Minimalists, Goats and Games - Who Goes First?

If you had to get rid of 24 things from your house today, could you do it?

Wanting to both eliminate clutter and donate to a  favorite charity, my daughter and I committed to this popular internet challenge - on January 1 we each discarded one item, January 2 called for two things, and so on with more items filling the box each day. Clothing, books, kitchen gadgets, anything goes. (Why on earth do we own six blenders? And a dozen jars of anchovy paste? Yup - food counts too.) It starts out easy, with too-tight jeans and chipped coffee mugs being tossed, along with a bunch of Tupperware with no lids and old VHS tapes. By the second week I had cleaned out all the closets and every drawer in the kitchen (a shoe box of ballpoint pens saved me mid-week - how many pens does one family need, anyway?) 

It was Week 3 where I started to sweat, and the rest of my family became suspicious. Doubtful that his missing NASCAR t-shirts were really all "in the laundry" (as I claimed), my husband installed a lock on his toolbox. It might seem simple to find 22 unneeded items in the entire house, except that yesterday I scrounged and barely got 21! Decision time - does a pair of socks count for two? And what about old sneakers - if I remove the laces can I call them four pieces?? Mom, have you seen my iPod? (Busted!!) And my Batman hat?

And then I looked out the window...

I know, I know...this is an evil thought, but I've often wondered who would notice if I relocated them to that farm up the road late at night...checking off not just one-two boxes for Em and Ellie but also the vast amount of supplies they've accumulated - four water buckets, five hay tubs, a half-dozen winter coats with Velcro straps, leashes, collars, containers and bowls for sunflower seeds, orange peels, animal crackers and apple cider vinegar...don't forget all the mineral blocks, dewormers, anti-itch spray, antibiotic paste, grooming brushes, hoof trimmers, one hoof-trimming stand (crafted by my husband but yet unused because I can't coax the goats into it!), rubber sleeping mats (partly chewed), brooms (for sweeping poop), wheelbarrows (for stowing it) and ten large garbage cans full of locust pods collected this fall. The minimalist challenge? Sure, nothing to it! Give me a number!

Here's my suggestion. Do this - but start in February. Only three fewer days than the months around it may not sound like much, but this amounts to 90 items. Trust me on this! Mom, what happened to the TV? And why are the cats hiding under the bed all the time?

Feel free to come admire my new un-cluttered house. (Just don't take off your coat while you're here!)

Package Delivery, Goat Style

One of the little-known benefits of having goats is that you no longer have to open your own packages. Found this scene in the driveway a few weeks ago, after the UPS truck apparently came while I was in the shower. Can't you just imagine how much fun Emerson and Ellie had doing this? For us???

Right, so now I know goats don't like cat food. Unfortunately, the soggy cookbook in the snowbank was meant as a gift - and two paperback books are still missing.

How's that poetry taste, Elliot?
Oh, just delicious, brother! Goes down so smooth...How do you like the mystery novel?
Mmmm...savory and delectable, every bite a surprise! No wonder Mom's been so anxious to read it!

Wonder if there's any chance of a refund...

The Great Granola Bar Gaffe

Celebrating our goats' 6th birthday causes me to recall the many struggles they have overcome - like the horrific parasitic infestation which consumed our summer of 2013 (above). They have survived not only having their horns burned off (twice) with a branding iron and their tender testicles snapped off with tight rubber bands but also countless blizzards, one flood, one bout of urinary calculi, five skin biopsies under anesthesia, coccidiosis, relentless itching, a bad bee sting and a wasp nest, numerous superficial cuts and scrapes, and most recently, banana bloat. Oh, and last month I almost killed them with granola bars.

First, know that when my daughters were young I was the absolute queen of childproofing. We installed baby gates, cabinet latches, window guards, even locks on the toilet bowls (again, apologies to those adult guests who couldn't figure them out!) We anchored all the heavy furniture to the walls, bought Mr. Yuk stickers by the roll and carefully sliced grapes and hot dogs into thin, choke-proof slivers. We stored the steak knives above the refrigerator and secured the yard with a four-foot fence and self-locking gates. "Safety First" was always my policy...

Since then, I've slipped up a few times. (Face it, the first time your daughter drives off in a car with a boy, you realize it doesn't matter that you've protected her with dye-free detergent and lead-free mini-blinds all those years!) So when I carefully latched my husband's plastic lunch box and set it outside just for a moment while he warmed up his truck, how could I have foreseen that the goats would find and destroy it that quickly? Commotion mere moments later led me to this scene scattered about the  deck - one lunch box (in pieces), a plastic fork and spoon, one banana (intact), one container of  salami and cheese cubes, one chocolate pudding (crushed but uneaten), a few carrot sticks, and two goats with guilty faces. I did a quick inventory...Goats! Where is the apple? (Shrug) Did you really eat the napkins?? (Yum!) Wait! What happened to both granola bars - chewy chocolate ones in the foil wrappers??

Recalling Emerson's near-fatal blockage from a strip of banana peel, I felt my pulse quicken. Would they have chewed through the wrappers, or swallowed them intact in the foil? The smooth bars might slide down a goat's throat, but then what? Would the wrappers burst open in the rumen or just cause a deadly obstruction? Also, did each goat eat one granola bar, or did someone consume both?

The next few days were tense. Every morning I took a deep breath before peering into their shed, fearful of what I'd find. I palpated their bellies, monitored their eating patterns, examined their droppings for pieces of foil or chocolate oat chunks. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It's been three weeks now - are we safe? Maybe...

I bought my husband a new lunch box - galvanized steel with a combination lock. Also, I now unwrap his granola bars and store them in easily-digestible paper towels. You can never be too careful!

The Perilous Peel (or why bananas can be deadly)

The average life expectancy for a goat is twelve years, although goats who are exceptionally "well-cared-for" can live to be twenty. The running joke among my friends is that Em and Ellie (now almost six) will probably still be dancing on our back deck when they're thirty. (Hey Mom, can you bring out a fresh bucket of warm water? Don't forget the vinegar!)

That said, last week I nearly killed Emerson with a banana peel.

Inspired when my sister told me how her four goats love banana peels (although they scoff at soybeans and locust pods), I tried these on Em and Ellie, and yes, they relished this new potassium-rich treat. Suddenly my friends and neighbors all had blackened bananas or bags of slimy peels to share... and then one morning Emerson staggered out of the shed, glassy-eyed, belly bulging and foaming at the mouth.

Panic struck as my fingers flew across the keyboard - every Google search of his symptoms turned up "bloat," a life-threatening condition of pent-up gas bubbles in the digestive system most often caused by excessive grazing on fresh spring grass after a winter in the barn. With scant few blades of grass peeking up through the snow, this made no sense, but I initiated the recommended treatments in desperation.

Constantly massage the rumen, particularly the left side.
Hold goat upright and pat with vigor as though burping a baby.
Encourage goat to keep walking around,  following behind to listen for escape of gas.
Force-feed goat a paste of water mixed with powdered laundry detergent or baking soda.
If no improvement, may need to puncture the abdomen to release pressure.

After about three hours of enforced long walks and rumen-rubbing, I was exhausted, frozen, and covered in a slimy goat-spit/baking soda paste. Brother Elliot had been excited to tag along, head-butting Emerson (or sometimes me) whenever Emerson tried to lie down. And finally Emerson was improving - belly softer, eyes clear, even willing to accept a few animal crackers. By afternoon, he was munching on hay, back to his usual frisky self.

Was it a weird mid-winter bloat? Maybe - but my theory is that a length of banana peel got stuck somewhere and impeded the flow of digestive gases. We're not taking any chances. From now on we'll stick to orange peels!

Goats Go Bananas!

Emerson: These are few of our favorite things - soybeans, locust pods, animal crackers, dried orange peels (lemon, pomegranate, grapefruit, etc.), sunflower seeds - and now a new addition to the list...

BANANA PEELS!!

Yummy! We devour them either fresh or dried and crunchy; yellow, spotted or slimy black - they are delicious any way you serve them. What we can't comprehend is why it took the humans almost six years to figure this out. (Mom was probably eating them all herself!)

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Mom: Before the candlelight Christmas Eve service this year, the lobby attendant pulled me aside with five small paper bags containing dried orange peels - gifts from church friends who leave them above coat racks or in random other places for me to collect each Sunday. Apparently with all the visitors coming for Advent services, scattered bags of composting fruit rinds detracted from the  lobby decor. I get that, really I do!!

So here's my question - how many of my friends would be willing to save and dry banana peels for Em and Ellie?  And would it be inappropriate to designate a collection area in the church lobby for them? Sorry, goats, not happening. (Really - I will never turn down a banana peel - just give them to me discreetly!)

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Elliot: I sure hope Dad sees the note in his lunchbox reminding him to bring his banana peel home from work! Maybe you should start sending him two bananas each day...

Where's Henry? (Of Waldo, Goats and Hippos)

This was not our most creative year for Halloween. I had originally considered themes from both Star Trek and Disney's Frozen, but the goat boys' growing bulk and general lack of costume cooperation led me to concede to their first choice - Where's Waldo? - after the popular storybook character who blends in with his surroundings. Guess Em and Ellie thought they could sneak in to nibble the shrubbery in our garden's "Restricted Section..." Might have been more successful if they hadn't kept shaking off their matching striped hats and dark glasses. I see you, crazyheads!!

Where's Emerson? Where's Elliot? Even as I laughed at their antics, the day weighed bittersweet as I processed sorrowful news just posted on the Cincinnati Zoo's Facebook page. Where's Henry? I imagined two hippos calling out, unanswered, confused by the silence from Henry's enclosure. Bibi's beloved mate and the father of world-famous (and quite adorable!) Fiona, Henry lost his battle Tuesday to a debilitating illness of several months. Elderly by hippo standards at 36, Henry is described as a "gentle giant" and loved waterfalls, watermelons, and afternoon underwater naps with his "bloat" (hippo for herd). Even when overshadowed by his feisty, celebrity daughter, Henry was dependable and sweet. As a sire to six hippo calves in his lifetime, he certainly left a legacy to this vulnerable species. Regrettably, Henry was indoors under veterinary care during our summer visit to the Zoo, so my memories of Fiona and Bibi are as they are now, a bloat of two.

If you've followed the roller-coaster of Fiona's story since her extremely premature birth in January, if you've rejoiced with her miraculous survival and the joyful reunion of her family this summer - then you are already mourning the loss which surely she and Bibi feel. As I chased my goats around the yard with striped hats and a camera, I wondered, how do you comfort a grieving hippo? How do you  explain why Henry is silent, where Henry has gone? 

The sun is shining. There's laundry to do, dishes in the sink, but that can wait. I think I'll go outside and play with my goats.

 

Goat Enrichment

Something I learned from following one of our nation's largest zoos is that animals in captivity are healthier when they have a variety of "enrichment items" in their habitat. These objects, designed to physically and mentally stimulate the animals, include anything the creature can jump on, climb over, or play with on land or in the water. Our favorite zoo even maintains an "Enrichment Committee" to research and provide these useful items for their animals. (I want that job!!)

Hey, what's good enough for polar bears and baby hippos is good enough for my goats!

With a limited budget, my daughters and I have located numerous enrichment items for Em and Ellie, mostly on trash day and from curbside junk piles. Old wooden pallets, aerobic steps, broken patio umbrellas - the benefit of driving a minivan is that almost everything fits in the back. If it looks like something a goat might jump on, rub against or use for shade, we bring it home.

I say Enrichment; my husband groans at yet another haul of Other People's Junk or Something Else to Mow Around. Semantics...

What could be more important, after all, than the mental health of these two adorable critters?