Huck and Tom gone to Trail

A farewell hug for Huckleberry

It has been my intention for years to take our two Oberhasli wethers, Huckleberry and Yora-Cute-Tomato, a.k.a Huck and Tom, goat-packing out on some serious trail.  Big enough to carry a reasonable load now, at almost 4 years and an estimated 180 pounds each, the two brothers have left our small herd to live at Trail, Oregon.  We all miss Captain Buckethead and the Tomster less than a day after their departure, and wish them happy trails in Trail!

Umbilicus tennisballum

Anemone, the fawn and black obie-alpine doeling, shows a swelling in the belly button about two months after her birth. It goes from being the size of a large marble when first discovered to the size of half a tennis ball in the next 24 hours. Wow! Scary!

Our first thought, after we calm our fears and do a phone call with the vet, is that it is a small hernia. One idea we have about its cause: she has herniated, perhaps, because of how unskillful she is at avoiding the bigger goats, who sometimes ram her when she stands next to a building, effectively rending a heart-wrenching screech from her, sound not being the only thing to escape under the pressure. Following up on these interrelated ideas, we separate her with her sister and mother, and spend some time and money trying to construct a truss that a goat may not shed in 15 minutes.

Aside from this bump on her belly, Anemone seems fine. She continues to be interested in eating whenever her mother and sister eat, she frolics and plays with her sister, she is alert and friendly. Furthermore, it So, I haven't seen a need to dropped everything to get a vet to look at it.

Then, about a week later, it starts to emit pus. White pus, smelling of extremely strong cud breath, what the vet has called "ruminant pus", an aroma that is highly attractive--to flies. Lucky for Anemone the pus does not ooze, but squirts only when bumped or squeezed by curious farmers, so the flies aren't all over her. The presence of pus changes the situation significantly. Definitely an infection, though probably not one of the scary ones--pus from a CL abcess is typically odorless--it means I am no longer comfortable letting this try to resolve itself.

We finally get her to the veterinary clinic today. The results are only a little surprising. Vet confirms it is not a hernia, that it is an infection. After looking at the shaved, cleaned abscess, doctor opines that the inflammation likely resulted from an umbilicus which has been infected from the week of her birth and which has only finally flared up in the last two weeks. [Note to self: Need to revisit our kidding procedures. Since the war on methamphetamine labs has made iodine solution impossible to come by, our substitution of betadine wash probably did not do the job. Anna the vet's assistant suggests chlorhexadine solution might be a better substitute, though not certain I communicated the use clearly.]

Final bill: Just under $150.

Qty	Description	Cost
1	Veterinary Exam, lg animal	49.50
1	Abcsess/Prep/Lance	27.50
1	Chlorhexaderm Sol Dvm (8oz)	11.40
1	Naxcel 1gm Disp	58.00
4	Syringe 3cc	1.00
4	Needle 20x1	.80
	subtotal	148.20

Thanks and Farewell: Letting the Boys Move On

Aspen and Alder with their new owners

It has been a little over 8 weeks since Yuli's bore her two boys into our little herd, and they have bored their way in to our hearts. We knew from the first we could not keep them, with the limited resources at our disposal. We also knew that we wanted them to be loved, and that by freely giving them our love, they would be lovable by others. So, we have treated them as if they were staying with us indefinitely.

We have gained so much joy watching these two grow quickly from active little newborns to curious little devils. We watched them discover that there were other, bigger goats in the world, and held our breaths as they experienced the goat hierarchy welcoming rites, as they learned whom they needed to avoid, and when and how to do it. We let ourselves feel the sense of togetherness when they settled in with the herd, having moments of fun and connection with their elders. We watched them welcome younger babies into the herd, just as they had been welcomed, thus perpetuating the skill of wariness so important for goat survival.

We also helped them to learn from us ways to modify their "natural" capricious and sometimes vicious behavior to fit in with our expectations. Head butting only with willing partners, not near humans. No pushing or jumping on people, expecially from behind. Come to us, and we will pay attention to you, even if we are in the middle of mucking or mending or doing some other interminable task that must be incomprehensible to our caprine friends. He who first jumps upon the person feeding feeds last. Stand near without pushing, and you'll get pats and scritches and other loving interaction; push or jump and you'll wish you had controlled yourself.

Sharing these lessons have brought us together, and the individual personalities start to come through.

In this short time, Aspen has overcome a very strong need to push and butt with his head, something he was accustomed to doing even before he was born. Alder has learned that it is not always appropriate to stop suddenly in front of a person from whom he seeks favor, especially if that person is walking, and particularly if the person is carrying anything like a bucket of water.

They, in turn, have educated us in their particular ways. It is fascinating to watch as a curious intelligent animal such as Aspen discovers a new challenge. When being chased by the big boys, Aspen first was knocked unawares on his side. Surprisingly, he still ventured near the offending brute, but soon he was knocked less, and very shortly learned to jump quickly at the merest hint of a threat from the bigger goats. This has kept him on his toes, and made him alert to other dangers and pleasures. This week, when Aspen was chasing one of the littlest doelings, she made a sudden escape across a new climbing toy made of wooden pallets which Aspen had not yet encountered. He found his feet fell through the spaces in the angled pallet, slowing his progress as he scrambled across it. Immediately, he shifted his attention away from tormenting goats littler them him to this new type of obstacle. "Interesting," he seemed to say. "What is this? Hmm... sometimes I slip, sometimes I don't. Let's look at it from the side... how about from up here. Look, if I step on the topmost corner of any board, I maintain my foothold." Within 30 seconds, he was scrambling up and down at a rapid pace without ever missing a step!

Sunset on the Waiting Period

After Tom and Huckleberry's welcome comic relief, their mother finally set the sun on the anticipation of her new progeny. All the signs of labor started in earnest yesterday evening. We were too tired to stay up with her, leaving her at midnight with contractions going at intervals of about 2 or 3 minutes. "We'll get a few hours sleep, then come check on ya girl." As daybreak shone its luster on the valley and wall clock's delicate hands pointed toward time to shower for a 9am presentation, our Oberhasli blossom began the earnest push, and we happily tabled any other morning plans.

Foxglove, as perhaps not mentioned before in this forum, was crossed last Fall with a handsome American Alpine. Strong-boned and tight-shouldered, a lovely, kind temperament, and impressive family history for milk production. They got on famously, and their offspring have been anticipated fondly both by hiker and by milker. A buckling of that parentage should grow into a nice strong packer; or with the combined milk-production capability of the two lines, a doeling would be a great addition to the dairy project.

The wait is finally over! Our herd is now increased by two new obie-alpine females, each born weighing 10 pounds dry (big girls!), with withers at about 15 inches, and a long straight back. The dairy side of the house is ecstatic.

Huckleberry's Helmet

It's kiddin' time around the farm, and all hands are so focused on the kids we have and the ones to come, that sometimes the grown goats must feel a bit left out. Older kids lose laptime to younger. Milkers may get fewer pats and scritches. And the working wethers start to wonder if we'll ever get on the trail again!

To combat the boredom, and perhaps to get a bit of attention from the distracted staff, hi-jinx may ensue. Zixi finds more and better opportunities to say "I love you" by pressing against you as she passes by. ("Oh, why are you falling down in the straw?" her eyes innocently ask.) Tom, always the king of the spinning leap, capers higher and with more flourish and dances wildly around the spools on the field. Huckleberry, not to be outdone, makes creative use of ... an empty water bucket!?

Here we go again???

You'd think we would learn. Gestation periods are not precise. For a normal goat gestation, they don't just say "150 days". They add a very important qualifier: "plus or minus 5 days." So, rather than marking a day on the calendar as "Foxglove's Due Date" with several exclamation points and fooling ourselves that we can rely on that, shouldn't we really mark the 11 day period surrounding that date with question marks?

Compared to most goat lovers I read, we're novices. And it shows, every time we come around to kidding season. We try to plan--outings, seminars, special projects--around the so-called "due date" but invariably find ourselves surprised, often scrambling to exchange or donate theatre tickets, hiking trips, personal visits.

Case in point: Our Foxglove. A general rule we have accepted is that a doe's second freshening is easier and often shorter than her first. Foxglove went 154 days in her first... so what do we do? First we worry that "earlier" could be a week less than 150 days! After fretting about our plans to be out of town that weekend, and drawing up detailed notes for our goat sitters, we realize our error, and decide that things really should be okay until at least day 144.

When day 145 arrives, she shows no sign of impending delivery, and her behavior in our daily contact with her almost makes us forget she is with kid. Until day 150. Then she starts in with the signs. Laying down, getting up. Pawing the ground. Stargazing. Tail stretching to the sky. Extra friendliness. Chatting. Uh oh... better hurry and clean out that kidding stall! Scramble, scramble, scramble! Why did we forget? Well, this is it. Call everyone... here goes...

Umm... what?

Enjoying her new quarters, all signs of labor stop. For days. Day 151 passes, then 152.

"She is not pregnant at all is she?"
"Nope. Just fat. Very, very fat."
"And that udder? Looks like it is really bagging up."
"Fat."

Murphy's Answer to Countdown

Oh what a night! Yuli's first freshening, and the family's first kidding in a while...

Amazing how much people (myself among the best) can draw from a natural process a never-ending series of escalating worries.

How odd that we our open minds beset
With phantoms of our own imagining.
To take a process natural as can be,
And beef about the bridges yet to come
Which very well may never come to pass,
And stew in worry over this or that
One hundred thousand ways to skin a cat.
The anguish can attack, annoy, depress,
Afflict us with the grumpies or yet worse,
Make us to run away from what is good.
Yet lacking fears to torment our small minds,
We'd miss the sequel: O! Such sweet relief!

~Daddy Goat

So, where to start? How about with schedules. Yuliana, like many of our animal cousins, has mastered a bit of freedom from calendars. The perfect 150 day gestation would have been Saturday, which would also have fit in with other lovely plans we have made for the following week, showing off the babies and mom in a variety of educational activities. Sunday, Day 151, gave no signs of impending delivery. Monday, Day 152, and the week begins to take hold of our minds... Heck, we probably would even forget she was gestating, except that we have her separated. Tuesday, Day 153... sigh.... A watched doe never kids.

Let's see, what would Murphy do? I know. Let's plan to go to a concert 30 minutes travel away!

Bingo!

"I'm at the concert, where are you?"

"Just checking on the goats. Oh! Yuli is showing mucous! Hmm... I don't think we're joining you, but you go ahead...."

And to annoy the concert masters, but to my delight, text message updates between numbers.

"What's happening?"

"Having contractions... Everything seems fine. Mama coming with supplies soon. I comforting Yuli. She pawing and talking much."

"She eating hay betwn cntrctns. Mor fluids cming out."

"Yuli not eating. We cold & hngry. Concert over?"

"Done. Shall I stop for food on the way home?"

"No, friendly neighbor made us quesadilla's and tea. Get something for yourself."

Almost to the store: "Oh! she's pushing!" Oops! Don't want to miss the birth entirely... Abort food run and go!

Several hours later... after much pushing and pulling, coaxing, fussing--all seeming totally beside the point after the fact--and much licking of everyone and almost everything by the should-already-have-been-a-mother-by-now, out comes a big beautiful white with black baby. Happily identified as a very large doeling at first... but later discovered to be a beautiful boy, 10 pounds 2 ounces. (That explains the delay! Poor Yuli!) Followed hard after by a black with brown brother weighing in at just under 7 pounds.



The new mom knows her stuff! Cleaning up each kid and the kidding area with her unstoppable tongue.

Kidding countdown - 5, 4, 3...

May 10 - Day 145 - 5 days to Yuli's perfect 150: Got the appropriate sized link to attach the stock panel to the barn doorway. Kidding pen all set and awaiting signs from the prospective mother that she is in need of isolation. Any time now! (Hee, hee. Whee! Kids!!!!)

May 11 - Day 146 - 4 days to Yuli's perfect 150: We moved Yuli into the barn, bringing along her mother for company. They don't like being away from the rest of the herd. Even Yuli, who has suffered of late from T-bone attacks from the boys and their mother, seems to be calling to the others. I guess I can't blame them. For a bit of security, she's had to give up quite a bit of freedom. A large enclosure, with protection, but not so much space to roam, and though they have plenty of grass hay, I know they will miss the fresh grass that has started to grow in the last weeks.

May 12 - Day 147 - 3 days to Yuli's perfect 150: Jail break! Did those clever girls figure out how to open a spring-loaded utility clip, or did we fail to connect it properly? Well, whatever the case, Yuli and Zixi pushed through the lower part of our makeshift stock-panel gate and roamed free... and where did they head? To the heritage orchard, with baby apple trees that they pruned during their Fall escape from this same barn? No, thank goodness. They appear to have made a bee line (or rather a goat line) to the rest of the herd. "Hey guys, we're back, let us in!" When that didn't work, they found some lush new grass growing in the field just outside, and had a hay day! Gotta love 'em.

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.

Mystery of the Sore Head

About a week ago, one of our two 9-month-old Oberhasli wethers, Tom, exhibited a raw sore on the top of his head. Now, seeing a bit of red on the head of young goats who butt heads together is not a new thing. But the placement of these sore spots is further back than usual, so it made the ranch manager bring it to our attention. By the time we got to see it, Tom's head had a circular raw bald spot on his poll, well behind the usual injury spot around his disbudding scars. Thinking this was simply an odd wound, we patted it with disinfectant wound powder and went on with our lives.

A week later, we see his brother Huck, who has been showing an occasional runny nose without fever in the chilly (for California--lows just above freezing) and rainy weather we have been having, now has something going on on the same part of his head. Though I have not seen them playing head-butt recently, I don't see all, so it could be a physical injury. Yet Tom's "wound" has not re-opened, as I would expect if they had been going at it, but looks like a crusty scab (no photos yet). Tom and Huck share the same enclosure and feeders with 8 other kids (2 wethers, 6 does) of 3 different dairy goat breeds (Nubian, La Mancha, Saanen). None of their pen-mates exhibit anything like this.

The ranch manager is suggesting that they have ringworm. It doesn't look like cases of ringworm I have seen before, so I'm dubious. On the other hand, I'm a relative newbie to raising goats. Could it be the fungus known as ringworm? What else might it be?

Huckleberry's head, January 24, 2009. New trouble is behind the (admittedly large) v-shaped disbudding scar. (Click for a larger image.)

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.

Small steps to success...

We held our third official Pack Goat Project meeting the other day, and I found myself pleased. We learned from past meetings two important points: 1) start with the activity, and 2) don't try to cram too much into one meeting.

The half-dozen youth, ranging in age from 10 to 14, enthusiastically suited up (boots are required in this area!) and (with one exception) efficiently got their goats on a lead, and met in the exercise paddock. We discussed what commands we are teaching our budding pack goats. Loading and unloading: "Up", "Down". Stopping and starting: "Stop", "Halt" , "Whoa!" or "Wait", "Let's go!" or "Come on!". Though we are not consistent across the group, all agreed the importance of being consistent when training your particular friend, so you develop and understanding of communication. Then we practiced with our individual goats.

It made me smile to watch six youth leading and stopping six kids in six different directions around the paddock. Some had clearly been working with their goats since the last meeting. Some were having trouble. But all seemed to be having fun.

"Ok!" I called. "Let's try an experiment." They gathered around me. "You are all working individually to get your goat to go or stop on command, to follow your lead. You are doing it in a field where several others are stopping and going in different directions. This is not usual for goats. Goats usually travel in a herd. So let's simulate a herd."

We all gave the go command, and they followed me around the paddock and onto the unfinished trail that partially encircles the ranch. No goats balked. Everyone followed. We came near the end of the trail, I called to stop, heard all the different commands being given. "Halt", "Stop", "Ho!", "Wait!"... "OW!" ... "Ow?" "Nothing, it's fine, I'm fine, we're fine." Lo and behold: all goats stopped with their handlers.

So, what do we learn from this? That we can achieve more by working together? That observing your animal's natural tendency helps in training? Came the answer from the crowd in the darkening twilight: "That hiking together as a group is a lot more fun than stopping and starting around the paddock!"

From the mouths of babes. ;-)

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!

A year from city slick to confirmed goat dude

How did it happen?

I know that raising animals is good training for young people. Teaches responsibility. Creates companionship. But how have I become so involved in my daughter's 4-H projects that I am taking on a persona related to the animal she raises? (We raise.)

Am I raising goats because my daughter loves them, or is she raising them for me?