After a night of fun and friends. I was cozily recovering in my bed. So what it was after ten in the morning. I deserve a little "Me Time" after sharing of my goddess self at the monthly Alberta Street happening. As I said, I was cozily ensconced in my bed. I was watching Weeds, deeply involved in the new season's plot when the dogs started barking like my mom was at the door. (They go crazy over her). I heard the door open, and a not mom voice calling out hello. It was Olquita. Usually the dogs don't bark for her that much. I was happy for the warning. Without it my daring friend would have scouted me out until she found me in my bed. I remembered she had said she would drop off some movies, and that I shouldn't get out of my jammies. So, of course, I did not get out of my jammies. I was wearing my soft pink pajama bottoms fresh from the wash too.
When I got downstairs I was not expecting to do anything other than flop down on the couch for a good gab. However, the first thing out of little miss farmers mouth was, "Where's your sick goat"? (Like I keep goats in the kitchen or something) I had no clue what she was talking about. What sick goat?
Well, apparently one of our new goats was walking funny, and Brent had been on the phone with farmer Olguita and farmer Olguita's husband getting advice. While I had been curled up in my sanctuary all morning, there had been trips to the feed store, urgent phoning, shots given, and the vet put on stand-by. I don't quite get how all of this went on right outside my bedroom window without me being the tiniest bit aware, but it did.
Of course, we had to go immediately out to the goat pen to see the sick goat. I slipped on my muck boots, but did not change out of my soft as a rose petal pink pj's. When will I ever learn?
Sure enough, one of the new mamma's was lying down, and not looking too swell. We tried to get a good look at her through the fence, but Olquita was worried that the goat wanted to go potty but couldn't get up by herself. I climbed into the pen and tried to help her up. Pants not torn climbing over the fence -- good.
Goatee poo did not get up easily, but eventually she was peeing and popping pellets out in relief, all thanks to my pleading, and O's encouragement. When she was on her feet we could see that her udder was pretty big.. Brent was supposed to have milked her to relieve her, but had not. Olquita said we should do this in case she had mastitis, causing her illness. Guess who didn't want to be milked? It hurt and goats do not stand still for any kind of pain. That's when Olqa got into the pen with us. I held Hannah and Olga expressed milk. No mastitis. Filthy pants -- Damn! Why oh why can't I learn to put on work pants before even thinking about looking at livestock. I don't know if they are ruined, but I certainly wasn't about to climb back into bed with 'goat pants' on. Not only did my pj's get dirty, but while I was up close and personal, I noticed bugs all over the goats. LICE! EEK! Although lice is an every day job hazard for me, I am on summer break for crying out loud. But no, I get to deal with giving goats baths every other week now. Lucky for us goats don't share their lice with people, or Brent would be burning all of our clothes and making us shave our heads. He isn't as comfortable with lousiness as I am.
The bad news is Hannah the goat is sick. The vet came out and gave Brent a bunch of medicine to give her every day. She has listeria and pneumonia. The vet has never seen a goat at such an early stage of the sickness before so he has not idea what her chances are. He complemented us on being so attentive to our goats. (We all know who didn't deserve that compliment). When it comes to goats and chickens, Brent is Mr. Attentive. And, unlike the vet, I know my guy. He has cured an incurable goat before. I think Hannah's odds are excellent.
The vet did give me an idea. Whenever I am feeling neglected, I can dress up like a goat!
May peace and a strong detergent be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.