 2001. Clutching the cylinder, I struggled for an intelligent response. Could we really eat something that expired the year my daughters (now in college) started kindergarten? Even in the NEW! Stay Fresh Canister?  But then I knew...

"The goats can eat them!!"

Here's the truth. While it is clearly a myth that goats will eat anything, there are an awful lot of really awful things they do eat. Look, brother, I found this perfectly good grapefruit rind in the compost pile! The locust pods they crave emit the pungent odor of turpentine...Emerson loves to raid the recycling bin on trash day, and last week we had a ferocious battle when he found a discarded and stained fast food bag in the woods and was determined to eat it. Not much is too foul for a goat.

That evening I crammed a dozen or so of the fancy "Mandlen" crackers into my coat pocket, along with the usual ration of dried orange peels. Elliot sniffed and turned away from my hand, but Emerson chomped down a handful of treats - then gagged and regurgitated a slimy cracker back at my feet. After some revolting choking sounds, out retched a wad of orange peels as well. He gulped at least a quart of water, scowled at me, and fled into the darkness of the yard. 

Further inspection of the container revealed that the primary ingredient in the offensive crackers was "whole eggs" - I concede that fourteen years just might be a bit too long...and now we know the answer to the question in the title of this blog. When is expired food too old to eat?

When even the goats won't eat it. (Hey, maybe I can hire them out as food tasters!)

Speed Scrabble - Goat Style

I saw a news broadcast recently about how classic board games are making a comeback - who's up for a quick game of Speed Scrabble? This improvised version is played with only the tiles and works well on your kitchen table. When my daughters and I played, we awarded extra points for "goat words,"  so here's one for Em and Ellie...

Walk This Way...

Frustrated that the goats had trampled down the grass between the driveway to the shed, my husband asked if I could train them to vary their route each time so that the grass could grow back. Instead of always taking the direct route, perhaps they could learn to sometimes take the long way around, or to use a different path for different times of day?

Sure, let me post a schedule on the fence...

One Saturday I noticed Mike driving the tractor back and forth to the creek, hauling several loads of rocks up to the yard. Goats, you see, absolutely hate getting their hooves wet and muddy, and they love climbing on rocks more than almost anything else.

Who's the smart one now?

Where Do Goats Sleep on Cold Nights?

...and the answer to this question is one of the main reasons I am so happy for spring! According to our local weather station, last month made history as the coldest February ever recorded (somewhere back to the 1800s, when our obsession with tracking these statistics began). I was determined not to bring the goats inside this winter, but when sub-zero temperatures hit and Elliot started waking up covered in frost (even in their closed shed), I relented and set up this improvised pen in the garage. It's been over a month since they've been back outside, but even now on chilly nights, Elliot stands with his nose pressed against the garage door - Remember that cozy bedroom we had, brother? Please?? Not a chance, goat. You might recall warmth, but the memories of horrendous clean-up each morning still haunt me...

In general updates, our cousins' goat Leia has apparently made a full recovery from the first ever recorded case of myasthenia gravis in a goat and is nearly weaned off all her experimental drugs (from six doses a day down to one). Findings will be published in veterinary journals later this year, approximately the same time my sister makes the final payment for Leia's ICU stay, x-rays, spinal tap, etc. Leia's transition back to the barn was more challenging as she had discovered not only the garage, but also the living room and eventually the master bedroom, where she tried valiantly to pretend she was just another dog in the heap who inhabit their king size bed.

Here at home, Elliot has had two doses of our latest attempt to eradicate his parasitic infestation. The same liquid we squeeze monthly on our cats for flea and tick control, this chemical apparently also kills mites on goats. Unfortunately, goat skin is impenetrable to the cat formula so Elliot gets a weekly whole-body treatment from a spray bottle. I wear full rain gear as Elliot does not particularly enjoy this procedure - as quickly as I spray it on, he shakes it off. At least I'll be protected from fleas, ticks and mites this spring!

Happy Shamrock Day!

A happy St. Patrick's Day from our deck to yours...With a wee bit of Irish blood in my ancestry, this is a holiday we always anticipated in years past. Almost more fun than filling the stockings on Christmas Eve was sneaking around the night before Shamrock Day to hide pennies, color the milk green and overturn furniture - mischief to be blamed on those tricky leprechauns who messed everything up and left little green footprints all around the house. One year our snow white cat even sported green stripes.

Sophisticated college girls now, my daughters are no longer awed by upside-down chairs and books turned backwards on the shelves. I might put Shrek ears on a goat, but the lure of plotting with imaginary little green men no longer exists. Still, those were good times...

How does a middle-aged mom stay current with teenagers who seem farther and farther away every semester? I try to connect by reading their book recommendations, watching Breaking Bad, listening to Vampire Weekend and learning about the Twigg Stitch (a knitting term, if you're wondering), but still the chasm widens as my once-little girls grow up. So I ask, can you blame me for what I tried today?

Home for spring break, Megan's been keeping busy with friends, projects, and daily workouts in the basement. Maybe it was the trendy yoga pants or the pert ponytail, but as I saw her heading downstairs the words just spilled from my mouth. "Wait up, Megs, I'll work out with you today." (After all, I used to do aerobics when they were first invented, took a class even, before kids. Here's an activity we can do together - surely the steps haven't changed that much in twenty years?)

Megan is nothing if not gracious. Her hesitation was barely evident before she nodded. "Sure, Mom, that's great. I'm doing a high-intensity cardio-dance video today. Ready now?"

I like to learn new things - here's my lesson for today. When you're my age, stick to goats. Push a broom back and forth, haul some hay bales. Leave zumba and hip-hop to the kids. Nine hours after that last uncoordinated kick, my limbs are still quivering jello and I may need help getting up from the couch. Just like leprechaun mischief, maybe some things (like the mamba triple-twist scissor kick) are best kept as distant memories...

Elliot's Struggle: A Little More

Yesterday was a rough morning for Elliot, like one of those days when you just want to crawl back in bed and start over. Plagued by unrelenting parasites that cause him to rub and bite himself raw, he faced the horror of  another vet visit. Chained to the deck railing, he was injected (steroids, antibiotics), shaved and scrubbed with betadine. The result? He looks cleaner, perhaps less itchy now that the bugs can no longer take refuge in his matted fur, and his sores will be easier for me to treat. Unfortunately, along with the humiliation of his shorn appearance comes the loss of any natural protection against winter chills, so he is confined to the garage except on the sunniest days. His stylish new coats are now standard wear, even indoors. Every day, we pray for spring!

Those who know us may recall that Ellie fought this same battle for some sixteen long months in years past, until we finally conquered the parasites last spring. This present recurrence, his apparent new resistance to parasecticide treatment and his unaffected brother leads me to wonder, will this be a lifelong struggle for Elliot? My veterinarian concedes that, yes, this may be a war we ever fight but never win. As I sweep piles of crusted hair from the deck, scour the treatment supplies and shed my soaked and stained clothing, I wonder how long I can do this. Ellie trembles at my approach - how will she hurt me this time? - and shivers even under his coat. The question hovers just beyond asking, can he endure a lifetime of this?

I scratch his ears, the one place he feels safe allowing my touch. I promise him days of sunshine, someday, long walks by the creek and warm nights to sleep on the shed roof (his favorite place in the world). Just hold out a little longer, Ellie, spring is almost here. We can face anything then.

Leia's Story - Truly a Princess

If you read this blog, you already know of Emerson and Ellie's naughty cousin Leia, my niece's Nigerian Dwarf goat, once a beloved bottle-baby and yes, the same rascal who ate the neighbor's Christmas decorations and last summer jumped to the center of the buffet table at a different neighbor's garden party. (No fence can contain this goat!)

In the past weeks, three-year old Leia has traveled from the brink of death in a veterinary ICU to the cusp of goat history. Suddenly unable to stand or eat, she baffled first her local veterinarian, then specialists at our region's renowned animal hospital. After initial bloodwork and x-rays failed to reveal a cause for her paralysis, she underwent more sophisticated testing including full-body scans and even a spinal tap, her fatigued body sustained by IV fluids. When a definitive diagnosis was finally clear, Leia had made veterinary history, afflicted by a rare autoimmune, neuromuscular disease seen in humans and dogs but never before in a goat. (Yes, she is now the subject of a research study and upcoming journal publications.) Her treatment is all experimental - steroid injections and pills and above all, rest and avoidance of stress of any kind. Slowly responding to her pharmaceutical cocktails, she is once again eating and able to walk for short distances.

Leia is home now, but unfortunately her fortnight away turned the family's other three goats against her, and my sister's attempts to return Leia to the barn met with rejection and bullying. In addition, so much of her coat was shaved that she cannot tolerate the winter chills, so little Leia has joined five dogs in the house. Her future is uncertain, but for now she is warm, comfortable, and content. It's a good thing to be loved.

And if you look very closely, you can almost see a sparkle in her eyes as she sniffs around the far corner of the living room...Only ten more months until the Christmas tree goes up again!

Goat Winter Fashion

Watch out, brother, it must be Halloween again! She's bringing costumes. Run away!

Weather like this does strange things to otherwise-sensible people. My nephews wrapped their goat in a sleeping bag. My sister lets her goat take naps in the living room, warm and toasty by the wood stove. My father hauls tubs of corn outside every morning to feed eight neighborhood deer, a fox and several dozen geese (who now peck at the bedroom window if he is late with their breakfast). And this week I spent more on Em and Ellie's winter wear than I've ever spent on myself. (Granted, my last three coats came from yard sales, but still...)

If you've never seen a goat shiver, or opened a shed door to find an animal coated in a layer of frost, you wouldn't understand. That's okay. These coats are insulated, water-resistant, washable, and have easy Velcro closures. Emerson is a bit embarrassed to be wearing purple, but the only other option in his size was neon orange. Winter clearance sales...you can't be too choosy.

Stay warm, goaties! (At least we don't live in Boston!)

How to Dry Orange Peels for Free and Tasty Goat Snacks

No contest, "orange chips" have now replaced animal crackers and even locust pods as Em and Ellie's favorite snack of all time. Crunchy, aromatic and high in Vitamin C, these treats are simple to prepare and store indefinitely once dried. Here's how you do it.

First, collect the peels from all the citrus fruits your family eats this winter. Beg your closest friends and family to save them too. Easy-peel clementines are the quickest to dry, but any variety of orange will work. Juicy ones just take a little longer to dry.

Next, spread peels in a single layer on a cookie sheet, inside facing up. Place  near a sunny window if possible, but your kitchen counter works just as well. They will be crispy and dried in a day or two - ready to eat!! Simply stuff a handful in your jacket pocket before going outside, and you will be the Pied Piper for goats. No cost, no fuss, no mess.

(And if any of my friends want to contribute to our "edible compost" project, you will be the goat boys' best friend forever. They just celebrated their third birthday - in case anyone needed a gift idea...)

                                                            Happy Birthday, boys!

O' Christmas Tree...and the Grinch

Not sure how to dispose of your tree after Christmas? Now you know - feed it to a goat. I read an article about how evergreens are both high in Vitamin C and a natural dewormer, as well as a free food source during the winter. This sounded like a great idea. Since appeals to friends and neighbors netted the goats only a single tree, I drove around town one evening before trash pickup, snatching trees from the curbs of strangers.  I felt almost like the Grinch as I saw the alarm on one small child's face through her bedroom window - "Minivan, why, Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?" (That was for you, Megan!) And don't worry, little Cindy-Lou Who, your discarded tree will bring weeks of delight to two hungry goats...

Ever wonder what a tree looks like after a month of snacking? Now you know. Mmmmm, that was so delicious...When does Christmas come again? I think my four stomachs grew three sizes today!

Invisible Goats?

I have never been much of a trendsetter, up on the latest fashions or even aware of most celebrity gossip, but here is one thing I do know. In current popular culture, goats are the trendiest animal on the planet! From the crazy video game Goat Simulator, to screaming or fainting goats on YouTube, to the nutty goats featured in Super Bowl commercials, goats are everywhere.  (See, Megan, I may live in flannel-lined jeans and turtlenecks, but at least my style in animals is spot-on!) Coincidentally, 2015 is actually the Year of the Goat.

Almost makes you wish you had one of your own, right? If only they weren't such labor-intensive, parasite-ridden, mischief-making poop factories, everyone might have a goat (or two!) However...

I think I may have a solution. Recently I learned of this incredible opportunity for single women. Don't have a boyfriend? Don't want one, but wish your friends would stop trying to set you up on blind dates? Want the status of being "in a relationship" without all the hassles of commitment? For a low monthly fee, you can sign up for "Invisible Boyfriend," a virtual beau who will send you texts, photos and even flowers! What better way to fool those meddlesome relatives and still keep your evenings free?!

Now, how can we adapt this concept so that every family can experience the joys of goat-ownership without the endless frustrations and constant clean-up? That's where "Invisible Goat" is the answer! Say you've always wanted a dark and handsome fellow like the photo above - he's yours! All you need are a few photographs, some wisps of hay to stick in your hair, and a packet of goat "pellets" to sprinkle around your yard - you'll be the envy of all your friends!

Of course, if you want the real thing instead of the virtual goat experience, that can be arranged as well. (This month only, two-for-one deal!) Live the dream...

Return to the Abyss...

Last night I woke up suddenly, trembling...my dreams haunted by the inescapable horror I can no longer deny. Elliot's skin problems are back.

Last month I noticed that Emerson seemed quite itchy and flaky, and both goats again had yellow crusts around the tail area (what we refer to as "butt fungus"). These are the exact symptoms which heralded the start of the horrendous skin issues which plagued our goats for over a year before massive doses of topical parasecticide finally eradicated the unidentified bugs last spring. "We're baaaackkk..."

Determined not to again descend into that Dante-esque circle of hell, I dosed them promptly. Same medication, same twice-the-label dose. Emerson cleared up quickly, but Ellie has worsened, crusty and itchy to the point of twisting his head around to gnaw sores in his back and flank. The wounds are raw and ugly. Today I purchased collagen wound gel, injectable  antibiotics, and three stretchy goat-size tank tops from a local thrift store. (Hopefully my daughters won't notice that this striped beauty is also missing from their closet!)

What to do, beyond frequent brushing and spraying his sores with blukote? (My stained fingers give testament here.) This morning was sunny and above freezing, so I tied him to the deck railing and bathed him in lime sulfur solution. Garbed in rubber gloves and one of my husband's old sweatshirts, I went to work with a spray bottle and a scrub-brush. He hated it, but the upside is that now he's not only stained yellow, but also so malodorous that he won't lick or bite himself no matter how itchy he is. Unfortunately, while I was kneeling down to scrub his belly, he gave his dripping fur a vigorous shake, so now I also reek of rotten eggs. Since the putrid sulfur odor is about as difficult to remove as the nasty parasites which plague Ellie, I may have to cancel my weekend plans...

My husband wants me to repeat the topical parasecticide, but I am hesitant. Here's why. Last time, instead of wedging the syringe into the "small herd" size bottle to measure their dosage, I poured it into a one-ounce plastic cup (from a bottle of cough syrup) and drew it up from there. After treating both goats, I came inside and noticed that the remaining medication had eaten a gaping hole through the plastic cup! Many of Ellie's worst sores are along his topline (the straight line from neck to tail) where I drizzled the medication. Surely a chemical which corrodes plastic must be a powerful skin irritant, so I am reluctant to risk another dose, especially as the three doses I gave last month have not improved his overall condition at all. Are these new and different parasites, or the same ones but now resistant?

I can't think about it any more today. Maybe I'll take another hot shower, then raid my family's closets for something clean to wear. (Hey, I don't want my own clothing to imbibe this awful smell...)

Cold Weather Woes

A photo from the goat archives reminiscent of warmer weather...The seasons may change, but the routines stay the same. Elliot owns the top of the house; Emerson claims the ground. Whether it's a bowl of apple chunks, a pile of weeds, or a sunny napping spot, these are their positions. This winter I  even started serving their individual bedtime bowls of warm water at these spots, to prevent Ellie from frantically pushing Emerson away from one shared bowl (Oh no! You're slurping up all the vinegar!) This has worked well...until now.

Winter is so dreadful. Single-digit temps and sub-zero wind chills keep me shivering even in the house - but what about my goats? Should I insulate their shed? Invest in a heat lamp? Knit them little jackets? My sister sent me a link to an article that answered my questions. According to research, goats can tolerate any degree of cold, as long as they have shelter from drafts and are dry. What a relief! It's been so frigid that the vinegar sometimes freezes in the bottle before I can squirt it into the bowls, but I don't need to worry. Draft-free, dry. I can do that!

Late last night I suited up in my puffy snowsuit and waddled out to put the goats to bed. Hot water, vinegar, both plastic bowls, check. Pocket full of snacks, check. Anticipating our nightly routine, the goats rushed to their stations - Ellie up top, Emerson beside the house. Per protocol, I always pour the water into the bowls, then give them each a handful of random treats before they start to drink. This time the treat was "orange chips," crispy orange peels I dry on trays in a sunny window. A friend had brought me some tangerine peels (extra sweet, she mentioned) and apparently Elliot liked the new flavor, because he suddenly lunged at me for more, knocking his entire gallon-size bowl of water on top of his brother below.

Stunned at this sudden drenching, Emerson fled into the yard as his sodden fur froze him into a caprine popsicle.  Now what?? Well past my bedtime, dark and frigid cold - how can I possibly thaw and dry a frantic goat before he goes into shock?

It can be done. Lots of vigorous rubbing and one of my husband's big fleecy sweatshirts eventually did the trick. Meanwhile, Elliot jumped down and finished off his brother's water bowl. Oh, and I should probably buy my husband another sweatshirt...

Poop Soup...and Nirvana

This morning, when I opened the door to the goat shed to get them up for breakfast, I was confronted with the evidence that Elliot (the taller of the two) had likely spent the night standing up, his back end positioned over their heated water bowl. No serious harm; they wouldn't drink from that bowl if it held the last liquid on the planet, but I'm not sure I'll ever be able to eat bean soup again.

Although I occasionally forget my current age, there are many things I do know, such as the fact that goats prefer their water at least forty degrees warmer than is possible with an electric water bowl. ("Where's the steam, human? If it didn't scald your fingers, we don't drink it!") However, it is thanks to my teenage daughter that I now realize the enormity of my knowledge gap.

Seeing Megan in an unfamiliar T-shirt the other day, I read the word under an unusual graphic. "What's that - Nirvana?" Her response was immediate and strong.

"Oh, Mom - did you really just ask me that?!! Nirvana was only one of the most influential rock bands of the 90s! You were alive during that period!"

Chastised, I reminded her that during the 90s I was kind of busy raising toddlers...twins (including one who got into trouble all the time!) and during that decade I knew all of the words to both the Barney and Sesame Street theme songs. (Ha!) However, she was not impressed.

"Aaaauuuugh! They started grunge!"

Grunge? And here I thought that was a reference to what I looked like after cleaning out the goat shed. Apparently, I still have a lot to learn.

All I Want for Christmas...

Sometimes, you get everything you want for Christmas. This year the holiday arrived dry and sunny, unseasonably warm and without even a hint of snow in the forecast. After lunch, my husband suggested, "Let's all take the goats for a walk." For Em and Ellie, it was a Christmas miracle - a long, meandering stroll through fields and woods with plenty of succulent weeds for snacking and time with all their favorite people.

Elliot was so happy he danced with Megan.

"Dances With Goats," anyone? Maybe Kevin Costner is available...they have to be more fun than wolves.

And Happy New Year, from our field to yours.