Registration Day

I spent some time this weekend completing the paperwork to register my herd name and goats with the National Pygmy Goat Association. After a great deal of thought, I chose Leaping Goat Farm as my herd name. I considered Rainy Day Ranch, but it felt wrong since goats absolutely detest rain.

A color side-view photo of each goat must accompany the registration forms. Let me tell you how difficult it is to get a goat to stand still long enough to get a good side-view shot. It took me about an hour to photograph all four goats in this manner, and even then I had to have the Wrangler step in and help. Turns out that goat portrait photography is a two-person job. First, goats do not pose. Second, goats do not understand the command "stay." Third, all the goats want to be in on the fun--they don't believe in letting just one goat get all the attention. Every time I had a picture-perfect shot, another goat would run in front of the camera at the last second. When I tried to separate a goat from the herd, quite the ruckus ensued. I got a side-view all right...a side view of a goat screaming. When a goat screams, his eyes bulge and he sticks out his tongue. It's a comical sight, but perhaps not what the National Pygmy Goat Association is looking for.

After about an hour, I had an adequate side-view shot of each goat. I uploaded the four files to the Target Photo site for printing. I happily went to Target today to pick up my prints. Notice a particular scruffy white monster lurking in the background and marring the otherwise perfect shot of Oscar? Ugh. I'm sending in the photo anyway. I hope the National Pygmy Goat Association registration director has a sense of humor.

Goat Off My Back

Mischievous Elmo has a little habit that was cute when he was 14 lbs. but is a rather a pain, literally, now that he's 22 lbs. The agile fellow thinks it's fun to play on my back while I'm crouched down to clean the goat pen. And he doesn't merely get on my back and stay there. No, he takes a flying leap onto my back and lands with a thud. He'll dance around a bit, jump up and down and twirl, launch himself into the air, land on a wine barrel, and then bounce from the barrel to my back. I make a conscious effort to hold myself at a 90 degree angle, but if I so much as slip to 80 degrees, the Elmo Monster takes advantage, quick as a flash. I don't know what feels worse: giving up and serving as a platform for his gymnastics, or trying to right myself while four sturdy hooves fight for traction as they slide down my back.

Yesterday after observing the hoof-induced welts on my back, the Wrangler tried to ascribe some deeper meaning to Elmo's antics.

"Is it some sort of dominance thing?" he wondered.

I shook my head. "Goats aren't like dogs. Elmo isn't trying to send any message. He's just having a blast."

Oh, the google search that ensued. Anyone privy to my internet usage log will see search terms along the lines of "goat on my back" and "goat dominance." After a while, it became fairly clear that Elmo really is just being playful.

But as I sit here wincing when I lean back against my chair, I know that some goat reconditioning is in order. How do I get my goat off my back?

Moto Maintenance

Guess who got a fancy pedicure last week? Moto's feet had been looking a bit worse for the wear. Moto's hind shoes were removed in December when he started stall rest for his bowed tendon. He's more active now--plenty of walking and trotting. We have just a few weeks to go before he'll be cleared to canter. As a result of his increased activity but lack of shoes, his hind hooves had some unsightly cracks. I suspect that this caused his hoof abscess. (Thankfully, the abscess healed in just a few days.) Last Wednesday, the farrier neatly trimmed Moto's hooves and grooves and gave him four spiffy new shoes. We're one step closer to putting the six months of stall rest behind us.

Today Dr. Reese floated Moto's teeth, which is akin to annual routine dental work. Unlike human teeth, horse teeth continue to grow throughout the horse's life. Over time, the horse's teeth may develop sharp, painful edges that make eating difficult. During a dental float the vet sedates the horse and inserts a mouth speculum to keep the mouth open. The vet smooths the teeth with a file or similar tool. The process typically takes about 20 minutes and, because a horse's nerves end close to the gum line instead of inside the teeth, is not painful. Dr. Reese informed me that Moto had several teeth with sharp points, and he'll feel much better now that they're contoured.

Hay Day

I had a new bale of hay delivered last Wednesday. The first bale lasted about six weeks, but we'll start going through hay much more quickly as the goats grow.

There are several different types of hay. I went with our goat girl's recommended orchard hay over the feed store's recommended timothy hay. I don't think it really matters that much; all I know is that I should never feed wethers alfalfa. Alfalfa is a rich, high-protein legume (it's technically not a grass) that can cause wethers to develop urinary stones. It is high-calorie--we had to eliminate the alfalfa from Moto's diet when he started stall rest. Incidentally, it also is delicious. Moto sorely misses his daily alfalfa ration.

I immediately noticed that the hay in this new bale looks and feels much different than the hay in the first bale. The goats had been eating (and greatly enjoying, I might add) long stemmed, leafy hay that was somewhat dry, prickly, and straw-like. It poked through my Uggs and shredded my hands. I started wearing gloves when breaking off sections (flakes) of hay.

In contrast, this new hay is very soft--no gloves needed. I could sleep on this stuff. It's dark green, short-stemmed and has a broad, flat blade. It feels more like regular grass. Whereas the goats gluttonously devoured the old hay, they have taken a rather "meh" approach to the new hay. They're eating, but not as enthusiastically.

Text messages and pictures of hay flew between the goat girl and me this morning. She confirmed that the new bale is high-quality orchard grass, but the previous bale likely was alfalfa. I also called my dad, who asked me if the hay in question was long-stemmed and leafy. Yes and yes. "Sounds like alfalfa," he concluded. Doh! Not good for my wethers.

And so I learned another lesson: I have to know my stuff. I can't rely on others to get it right. I didn't know how to identify different types of hay, and I assumed that the feed store sent me the correct kind. The feed store made an error, but I didn't catch it. It was entirely my fault that my goats ate the wrong hay for six weeks.

Moto's Sweet Sixteen

It was Moto's birthday this week, and all he got was a hoof abscess! A hoof abscess is a fairly common affliction caused by a bacterial infection in the hoof structures. Although it's pretty painful for a horse, an abscess, when treated, typically heals in just a matter of days. When Moto's trainer attempted to ride him on Tuesday, she noticed he was lame. He didn't want to put any weight on his left hind hoof. When she led him back into his stall he opted to sit down instead of stand. By Wednesday morning, his pastern and fetlock had considerable swelling.

I arrived at the barn on Wednesday just in time to observe the vet making her diagnosis. Symptoms of a hoof abscess include lameness (check), swelling in the pastern and fetlock (check), and a pronounced digital arterial pulse (half-check--Moto's was only moderate). Dr. Reese prodded different sections of Moto's hoof to test his sensitivity to pressure. When she thought she had identified the infected area, she injected a nerve block to confirm. She would know that she'd found the infected area if Moto didn't react when she re-administered the hoof test. Unfortunately, due to the swelling, Dr. Reese had to inject the nerve block several times before she noticed a reduced reaction. She wasn't able to confirm with 100% certainty that it's an abscess, but she felt about 90% sure.

Treatment calls for a daily 30-minute hoof soak in Epsom salt and water (the Epsom salt draws the bacteria out of the hoof), wrapping in a special treatment boot to protect the hoof from dirt and manure, and a daily dose of medicine to reduce swelling. He seems to be on the mend. Hopefully, he will get the "all clear" on Monday.

We celebrated his birthday today at the barn with carrots, carrot cake cupcakes, and apples for all. Moto loved the special attention and ate it up. Literally.

More

Don't adjust your screen....
Elmo is standing on the photographer's back 

If you can bear with yet more goat news, I will tell you that 3.5 goats are litter box trained now. I say 3.5 because Oscar only sort of gets it. He puts his front hooves in the litter box, but fails to scoot the back (and most important) half of his body into the box. Come on, Oscar! Even baby Neko gets it.

Each goat got a bath in the mudroom sink today. I think they enjoyed the nice warm water even though they didn't want to admit it. I was expecting loud meltdowns, but only Oscar cried--and it really was just one or two half-hearted m-e-h-h-h-h-hs. I used all-natural lavender shampoo and conditioner for pets. Lavender is a natural insect repellant, so I'm hoping this will be enough. I hate the thought of chemical pet shampoos.

Believe it or not, goats are not the only thing on our minds around here. We visited Moto, who seems to be warming up to the Wrangler. The Wrangler knows the ropes now and can handle the grooming and hand-walking with ease. Moto just received his routine quarterly vaccinations and is scheduled for his annual teeth floating next Monday. It's remarkable to see how much his mood has improved since he was cleared to resume trotting. Moto's trainer says she can tell that he's glad to be "back to work," and I sure can tell the difference, too. He's less impatient and seems more relaxed. His winter weight is coming off, and he is as handsome as ever.

And so things are happy here. I did, however, halt our quest to buy a farm in this area. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it's truly beautiful 'round these parts. The climate is pleasant for animals, and I've met some wonderful people in this little town, people I now call friends. But I can't shake my vision of a charming country cape surrounded by acres and acres of green grass on rolling hills and trees that explode with color in the fall. I see an old barn and spacious fenced paddocks for content goats and sheep and horses and chickens. I smell an approaching thunderstorm, and I hear raindrops falling. I see fireflies light up a summer night. I feel the change in the air as summer fades. I revel in the mere possibility of a snow day. I breath in the crisp air when I throw open all the windows on the first day of spring. In the past year, I've made some real progress toward my dream that is the Rainy Day Ranch....I might as well keep going until I get there.

This Bird Didn't Get the Worm(s)

I've been a helicopter parent to these four goats, watching them like a hawk, marking up goat care books with highlighters and post-it flags, and diligently recording their every move. Just yesterday I was feeling at the top of my game. I was an amaaazing goat mom. And then today I suffered a major blow: the Big Boys have worms.

I was fooled because they were given de-worming medicine the day I brought them home, and they're not due for another routine dose until late June. They look and act healthy. They're energetic and lively. They're growing big and strong. They have good appetites. They have normal poop...or so I thought. It never occurred to me to ask our goat girl what normal goat poop looks like. I knew that goats leave pellets ("berries"). Mine leave tidy little clumps of pellets that are easy to sweep up. I didn't know until I happened to read something on a goat-related website today that clumps mean worms. OH NO!

I can't believe these poor little guys have had worms for at least five weeks and on my watch. As directed, I gave all four goats a pea-sized amount of ivermectin, but I'm worried sick. Of course everything I read on the internet assures me that the goats are probably at death's door. I frantically tried to check their eyeball membranes and gums for a healthy hue. Some articles say these should be red, while others say pink. White, apparently, means call 911 because the animal is dangerously anemic. Checking goat eyeball membranes and gums is much easier said than done. The goats really did not enjoy this extra attention. And I'm still not sure if the membranes and gums are white, pink, or red.

I hope the ivermectin dose was correct. Too much and you kill the goat. Too little and the worms develop resistance to the deworming medication. Something tells me that I'll be obsessing about goat poop for the next few days. If the clumps aren't replaced by loose pellets in a couple days, I guess we are off to the goat vet.

Update: I just read a few articles that say clumpy poop isn't harmful and doesn't mean worms, so long as it is a clump of berries and not clump that looks like dog poop. Clearly, I now am obsessed with goat poop. I am breathing a little easier, but I suspect I won't be completely at ease until I've taken my kids to the livestock vet.

Goats Galore

It's been a week since my last goat update, and I'm happy to report that all is well. Neko's weight fluctuates, but she's more or less about seven pounds. She's more playful now, which is a good sign. She bounces on the little trampoline, plays on the wine barrels, and isn't afraid to get things going with the Big Boys. I've begun weaning Grover, who now is 12 pounds. He's down to just two bottles a day, and next week he will get only one per day. The Big Boys will hit the 20-pound mark this weekend. All four goats sleep in the same doghouse now. When I arrive at the goat pen in the morning, four heads peek out and it's chaos as each goat tries to be the first one to squeeze out of the doghouse.

Their personalities are still developing, but giant Oscar is snuggly and loves attention. Elmo is affectionate as well as dynamic and comes up with the big ideas during playtime. He and Oscar are very athletic and love to chase, leap, jump, and do fancy twists in the air. Grover is feisty. He throws huge fits while he's waiting for his turn to be bottle-fed: he head-butts the Big Boys, stamps his hooves, and bleats up a storm. Neko is just starting to come out of her shell. All of the goats have shed their shyness and enjoy playing with people.

Before I left town last weekend for a short trip to Minneapolis, I typed up a nine-page goat care instruction manual for the Wrangler. He dutifully checked off tasks on the list for Friday but I don't think he consulted the manual at all on Saturday or Sunday. The goats were happy and healthy when I returned, so I guess it's okay that the Wrangler failed to adhere to my hour-by-hour plan or write copious notes in the barn journal. It seems that the Wrangler's style of goat management is a bit more relaxed than mine, but both styles get the job done.