Beware the Howlers...

Recently we were privileged to host several international visitors in our home, and as always the goats were delighted to meet new people. Most of our guests had some experience with goats, although not in the "useless, money-sucking pet" category which best describes Emerson and Elliot. Stroking Ellie's back, one woman confided that she had received a goat for her sixteenth birthday, many years ago.

"What a wonderful gift!" I beamed. "How long did you have your goat?"

"Oh, about three days," she answered, "until we ate him at my party."

Cover your ears, goatboys!!

Bizarre as goats may be, however, they are far from the strangest creatures we could have chosen. Sipping coffee on the deck one morning as we watched the goats chase each other, one of our guests turned to me. "And you also raise howler monkeys?"

"What??" I sputtered, spewing coffee on the railing. "Howler monkeys? Of course not! Why would you even think that?" (Like goats aren't enough insanity, perish the thought that we might want our trees inhabited by gangs of four-foot long swinging monkeys who apparently drop fruit on people's heads...Plus, aren't they only found in South America?)

"I've heard them here several times," he insisted. "It's a very distinctive sound."

Well, yes, as I do recall from a grade-school science project, the loud gutteral cry of the Howlers can travel for miles - "Maybe you're hearing the turkeys across the field?"

No, he said, definitely Howlers. His wife agreed, having recognized their call numerous times overnight. Alarmed, I looked at their three children, who all nodded solemnly. Howlers. After all, this family lives in Mexico; they must know...my mind raced.

How did the monkeys get here? Aren't they found only in rain forests? Who do I call for a howler monkey infestation? Are they harmful to goats?


"There!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Did you hear that?" Eagerly his family concurred, but I had missed it. Frustrated, I asked them to listen again, explaining that I had been distracted by the whining sound of a car driving over the rusted metal bridge at the edge of our property. Only when they again identified the monkey's cry just as another car passed did we realize, this decrepit bridge, already slated for replacement, mimics exactly the call of an indigenous jungle monkey. All these years of living here, and I never knew. The new bridge will be concrete, wider and safer, but suddenly I feel a little sad...

Oh well, at least I still have my goats...

Signs of the Times?

Imagine my surprise to see this when I went out to feed the goats yesterday - Really, boys?? Am I rattling the hay tub too much and disturbing your naps? (Yes, I did slam the gate shut extra loudly just to spite them, ungrateful animals...)

As it turns out, I didn't realize my husband was doing some free-lance sign repair for a local church, and this had been dropped off earlier for him to paint. Still...

Why Goats Don't Wear Flip Flops

If there were a scale to measure quantitative danger levels of various pets, goats would fall somewhere in the middle, midway between kittens and venomous snakes. Are you looking for a companion more adventurous than a goldfish, but are not yet ready to adopt a poison dart frog? A goat is the ideal pet for you! Most goat-related injuries are easily treated with a standard first-aid kit, minor in comparison to a frightening peril highlighted this week by a segment on my favorite morning show.

What now?, you may be wondering. Carbon monoxide? Speeding trains? Exploding airbags? No - this is a more insidious hazard, an everyday object present in nearly every American home and a far greater risk than goats - the common flip flop.

I know, you are thinking - how can this be? I wear them every day! And yet, the numbers do not lie - fully 25,000 people each year visit emergency rooms for flip flop-related injuries! Unfortunately I could not locate similar statistics for goats, but surely it is much lower...

I know, I know...it makes no sense. Flip flops, while certainly lacking in arch support, cannot butt you, bite you, or gore you with their horns. Foam footwear is unlikely to hurtle down the hill and knock you flat, and the care of flip flops does not require straining to lift heavy hay bales, wielding razor-sharp hoof trimmers or handling toxic parasectisides. Additionally, flip flops can hardly send their owners into financial ruin or mental breakdown - and yet...

Don't take chances - trade in your flip flops for goats. You can never be too careful when it comes to the safety of your family.

Front Yard Bliss

Elliot is sweet, gentle, and simple. He lacks his brother's sleek coat and devious cunning, but for all his flaws you cannot help but love him. As life goes, Elliot has fair reason to complain. A chronic skin ailment causes him intense, flesh-biting itching; he endures painful treatments and the humiliation of shorn fur. His brother, the only other goat in his world, is a nasty bully determined to deny Elliot access to hay, weeds and even human affection. Plus, sometimes it rains...

Even a few raindrops send Ellie into his Oz-like "Wicked Witch of the West" impersonation - I'm melting! I'm melting!! - and he runs for shelter with his head tucked all the way to his chest. (If I can't see the rain, it can't get me?) 

When dark clouds threatened yesterday, I rushed outside to bring the goats from their remote fenced field back to their shed. Emerson ran directly in and was under roof before the storm began, but Elliot became confused by the first raindrops and took off in the opposite direction in his peculiar "rain gait" with his head bent and eyes closed. Apparently mistaking my husband's large storage shed for his own safe haven, he flung himself repeatedly against the closed door - Why am I still getting wet? Oh, help me, help me! Let me in!

Now soaked myself as the storm intensified, I chased after him and attempted to shove him back toward the house, but an eighty-pound soggy goat is not easy to move and all I accomplished was to send him off in again the wrong direction, toward the road. Completely disoriented, he suddenly skidded, stopped, and whipped his head around - Oh, look where I am! I'm in the front yard!! (Understand, the front yard, due to traffic proximity and ornamental shrubbery, is one place the goats are never, ever allowed. They know this well.) With no concern for the pelting rain, he flung himself up in the air with a frisky sideways kick, jumping in great circles and apparently celebrating with a jubilant dance...I'm in the front yard and I even got here first and this makes me so happy!!

Fortunately the front yard has a never-used gate into the goat pen, so when I caught up to my sopping-wet, crazy-dancing Ellie, I coaxed him over - Oh look, Emerson! I'm even going through that gate we're not allowed to use! Life is so good! - and then everyone was where they needed to be and I went to find some dry clothes. It may not have improved Ellie's overall situation, but I hope the memory of that brief joyful experience got him through the rest of the torrential storm.

I know several people facing difficult situations right now - financial strain, insurmountable illness, broken relationships, heart-rending loss. Along with the strength and healing I pray them every day, let me add this - may there also be an occasional moment of "front-yard bliss," even one small happy thing, just to brighten each difficult day and help ride out life's storms.

Happy Birthday Wishes

Sometimes the goats cooperate. Other times it takes a pound of orange chips dumped on the deck to distract them from the fact that they're wearing party hats. Either way,  if you're our goat-friendly favorite aunt in Alabama, this one's for you!

(Shortly after this photo was taken, Emerson ate the sign.)

Happy birthday, Aunt Robin! We miss you!

Ten Random Things Everyone Should Know About Goats

Nothing is more adorable and personable than a baby goat. (Years later, when you are sprawled on the driveway after being kicked in the head while scrubbing parasitic fungus off your goat's rump, you will remember why you ever got goats in the first place...)

If you bottle-feed a goat until he is nearly two years old, you will create a bond so intense that this goat will suffer everlasting separation anxiety whenever you leave him. He will even stand outside your open bedroom window on hot summer nights, crying for you whenever he hears you roll over.

Goats produce four times their body weight in poop every day. This is a fact. Also, excreted goat pellets are of the exact shape and size to wedge themselves tightly between the boards of your deck and the grooves of your sneakers...

Contrary to the belief of one high school student we know, goats are a distinct species. (Even living in the city is no excuse for asking, "What is a goat anyway? Is that just a male sheep?" ...though to be fair, I am hopelessly lost on any metropolitan subway system.)

If you are going to spend a small fortune in money and time fencing a field for your goats to graze, do not fence the one area on your property where there is absolutely no shade, not any at all. Not even if your husband insists on that spot because it will not disrupt his mowing pattern. Not unless you like baked goat.

Goats are frightened of many things - the dark, raindrops, small cats and soccer balls. Friends ask why we have soccer balls in every corner of the garden, unaware that this is a perfect goat barrier, especially when you find cheap sports equipment at yard sales. The mere threat of even a gentle toss keeps both my goats wary of the tomato plants.

Goats have no upper front teeth - just a hard gum area. Don't be deceived - it still hurts when they bite, and if you are foolish enough to contact the razor-sharp back teeth, you'll risk losing a finger.

Your goat may look stupid, but that is just to disguise the reality that he is smarter and trickier than you. Never turn your back.

Even despite the ruckus, the mess, the parasites, the financial drain, the upheaval of the life you once knew and your gradual descent into insanity, it is possible to love a goat. There is absolutely no logical reason for this, but it happens.

Oh, and nine is the new ten. (Just in case you were counting.)

A Day in the Life of...With Goats

First they knocked over the hay tub. Then, fighting over their breakfast (Emerson always wants both bowls), they spilled grain and seed mix all over the deck. This apparently set a pattern, because - Look, brother, here she comes with our water bowl - let's get her! - and as Emerson crashed through the screen door in excitement, Elliot leaped onto a bench and lunged for the bowl, knocking off my glasses as water flew everywhere.

Three years ago I would have never have thrown things and stomped and shrieked like this, but I am a different person now, and the words spit effortlessly: "I HATE YOU BOTH!! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!! I HATE YOU WITH...WITH...WITH A THOUSAND HATES!!"

That's when I heard a gasp. Now, goats emit many unusual sounds, but I have never actually heard a goat gasp, and why are they both suddenly doing their best sweet-and-innocent imitation? Warily I turned around - oh, hi Megan...

Staring at the ranting and disheveled apparition who only vaguely resembled her mother, she was clearly disapproving. "A bit harsh, don't you think, Mom? Really? A thousand hates?"

Soaking wet, scented in eau de vinegar and against the background of the wreckage of our deck, I squinted at her through my now-crooked bifocals. "What? You think I should have said nine-hundred ninety nine?"

Ha! I knew she'd have no response if I used a math problem.

Come on, goat boys. Ellie still needs a betadine bath and I haven't cleaned out the shed yet...maybe Mommy can find you some dandelions to munch while I sweep. Life with goats...