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!