Hot Buckets

When a relative told me last month that her grandchildren were getting goats, I wanted all the details. When? How many? And of course, WHY?? I had met these three children - well-adjusted kids active in school sports, with sensible, educated parents. Goats? Are you sure? Maybe you heard wrong and they're really getting a puppy.

She explained that, yes, they had decided on a trio of Boer goats (the big kind, with horns, like the ones pictured above). Apparently they had a lean-to shelter out back which the goats would share with a pair of sheep, and abundant weeds in the field would provide their food source. Best of all, there was a year-round cold spring where the animals could drink.

STOP RIGHT THERE!! BEFORE WE GO ANY FURTHER...(Meatloaf, anyone?) I felt burdened to warn her, before it was too late - Not sure about sheep, but goats will never drink cold water! Nothing below 60 degrees (I read that in a book) and certainly not from an icy spring in the ground. Anyway, how can you add vinegar to an underground spring?

Eager to share my knowledge, I explained what my husband refers to as "the drinking game."  Emerson and Ellie will partake only of water warmed in a teapot on my stove, in special buckets with a generous splash of apple cider vinegar and the occasional animal cracker mid-drink to entice them to finish the bucket. Amused by our twice-daily regimen, my husband asked me how goats survive in the wild. Really, though, how many wild goats have you ever seen? All the proof I need.

Here's the unbelievable thing. That family has had their three new goats for over a month now, and never once provided supplemental water. Somehow, the goats are still active and hearty. Em and Ellie would shrivel up like prunes before sipping from a cold spring. I just can't figure it out!

Hot buckets, boys!! (They come running every time.)

The Things You'll Do for Love...

What would you do for those you love?

Hopefully you wouldn't push someone out a window (literary reference, if you're confused), but where do you draw the line? Would you give up your dining room table? Would you dig through a smelly trash can? Humiliate yourself in front of a roomful of people?

That's the thing about goats...

Recently I was lamenting to my mom that I was almost out of dried orange peels (Em and Ellie's most favorite snack). Citrus season is just starting, and I had exhausted the supply stored in the basement from last winter. Since peels are part of their daily routine and an effective way to entice them to drink their water, this was a serious problem!

Fast forward to last Wednesday night, when I was helping with childcare for an English-language class at church. After the session, I brought the children to their parents and was delighted to see that the evening snack had been oranges - hence an entire trash can full of orange peels (among other things...) I didn't even hesitate, immediately sorting through the garbage to rescue the treasured treats.

Suddenly the room was very quiet, as all the parents watched their children's teacher forage for discarded food scraps. "Oh, not for me," I explained, simultaneously attempting to pantomime a goat while switching to my feeble high school Spanish. And while I now know that the Spanish translation for goat is la cabra, and eating is comer, what I actually said (instead of "My goats eat them") was either "I am eating a herd of wild horses" or "the mackerel is itchy" (depending on the inflection).

It was one of my four-year old students who broke the stunned silence and saved the day. Unfazed by the stares of the adults in the room, he lunged forward and pointed to a mound of peels in the very bottom of the clear trash bag. "You miss one! You miss one!" As his horrified mother (holding her newborn) watched, he dove into the trash with me.

Right. We can always wash our hands...I smiled at his enthusiasm, knowing that my dining room table would that night be covered with trays of drying citrus, and my goats would be happy for a week.

I'm sure Emerson and Ellie would have done the same for me!

Happy Goat Halloween!

This year we decided to let the goats choose their own Halloween costumes - and Emerson knew just what he wanted.

Elliot tried to be an angel, but he kept eating his wings and running out of the photo. Oh well, at least they got lots of good candy!

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Baby Bully

Right up there at the top of any life's most embarrassing moments list - when your goat attacks a small child in front of half a dozen witnesses...

If our goats took one of those trendy internet Sorting Hat quizzes, there's no question which house they'd claim. Sweet, gentle Elliot was born a Hufflepuff - meek and unassuming, he'd share his last orange peel with anyone who asked.

His wily brother, however, is Slytherin to the bone. Sneaky and calculating, Emerson head-butts Ellie for the best position at the hay rack, the juiciest tomatoes, the spot closest to the gate. Although smaller, he is the Alpha Goat, always first, always in control. His philosophy is: Just follow my rules, and no one gets hurt. 

Sometimes I forget. Last week we hosted a picnic, and one mom told me how her 18-month old daughter just adores goats (from local petting zoos), and could she see Em and Ellie?  Pride (and a little stupidity) kicked in as I lifted the toddler into the goat pen, smiling as she waved her hands and shrieked, "Goat! Goat!" Elliot ambled over, docile as the little girl leaned against his side and stroked his fur.

Nice goat, sweet goat, Why is that tiny human giving my brother all the attention? This needs to stop! and suddenly there was Emerson, head-butting her out of the way, and as she tumbled to the ground crying (though fortunately unhurt), Emerson calmly rubbed himself against my legs... My turn for attention now, Mommy!

Sure, you can pet my goats. Just put on these knee pads first, this helmet, this Kevlar vest...

Hurricane Isabel and the Ladybug Tree

It was thirteen years ago today - no electric, no school, and faced with the cleanup from Hurricane Isabel, the strongest, costliest and deadliest storm of the 2003 Atlantic hurricane season. My daughters were 7 years old; we had a dog, but no goats. This was the wreckage of our sweetgum tree, heavily damaged by gusting winds from what had been a vicious Category 5 storm that wrought devastation all along the eastern United States.

Affecting 60 million people, Isabel caused 3.6 billion dollars in damage, the cancellation of 1500 flights, and massive flooding that left some areas without power for nearly a month. Fifty-one people died. Looking back, our family got off easy - we had electricity back a day later, and this was the worst of the damage. Yet all these years later, I still think about Isabel every September. The sweetgum tree survived, but we lost our ladybugs forever.

Fast forward to today, when the leaves from this tree are my goats' most favorite "self-serve" snack. They troll beneath its shady canopy, devouring each crunchy leaf that falls while carefully avoiding any oak leaves in the mix. And I tell them the story...

For about a decade after we moved here, we were fascinated each autumn by the arrival of thousands, maybe millions of ladybugs who annually blanketed the tree's entire trunk from the ground up. Each year the tiny creatures stayed maybe a week, just being there, then they were gone. With little knowledge about migratory patterns, we wondered - where had they come from, where were they going, was it the same ladybugs year after year who rested on this particular tree? Just like the start of school and the relief of cooler weather, the arrival of the ladybugs was an anticipated family event every fall.

Until Isabel. Expected around the time of the storm, the ladybugs never came. Not that year, not the next, not any year since. (Yes, I still check...) Casualties of the storm, or maybe, hopefully, just blown off course? Do they now frequent another tree miles, or states away? Perhaps in another yard, on another sweetgum tree, two little girls skip to the bus stop each morning and stop to greet the ladybugs.

Eat up, goats. Enjoy each succulent leaf. I may prefer a chocolate milkshake, but I do believe there is something special about the sweetgum tree.

Anti-sleep conspiracy?

Speaking of cats - well, we weren't, but I'll get to that...(and goats too)

Several nights ago the phone rang at 1:30 am - groggy and panicked I grabbed the cordless while my husband ran for the hall phone. A pleasant male voice greeted us.

"Uh, is Maggie there?" (Name changed to protect the innocent, or my daughter away at college)

"What?? No, who is this?"

"Well, we're working on a group project together, and I had a question..."

"THIS IS HER FATHER - " (Angry Darth Vader voice, lecturing her mortified classmate who somehow thought he had her cell number) And really, who calls at that time for any reason, even though it turns out she was at that moment awake and baking scones with her roommate...

Last month we were awakened by a pounding on the door at 3:30 am, greeted by a uniformed police officer holding a small yapping terrier. He had found this collarless dog wandering the street, and spying our fenced yard, thought it might be ours. Really?? At this hour?? And would we need six-foot fencing for a dog little bigger than my cat?? My husband noted later that we should be glad the officer asked, and didn't just drop the dog in the fencing. Look, Emerson, we got a new toy! Except, my goats are terrified of our pet cats...a dog in their habitat might transform them into fainting goats!

Fast forward to last night, again mid-sleep, when I suddenly woke to an awareness of something small and furry, with claws, creeping across my stomach. Shrieking, I leapt from the bed and flipped on the lights, only to realize (once I could breathe again) that the midnight creature on me was in fact merely my cat stretching out his back leg across my body. (In retrospect, I am probably safe from nocturnal rodents with a feline who sleeps nestled against me!)

Sorry, goats - no walk today. Mommy really needs a nap!!

Melon Madness

As sweltering summer months meander into crisp fall days, the goats thrive on more moderate weather. They love to cruise the yard and fill their bellies on crunchy fall leaves; they adore the hunt for forlorn rotted tomatoes and brussel sprouts in the abandoned garden. They appreciate more frequent walks now that their mommy doesn't seclude herself in air-conditioned comfort, and they call out to every passing school bus full of noisy children.

Good riddance, steamy summer - but we sure will miss the watermelon!

This year I convinced my husband to cut back on our usual overwhelming volume of labor-intensive, unappealing crops such as hot peppers, cabbage and green beans by the bushels. Instead, we expanded the area for melons (less weeding needed, and no effort picking for me because I apparently do not possess the innate skill to "thunk" a melon and determine prime ripeness. No complaints from me, since whoever picks also has to haul them up the hill, so I meekly acknowledge my deficiency in fruit-selection and avoid that section...)

Cantaloupe and honey-dew graced our breakfast table all summer, but it was the watermelon which truly thrived in the new system. By early August my husband was expertly picking three or four each day, and one sunny Sunday he heaved an entire wheelbarrow of ripe beauties up the hill. We shared dozens with family and friends, but the most appreciative recipients were always Em and Ellie, who eagerly slurped up the pulp and the juice before gnawing most of the rind. Red, yellow, large or small, those goats never turned down a juicy melon and spent most evenings with the sticky mess dried on their sloppy faces.

Oh Ellie, this is soooo yummy! It's such a good life, being a goat. Also, I'm planning to finish your half while you're distracted by that big yellow bus!

When "TROUBLE" Starts With "G"

Yesterday my husband stomped into the kitchen and announced that deer have been nibbling some of the plants in our garden. "You can tell it was deer," he explained, "because their hoof prints look just like the goats', and the droppings are similar."

Unthinkable.

Here's my ethical dilemma. Do I let non-existent deer take the blame for that day when the goats escaped from their pen and ransacked the broccoli? When I had to run back to the garage for their leashes and a spray bottle to chase them out of the asparagus bed? When Emerson, mowing through the cabbage, head-butted me so hard that my entire right shin sports an angry greenish bruise?

Well, I don't want to be a snitch, so maybe I'll leave it up to Em and Ellie to confess their misdeeds. My real question, however, is this - does that shirt come in goat-size? If so, order me two.

I Will Not Eat It, Goat-I-Am!

One of our most cherished childhood stories is Rosemary Wells' First Tomato, in which Claire (having an awful day) is magically transported to the "Bunny Planet" where she is comforted by the first ripe fruit in her mother's garden. (Really, I still love this book!!) So imagine my delight yesterday when the first three tomatoes ready in our garden coincided with our first supper of local sweet corn. Ahhh, summer...

Last year, both goats loved the outer "shuckings" from our sweet corn, so after I husked the corn I took a tub out to the yard for them to devour. First corn, goat boys!! Emerson started chomping, but Elliot sniffed, head-butted my leg, then tried rooting in my pockets for something better. What is this garbage? I don't eat corn husks, not this summer! Don't you have orange peels somewhere? When did he get so fickle??

Finding no other treats, Elliot found another way to show his displeasure at this unacceptable meal. He carefully backed up to the pile of corn husks, lifted his tail, and...yup - made a deposit. Take that, stupid snack! I poop on you! Thanks a lot, Ellie!

Last summer they also adored tomatoes, plucking them right from the vines. I'm not yet ready to share our precious few of those - maybe in a month or so when we're picking by the crate. Wonder how Ellie will react then! Maybe someone needs a one-way ticket to the "Goat Planet!"

Game of Goats

For citizens of Westeros in George R. R. Martin's fantasy world, winters are bitter, brutal and unbearably long, often lasting a dreadful ten years or more. So extensive are the preparations required to survive the frozen years, "Winter is Coming" is a constant spoken reminder even during decades of warmth and plenty.

My goats are very grateful they are not Starks or Lannisters!

Frigid months are no fun for goats, especially Elliot with his malicious skin malady and cold intolerance. Thankfully our chilly season only lasts four months, and every day I rub his scabby back and promise, "Summer is coming, Ellie, summer is coming."

Summer, that glorious time when your itchy scabs disappear and your hair grows back...Summer, when you graze all day on rich green grass and tantalizing weeds...Summer, when by evening you waddle back to the kitchen deck and collapse in the waning sun as your satiated belly digests hours of deliciousness...

                                                  Summer is here, goats. Summer is here!

A Goat on the Podium

I heard this morning that we are at the 100-day countdown for the start of the summer Olympics, which reminded me of the Sochi games two years ago and the February blizzard which left us mammoth snowdrifts for weeks and turned our driveway into a treacherous luge run with four-foot high ice walls. That was also when Emerson, frustrated with pent-up energy, invented the game of running up and down the driveway, over and over, at breakneck goat speed until we finally decided he deserved a medal.

All I can say now is, thank goodness for spring!!

As I had hoped, the arrival of warmer weather accomplished what none of my myriad homeopathic and pharmacological treatments could do - Elliot's skin condition has again abated. Hair is growing back where he sported scabby, bald patches, his weeping sores have disappeared and he no longer itches and bites himself all day. After four years I finally see the pattern - the exacerbations start each December for a winter of misery, then he improves in April and by May will be gorgeous until cold weather arrives again. This is a puzzle for which I have no answer.

Spring heralds other goat activities for us, including the administration of annual vaccines (which we did Sunday afternoon) and quarterly hoof-trimming (which we are postponing until my daughters are home as this is at least a 3-person job here). With my birthday forthcoming, a friend suggested I treat myself to a "mani-pedi" and get my nails done. No thanks, really, but I wonder if I could somehow convince the goats that hoof care can be a soothing and pleasurable experience rather than the frantic fight we usually face. I mean, what if I went to a nail salon and behaved like Em and Ellie? Really!! Can't you imagine the conversation behind the counter?

"Hey Stella, your next appointment is here. Want me to pin her down while you file her nails? Maybe Kelly can stuff cookies in her mouth while singing 'Soft Kitty'  -  just hope I don't get kicked in the head again this time!"

Goats...

When You Get What You Pay For

Last week I stopped at a local market to pick up something for supper and decided to try the new homemade soup at the deli counter. Turkey chili was on special, and I figured I could stretch a quart container into a family meal by serving it over baked potatoes. (That way I'd still have room in the food budget for necessities, like chocolate-chunk ice cream...) The deli employee scooped out my soup, weighed the container and slapped on a label before turning to the next customer while she slid my chili backhand across the counter.

Nudged out of line by impatient shoppers behind me, I stared at my container of soup for a long time. Was it my new bifocals, or had I entered some alternate universe where kidney beans were stewed in liquid gold? The price sticker on the lid read $118.48, more than my entire weekly budget and certainly more than I wanted to pay for one quart of something I usually just make at home with some frozen meat and a can opener.

Also, for that price I could have bought 39 half-gallons of premium ice cream.

What to do? Abandon it on the counter and run? Wait in line to complain? Or just count it as an unexpected weight-loss opportunity and savor a spoonful each meal until next payday? Imagine how slim I'd be after a week without ice cream!

Recently a novice goat-owner asked for advice about finding inexpensive fencing to contain her two furry kids (one of whom had already leaped out of their 6-foot high temporary enclosure). Here's the answer I didn't give - if you want inexpensive, you got the wrong pets. This I know for sure...my next pet is a turtle. What I learned from another friend is this:

Pet turtles will hibernate all winter long in a tank on your kitchen counter - you don't even have to feed them!! I was so jealous when I heard this I'm pretty sure I turned green just talking to her. Not that I really want Emerson and Elliot lounging on my kitchen counter all winter (picture that!), but if I could just close up the shed before Christmas and have them awaken in the spring...

Anyway, just finished writing another check to the vet and need to make a trip to the grocery store...oranges, animal crackers, vinegar, baking soda, sunflower seeds, antibiotic cream...maybe once I get everything on the goats' list, I can still buy something for myself!

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

Two things I learned tonight...
First, there exists between cats and goats a relationship of selective and mutual terror.
Second, when falling from a great height, goats (unlike cats) do not always land on their feet.

 Many afternoons when I take the goats for a walk, this sweet kitty tags along with us. A foursome, we meander along the creek while Em and Ellie graze, cat and goats in close proximity and seemingly unmindful of each other. However, when the goats are on the deck, Tabby runs from them in fear, usually cowering in the house until they are put away. Given the weight difference, I can almost understand this. (Actually, I'm still wary of Emerson-the-Attack-Goat most days...)

What I cannot comprehend, though, is why the reverse is also true. Whenever the goats spy little Tabby near the house, they startle and flee. Or hurl themselves off tall buildings, as happened tonight.

Elliot was calmly snacking on top of his wooden house, about 3 and 1/2 feet high. Suddenly, Scary Kitty ambled by, so frightening Ellie that he hurled himself backward off the roof (never mind that a four foot high chain link fence separated him from the ferocious feline!). He landed horribly on his back and left side, stunned in an awkward, twisted position on the driveway and also drenched by a bucket of warm water which took part of the impact. Heart racing, I helped him upright, dismayed to see that he would not put any weight on his back left leg. Oh, Ellie...

Now an hour later, he is resting. He did tentatively walk a bit on that leg after some soothing care and an extra handful of orange peels from my pocket. I'll see what tomorrow brings.

And the next time Emerson tries to attack me, I know just what to do...MEOW!!

Got Goats - Now What??

Next week will mark the four-year anniversary of the day we brought our goats home - a muddy spring afternoon when two bouncy kids weaseled their way into our hearts and launched our family from normalcy into an adventure of endless chaos. We knew very little about goats and had absolutely no idea what we were getting into, and while we are still far from experts, there are certainly a few things Em and Ellie have taught us over the past four years. (I give them all the credit!)

First, goats are farm animals. No matter how much you want them to be pets, their needs and nature will never be like your dog and cat. We're making it work, but it hasn't been easy.

Goats reach their full weight at age three. Elliot weighed 75 pounds in 2013, but the challenges of using a bathroom scale for this have prevented any further attempts. We use an estimated weight of 80 pounds for med dosing. Emerson is about ten pounds lighter.

An average goat lifespan is twelve years, though "well-cared-for" goats can live to be twenty. I do the math every time they (or I!) have a birthday!

Goats are afraid of the dark. Skeptical when I first read this, we devised a few experiments, and it is definitely true. (My guilt over this was assuaged when my husband ran electric to their shed for a nightlight.)

My goats finish a bale of hay every six days in the winter, about every three weeks when they can graze outside. Their diet also includes black-oil sunflower seeds, goat mineral mix, baking soda, a scant amount of grain, locust tree pods, animal crackers and dried orange peels.

Goats prefer their water warmed, especially with a shot of apple cider vinegar. They will rarely drink water cooler than 60 degrees F. I heat a teapot on the stove every morning. Bribery works too - Ellie will gulp a whole bowl of warm water if I stand next to him with a handful of animal crackers for a reward. Adequate hydration is critical for wethers (neutered males) due to the risk of urinary calculi, a usually-fatal condition which is still my greatest fear.

Other preventative measures for urinary health include avoiding any corn products or alfalfa hay, using grain (in scant amounts) and minerals which contain ammonium chloride supplements and encouraging frequent elimination. (Yes, my goats will "pee" on command when reminded...)

Goats can be litter-box trained. Em and Ellie did this themselves, choosing the tray of hay I wanted them to sleep in. They will still "go" outside, but in the shed they always use the tray.

A good goat vet is hard to find. Much of the care you can do yourself (hoof-trimming, yearly vaccines, basic wound and skin care) but I sleep easier knowing I have that phone number on the refrigerator. I once assisted for minor surgery on a fully-anesthetized goat on an old beach blanket in our driveway.

Goats are prone to parasites and skin maladies. Just accept this. A pestilence-ridden, scabby goat can make you feel like a terrible owner, but you just have to do what you can and make the best of it.

As I have said before, goats will consume all your free time, decimate your rainy-day fund, drive away your friends and possibly make you lose your sanity. Still, you will fall in love with them and someday you be consoling them during a thunderstorm and find yourself singing them this classic from Broadway's Wicked... "Who can say if I've been changed for the better; because I knew you, I have been changed for good." 

P.S. Although, I must admit there are the occasional days (like when they learned to open the gate latch and chewed up my best sandals) when my song is different - "Loathing, unadulterated loathing..."   Gotta love you, goat boys!

The "Eyes" Have It: Adventures in FAMACHA Testing

Want to learn some science, alienate your friends and risk bodily injury? Read on...

Those who know us will recall that Elliot is plagued by a perplexing skin condition which worsens each winter. Marked by intense itching, it causes him to constantly bite and scratch himself until he sports numerous scabby bald patches. Though resistant to repeated attempts at diagnosis and treatment, his symptoms suggest a parasitic infestation and therefore I once again decided to search for the identity of the elusive culprits.

The "gold-standard" test for parasites is the fecal flotation test. To avoid the hour-long drive to the nearest lab, Emily and I once tried to do this at home. Following detailed instructions, we collected the sample, crushed the droppings and mixed them with purchased solutions into a "poop slurry" paste, planning to stir, sluice, spread and microscopically examine the rank mixture. Unfortunately, our test was ruined by the inadvertent addition of human vomit to the jar (hey, you try this before you judge me!) so we were unable to get an accurate worm count.

Happily, there is another, less repugnant method to estimate parasite load in goats. This test, termed FAMACHA, involves examining the inner lower eyelid of a goat to determine color of the membrane - from dark red (healthy) through varied shades of pink (borderline) to pale or white (anemic, death's door). This method is used successfully in large herds worldwide and one expert even suggested performing a FAMACHA evaluation every time you interact with your goat. Made sense to me, so I decided to give it a try. Now here's the fun part - rather than describing the test or scientifically graphing my results, I offer my readers an opportunity for a first-hand FAMACHA experience. You can be a goatherd for a day!!

To simulate the experience of performing a FAMACHA test, here's what I'd like you to do.

First, secretly select a friend or family member to be your "goat." If possible, choose a person with aggressive tendencies and pointy shoes. Now, without any prior explanation, grab your friend's face, pull down his lower eyelid with your thumb, and peer into the eye at close range.

How did that work out for everyone? So let's try again. Your friend is likely reacting in a negative manner, so make some soft cooing sounds or stroke his cheek before grabbing at his eyelid again. If you absolutely must offer an explanation, speak in a foreign language (to simulate the comprehension level of an actual goat). Alternatively, try shoving an animal cracker in your friend's mouth to distract him as you go for the eye yet a third time. You may also pin him against the wall with your body weight.

Anyone have results to share? If your friend has kicked you, head-butted you or gored you with a sharp object, you're on the right track. Don't give up! Consider printing out a color-comparison chart to hold against the peeled-down eyelid, though you might want to laminate it before use because any paper that close to a goat's mouth is automatic food...and don't forget to avoid those hooves!

Then again, maybe fecal testing isn't such a bad idea after all...

(Disclaimer: The FAMACHA is a valid and reliable method. Any implied criticisms here are purely related to my own performance deficiencies or the misbehavior of my goats!)

Scary Times

If you watch the news at all, you know that we live in a dangerous world - so frightening that some days I hardly want to leave the house. There are so many things to worry about - venomous caterpillars, exploding manhole covers, missile mattresses...

What? That's not what strikes terror in your heart?

The worst hazards are the ones you never knew existed. For example, I saw a report recently that some 500 people each year are killed by mattresses (tied with flimsy twine) flying off the roofs of high-speed cars. Mattresses! How about those highway signs warning us of "Falling Rocks" - what can you even do when a boulder comes careening down the mountain toward your windshield? (Maybe keep a mattress on your roof to cushion the impact??) Yes, venomous caterpillars inhabit the state where I live, and you won't catch me anywhere near a manhole cover downtown (something to do with pressurized sewer gases...)

Like I said, a scary world, and I didn't even mention attack goats ... There is a video circulating on the web of a ferocious goat terrorizing a town - one of the funniest clips I've ever seen, until it happened to me. Here's the problem. Emerson, the smaller (but more cunning) of my two goats, is quite a jealous fellow. He becomes absolutely incensed when I give any attention, affection or (especially) edible treats to his brother. In the past he would simply head-butt sweet Elliot out of the way to gain the prime spot by my side. Recently, however, he adopted a new tactic.

Angry when he spied me feeding Ellie a coveted evergreen "prickle" from the trees which line our driveway, Emerson snorted, backed up, lowered his head and charged us with all the force a ninety-pound raging bull-goat can muster. In a rare moment of intelligence, Ellie lunged out of the way, leaving me to take the brunt of Emerson's wrath as his one-scurred forehead struck my knees and sent me tumbling over the embankment into a pile of briers below. Almost more humiliating than being bested by a goat was having this episode witnessed by a passing school bus full of mocking children...my misfortune no doubt  repeatedly recounted over milk and cookies that afternoon.

Here's the worst part. He did it - he liked it - and now I never know when he'll attack me. Water not warm enough - CHARGE! Didn't get the most flavorful orange peels - BAM! Too many clouds in the sky - SMASH! I should mention that he was neutered as a kid and bottle-fed for over a year, my sweet cuddle-baby. But he's fast, he's strong, his head is rock-hard and I'm truly afraid to turn my back. This morning the hay was stale and the little monster chased me down the deck steps until I took refuge in the garage. I can't wait for yard sale season so I can buy some used goalie gear.

If you ever stop over and find me cowering behind the shrubbery, please resist the urge to use your cell phone camera. Just get that vicious goat away from me!!

Soybeans - More than you ever wanted to know

It was afternoon on Christmas Eve, and while other families were filling the stockings, baking gingerbread cookies or traveling to Grandma's, we found ourselves in the nearby, recently-harvested soybean field, helping the goats forage for their new favorite snack (their new favorite activity). All I need to do is open their gate and shout "Beans!" and they take off running toward the hill.

Before Em and Ellie discovered these tiny, crunchy pods, I knew almost nothing about this useful and highly-nutritious legume (part of the pea family). Tofu, anyone? Apparently (we now know) soybeans are integral in many edibles like flour, milks, oil and marshmallows. In addition, the beans are used in the manufacture of adhesives, linoleum, pharmaceuticals and the chemicals in fire extinguishers. Who thinks up these things??

Soybean gleaning for goats takes a careful eye (unless you are a goat, in which case you root around in the dirt and find them by smell...) Their tan color blends into the ground, so it becomes a treasure hunt to spy either individual inch-long pods, or better, a long stalk somehow missed by the harvesting machine (bean bonanza!) Sometimes we fill buckets while the goats are distracted, treats for later. It is a labor-intensive chore but Megan and I count it as a workout because of all the bending and stretching...

Initially I worried about the result of soybean gorging on goat digestion, but I have seen no ill effects. According to my research, soybeans are a key component of many commercial animal feeds. Highly nutritious for humans as well, soybeans contain more calcium than milk and more protein than beef, and are rich in many vitamins and minerals. I'm tempted to eat them myself, but the goats might get upset...

Here's the saddest part of the story. My husband claims that the farmer who owns this field only plants soybeans every three or four years, something to do with nitrogen levels in the soil. Come spring this will likely revert to a cornfield strictly off-limits to the goat-boys. Four years from now they'll be eight years old - will they remember? Elli, Elli, the beans are back! Come on, brother, follow me to the field...

The anticipation is already killing me.