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!)

*          *          *          *          *           *          *           *           *          *          *           *           *

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!)

*           *            *           *           *            *           *          *           *           *          *          *          *

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?

Strawberries...and Nanny Goats

Mmmm...nothing says summer like fresh strawberries, right? These tantalizing sweet berries are often considered an aphrodisiac - and recently we wondered - does that also apply to goats? Here's why...

A few weeks ago I was at a nearby garage sale, wandering past tables of collectible snowmen and mounds of stained baby clothes, when an unfamiliar woman approached me and interrupted my internal musings (How could any one infant ever require at least eight dozen pastel onesies??). Putting her hand on my arm (ALERT! Unwanted yard sale contact!!), this woman exclaimed, "Oh! You're that lady with the Nigerian Dwarf goats, right? You don't know me, but I've driven by your house and seen them so many times!"

High alert now - maybe she wants to buy them!! If, perchance, she shares my same life/yard sale motto (I'll buy anything for a quarter), I'm ready to offer her the pair for a mere fifty cents (negotiable, delivery included). Already I can envision my new carefree life devoid of endless hours sweeping up goat droppings, chasing them out of the garden, being butted and kicked and pick-pocketed...

My new acquaintance continued, "They're males, right? Your neighbor told me that." Wary, I nodded, ready to claim them whatever gender she preferred, but she was all smiles. Sadly, here's where it all fell apart...

"Wonderful!! You see, my daughter has four Nigerian Dwarf does, and we can't find a male to breed them with. I'd love to rent your goats for a few months, for breeding purposes. What would you charge?"

This is where I had a very evil thought. What if, I wondered, I dropped them off at her house and just didn't mention that rather painful procedure Emerson and Elliot endured some five years ago? (Don't read this aloud; goats have supersonic hearing. Even now I can still hear their agonized cries...)

We should probably never mention that horrid day again - and as the yard sale woman waited expectantly for my answer, I envisioned adorable tiny Emersons and Elliots, happily frolicking with their parents in someone else's field...I mean, what if I let them give it a try? After all, how do we know that the banding was 100% effective?  Maybe we could let them give their best effort for a few months or so, feed them bowls of hormone-enhancing strawberries...maybe by then her daughter would want to keep them, or possibly I could move and change my identity before she tried to return them...

I took her phone number, told her I'd think about it. Then I drove down the road and picked a dozen quarts of strawberries, just in case. How about it, boys? Want to play with four new girlfriends for a while?

To be continued...

Happy Place for Goats, and other small tales

Give Emerson and Ellie a choice of any spot to sleep - they'll always pick right here, soaking up the sun against the garage door. Doesn't look so comfortable to me, but these are the same creatures who munch thorn bushes like candy yet refuse to walk on damp grass...

With the blessed arrival of warm weather, Elliot's skin condition has cleared up and his hair is growing back. See you again in December, scratchy, itchy sores and horrid bald patches!

Emerson (aka "Little Skunk" these days) is up to his usual antics. Last week he sneaked up behind me when I opened the car door and gobbled a map from the seat pocket. No problem, you rascal - next time we travel upstate and I need that map to find my way home, you're the one who'll be missing your warm vinegar water while I'm hopelessly lost in the woods...

Also, he chewed a giant rip in the pocket of my favorite jacket. Sure, a marvelous pile of animal crackers cascaded from the hole, but I ended up throwing the ruined coat away. Now no garment with pockets is safe from Emerson. Got any treats in there, orange peels, anything? Let me bite through the fabric and check!

Today a friendly neighbor left a bag of dried orange peels hanging on the garage door handle for me - unfortunately the goats were outside and found it first. In a few days we'll see what a plastic bag looks like, post-goat digestion. That was yummy!

My daughter recently informed me that sauteed "spruce tips" (as in, the ends of an evergreen tree branch) are a culinary delicacy served in the finest establishments. Since the goats have been nibbling our evergreens for years, I am apt to believe her. Maybe a little garnish of poison ivy?

Ahh, goats...

Of New Jersey and Cardboard Animals...

First of all, let's be kind to New Jersey. After all, this tiny state cannot help that it leads our nation in population density and toxic waste dumps and is also the car-theft capital of the world. Try to get past the fact that New Jersey boasts the highest cost-of-living in the U.S. and remember instead pleasant things like the Miss America pageant, Monopoly, the world's longest boardwalk and fifty resort towns. Site of my favorite childhood vacations, New Jersey was once the home of  my beloved grandmother and currently hosts one of Emerson and Elliot's best friends. The goats adore my New Jersey friend, who takes them for walks no matter how hot the weather, who doesn't complain when Emerson rubs his itchy horn scur on her leather purse and who memorizes which specific weeds they prefer, all the better to pamper them...

So, nothing against the Garden State. Some stories, however, just need to be shared.

We live in an area surrounded by farmland - endless fields of corn, soybeans and wheat. Tractors, barns, and livestock are as common a sight to my family as are the subways, buses and towering skyscrapers of nearby Manhattan to my Jersey friends. On their recent visit here (right after the worst of the snow), my city friends fought their way past the enthusiastic greetings of two very annoying goats and then asked this question:

"Just up the road we passed a field full of animals standing in the deep snow, not moving, like statues. We wondered, are those decorative cardboard cows?"

Now I know what I did wrong five years ago - I should have just gotten cardboard goats!!

(And by the way, New Jersey boasts not only Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, but is the site where the ice cream cone was originally invented. Love you, NJ!)