Friday the 13th and the Big Bad MRSA

So, goats get sick. As evidenced by my earlier post, sometimes they get mysterious sores. But, if there is no discomfort, and the sore heals well, one might think little of it. Until another goat gets a sore a week later, but maybe not the same type of sore. And it scabs and hangs on being sore, and losing a bit of hair with the scabs.

So you take a sample and send it to a lab for testing. Is it bacterial, virulent, or fungal? And what if the lab comes back saying it is bacterial, a staph-type bacteria, and as a courtesy to those who use the ranch, you have isolated the infected goats and posted signs that while you are investigating the problem, please remember what should be your usual care of general cleanliness and handwashing.

"Have you had a vet in to look at them?" People will ask. No, I called the local animal hospital for advice, took pictures, sent a sample off for testing. "But what about the health hazards?" What health hazards? We isolated the affected goats, we are using extra precautions in handling them. "We'll get our vet to come out!" Thanks, that's not needed. "Our vet will do the exam, we'll pay." Really, not necessary. "No, we insist."

We just got our results back from the lab, which show large numbers of staphylococcus aureous. Ok. A staph infection. Is it serious? Lab report says the staph was sensitive to every broad spectrum antibiotic, so easily treated. "Oh no, don't treat until our vet comes and checks it out! Kids use the ranch, we should know what it is before we treat it." But my vet says it is treatable. "The county council is involved now. We will examine your goats. You will cooperate."

This is weird. Why do I listen to this nonsense? Did they hear anything I have been saying? Oh, I get it, I'm not a vet, so of course, I probably contaminated the scab or something. That's it, the sensitive staph was mine. Whatever. Let him come. Not today? Three days from now? I thought it was an emergency for you. Poor boys. Delaying treatment and release from confinement because Daddy is too timid to believe in his own research, even when confirmed by a peer and a mentor. I'm not a trained vet. Neither are they. Maybe we don't know what we're doing.

So, the big day came--three days later. Not only did he examine the four isolated goats, but all goats on the premises. Found two fresh cases by then. Looks bad. "It may be staph aureus, but I want to speciate it." Huh? Staph aureus is the species, is it not? "Looking for subspecies ... Mersa is a big problem ... overuse of antibiotics ... should minimize exposure to children ... "

Sounds fishy to me... like someone who has been recently to a seminar on health problems in hospitals... but what do I know? Ok, so lockdown at the barn. No children. Minimize exposure. Only 1-2 people in barn to do the chores that once were shared by a dozen. Use chlorhexadine boot bath coming in and going out. I'm dying here. What happened to our cooperative educational ranch? What is "mersa" anyway??? Well, no time to find out, too much work shifting all our routines around to comply with biosecurity guidelines instituted by the officious, and turning our ideals of positive interaction and cooperation out with the footbath water. Vigilance committees report on violators to officials who have no jurisdiction, but who can make life uncomfortable... and do.

How long will this take? A few days for the culture to confirm staphylococcus aureus, another day for ... what was that? ... "speciation"? Repeated in a phone call. Yep. "Speciation".... "mersa". Do you mean by "speciation" the identification of the strain of staph? Looking for... MRSA? The strain of staph that has killed people in hospitals because it is so hard to kill?

But how could it be MRSA if it is not resistant to even the most commonly used antibiotics????

Sigh.

A Fish Climbs a Tree

"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."

Life's experiences have led me to reject fighting and war over and over again. When feeling threatened by real or imagined enemies, challenged by physical or emotional cruelties, how can we respond in ways that don't lead to escalation of conflict or resort to violence. Some folks train constantly for battle by working out, punching bags, training in external or internal martial arts. Does it make me or the world more peaceful if I let my mind and body go weak so that I cannot take advantage of others? When I feel taken advantage of, what do I do? My only option is to take the hit, which wears down my self-esteem... Or could this be an imbalance in my thinking?

Practicing martial arts like tai chi, wing chun, ba gua, hsing yi can lead to a martial thought process. Martial arts films are about fighting so well that you can take on every opponent. But is the martial arts film genre a good measure of the benefit of actual practice of the arts?

The Capricious Caprine - A Fable

On a rocky hillside not far from here, with verdant patches separated by craggy outcroppings, there lived a herd of goats happily feasting on the growth of the land. Though Young Buck was no longer a kid, he still loved to play, and was particularly interested in being at the top of any hill, stump or outcropping.

“I’m the strongest, I’m the fastest, I’m the King of the hill!” He would gleefully proclaim.

His kid brother, Little Billy, looked up to Young Buck and tried to emulate him. In fact, Little Billy tried to claim so many hills, that the herd leaders had trouble keeping an eye on him. “Hey, Little Billy!" called Old Joe. "Not so far from the herd! Take a little wisdom from your elders. Play may be fun, yet you must take care! There are lions and ogres; you must keep aware!”

“Oh, old Joe’s a fuddy duddy,” Young Buck told Billy, with a laugh. “He's just chewing his cud! Lions! Ogre’s! Hm, hm! He’s the ogre! He’s so old, he’s forgotten what it was like to kick up your heels, and leap through the air as though you are flying.”

“Yeah! He doesn’t know what it’s like to be the strongest, the fastest, the king of the hill!” joined in Billy, a little too loudly, perhaps, because his brother’s high attitude lost a bit of altitude.

“Hush! He’ll hear you!”

One day Billy and Buck got into one of their games climbing higher and higher on the hill. As they capered and flipped, they neglected to notice that the herd was moving away to a greener pasture. They also failed to see the mountain lion watching from among some nearby rocks. Billy, though much smaller than his brother, was giving Buck more challenge than usual. “I’m the strongest! Ooph! I’m the best! Umph! I'm the --hooomf – king of the Hill! Huhn!!” What joy, what fun, what a great way to celebrate the gift of life! Bang! This was the life, they thought, as they both reeled with the force of their huge head-on collision!

That was when the lion took his chance and leaped onto Buck’s back! Little Billy startled and ran down the hill for the herd, but they were no where in sight! Young Buck struggled to fight as he fled, but he felt his oppressor heavy on his back, and the claws ripped deeper into his skin.

Just as Buck was about to give in to his awful fate, from behind the tree bounded Old Joe, crashing into the pair. Thus began a great battle of rippling muscles, claws and teeth against hoofs and horns. Old Joe flew again and again at the lion, who scratched menacingly at the great goat while trying to avoid Joe’s forceful blows. Billy and Buck looked on as their leader fought alone, until the lion and the goat grappled, rose on their hind legs, the lion with his powerful arms around the goat’s shoulders, the goat pushing his horns into the lion’s face. “He’s going to lose!” moaned the injured Buck. At that moment, like a lightening charged rocket, Little Billy launched himself head down into the fray, knocking the lion’s hip and tumbling him over. Now the old goat and the young stood shoulder to shoulder facing their vicious enemy, and as Buck limped up beside the two, the lion made his decision to cut his loss, turned tail, and retreated over the hill.

As the three limped to rejoin the herd, Billy was elated! “Did you see how Old Joe flew out of the wood!? And me! I knocked that lion over! We really are the strongest and fastest, kings of the hill!”

Young Buck was not so happy. “I’m no king! If it weren’t for you two, I’d be lion’s meat by now. I see now that strength and speed are no substitute for watchfulness and wisdom.”

DaddyGoat December 23, 2008
Limited use granted. You may share and copy, free of charge, so long as you don't claim the story is your creation.

Hay, hay, hay!!!

After two years of raising goats for fun and to use up all that extra cash we don't have, my life partner finally decided to clean out the '95 corolla, and now what do we use to transport the hay to the 4-H ranch? Renting a truck or van adds quite a premium to the few bales we can get for our goats, and I think some of our friends think we are friends only to borrow their truck every few weeks. Plus, my mostly-sedentary lifestyle doesn't keep me fit enough to keep from hurting myself throwing those bales around. I would just order it, but they want you to order 60 bales at a time, and we aren't allotted that much space at the ranch.

In the community ranch where the goats live, there must be others who have this problem. We all have city jobs, and though some have SUVs and minivans, I have seen several family sedans with strange loads heading into the barns... I need to take the billy by the horns, reach out, and form a cooperative hay delivery plan! What do I have to lose?

Well, plenty, actually. I could be ridiculed, rebuffed, reminded that I'm not so great as I like to think when I'm not looking in the mirror. I might order and pay for hay, and have to return a bunch of it because it has gone bad. (That's happened already!) I may even find that even with a large number of ranch renters on my side, the city won't let me pile that much hay in the barn. I already know that with the construction going on around the ranch, they won't allow us to set up a special container to protect a large load of hay, and besides, that would add to my costs significantly. What to do?

Well, sometimes I'm adventurous to go out on the limb. So, I just got to start talking to people. The Hay Cooperative! That's what we need! "Don't you hate having to find time in your schedule to drive out to the feed store every couple of weeks for a few bales of hay? Wouldn't it be nice to have it delivered and stacked by hay-handling professionals? We might even get a cheaper price, especially if you factor in the gas and the value of your time and the cost of chiropractic and anti-inflammatory drugs." What could they say? "No, I like my bi-weekly pain in the back." "Hey, I like the excuse to burn more gasoline!" "But I'm sure my clients love the bits of alfalfa flying in their faces as we tour properties in my BMW!"

Maybe I should start with a feed vendor. The last time we had hay delivered, the venerable man running the feed store sold us several bales of rotting alfalfa. When we asked him to come see it, he vehemently denied that it could be a problem. Though he eventually came and took it all away, he went out of his way to make us feel like we were silly, oversensitive, green-eared goofs for daring to think badly of moldy bales. But Sarah Goodheart (not her real name), who has her own backyard ranch made up mostly of rescued 4-H auction animals, says her hay vendor is pretty dependable. Okay, I'm brave, let's give him a try.

My wife is hot to keep the hay out of her car, so she makes the first overtures. Great! Nice man. Could work out. Okay, I'll call him in several weeks when there is more room in the barn. But he doesn't return my calls. Days go by, with promises by his son to have him call me back, but no call, no message, nothing. What does this mean? "These old codgers are all alike! Hold all city folk in disdain. They think they are too good for us, just because have managed to keep their semi-rural livelihood going despite the California tendency to cover every possible space with asphalt and paving stones! They thumb their noses at us, as we struggle to keep a vestige of domesticated nature around us while we work our desk jobs, refine our client skills, type away all day on a computer keyboard..." Okay, calm down. So the guy doesn't call me back right away. I get busy sometimes, too. Give him a break. RING! Hey, it's him!

Great. So we have an understanding. Then I talk with the Ranch Manager, who gets special approval for my request to store overflow hay in the main aisle of the barn. Awesome! (The old barn has a hay loft, but that was abandoned to the barn owls years ago.) I even get the manager's hay purchase schedule, so I have an idea of who has been bringing in hay and who will need to do so soon.... Wicked! I'm feeling unstoppable now! Good time to send out the plan to everyone and her brother! And? Within 2 days, I have commitments from 10 families to buy into the cooperative! RADICAL!

The great cooperative hay purchase adventure begins!