Five Years Old!!

                    
                                               Happy 5th Birthday, Emerson & Elliot!

                               Awww, it's hard to remember when they were so tiny and sweet...
                                                                   Love you, boys!

Circle of Trust for Goats

Who would have guessed that goats and humans worry about the same things??

For Em and Ellie, the best part of each day is when I open the gate and take them for a walk, perhaps along the creek or in the woods, where they amble and graze while I ponder all the things I should be doing instead and how much warmer I would be inside the house. Thus hatched my idea - Maybe I could train the goats to walk themselves! After all, they never run off; I don't even use collars anymore. Dogs learn their boundaries - why not goats?

My plan seemed simple - just lead Em and Ellie to their favorite grazing area, pat them on the heads, and go back inside for some hot cocoa (keeping an eye on them through the window, of course). Sounds good, right?

WRONG!! So very, very wrong!

My main concern with leaving them unattended was that they might run off - wander into the road, head for the center of town, something like that. Now I know - this will never happen. Every time I backed away five steps, the goats moved five steps toward me, like a weirdly-choreographed dance. As soon as they realized my intention to abandon them among all those delicious weeds, panic set in. She's getting away! Catch her before she's gone forever! One time I sneaked in the front door while they were distracted, but as soon as Emerson noticed my absence he started wildly running laps around the house, pitifully crying out for me. I know you're in there somewhere!! Come back, mommy! Come back!

Since that traumatic incident, Emerson never strays more than a few inches from my side on walks, wary that I'll succeed in my quest to abandon him. It's like having a big black furry magnet glued to my leg, constantly alert to my location and movements. Kind of creepy, actually. If only they knew they have no cause to worry - if there were any way to escape from those crazy goats, I would have already found it.

"Free to good home - actually, Free to ANY home - 2 neurotic goats. One is clingy and occasionally vicious and the other has an incurable festering skin condition."  Yeah, the phone is ringing off the hook...

Swing Set to Shed Transfiguration

Under our Christmas tree this year were all the usual items - books, clothing, new cell phones, more books...I opened a cat puzzle box and a framed photo of Timothy Olyphant. (Any other Justified fans out there?) And the goats got a new house...

It started out as free lumbar, scraps discarded from a friend's old swing set. Plenty of wood for some cheap improvised shade in their grazing field - or so I thought. Two weekends, three trips to Home Depot and a hefty credit card bill later, Emerson and Elliot now have their own "summer cottage" complete with brand new siding, a shingled roof and multi-level interior.

On their first day out there, they ignored all the weeds and gnawed four shingles off the roof. This is why I love goats...Now if only my husband could build a time machine and send them off into the future! (Anyone else have a swing set to give away? Always worth a try.)

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...