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!)
Friday, December 25, 2015
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!)
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
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?
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?
Sunday, December 13, 2015
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...
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...
Friday, December 4, 2015
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!
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!
Friday, November 6, 2015
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.)
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!
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Friday, October 2, 2015
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...
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...
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