Denise Tries Technology

It's Labor Day weekend and instead of sticking around the house, I flew to Indiana to judge a goat show. Left on Friday, returning Sunday (today). On this particular trip, I decided to embrace the technology the rest of the world has been using for quite some time.

I opened the Garmin I received for Christmas '09 and took it with me. I have found that -- oddly enough -- not very many goat shows are held in cities, so I often find myself driving from an airport to some rural location on dark roads. I mean dark roads -- with no 7-11s in sight, nowhere but a farmhouse to stop and ask directions. I hate Mapquest. After it sent me yet again to the wrong place -- this time to a closed fishing camp somewhere in Michigan -- I asked for a Garmin for Christmas.

I have a reputation in the family for being a bad driver. It's true that I am unable to drive without twitching, talking on the cell (or worse, texting!), drinking, changing the radio station, looking under the seat for something I dropped, etc, thus making it appear that I am not paying attention to the road. Way back when when I had my driver's permit and was driving with my dad one day, he counted something like 100 times that I moved, scratched, shifted in my seat, or played with my hair in a 30-minute drive. (that's only three movements per minute. sheesh)

So even though I can parallel park my three-horse trailer and routinely back the same trailer a block-and-a-half down the street to turn it around; because of my twitchiness, my family thinks I'm a horrid driver. Then, why did they think it was a good idea to give me something else to fart around with in the car?

Okay. So I took the Garmin to Indiana. But I also took a map, and then stopped and asked directions on my to the show Friday night. But this morning, I was feeling pretty confident with my chatty little friend on the dashboard; and even when the freeway signs told me that the airport exit was 4 miles away, I believed Garmin and followed its directions to nowhere.

What happened, Garmin? When they moved the Indianapolis International Airport TWO YEARS AGO, did they forget to tell you?


(ps and then, to fully embrace more technology,  I bought a netbook at Walmart. I'm typing as I flying. How cool is that?)

(pps because I discovered a 17" laptop is not very easy to travel with)

(ppps don't tell Allan)

Why You Should Pay Attention to Your Parent's Boring Stories... or "Lima, It's More than Just a Bean."

My mom always told us stories of her family and her life "way back when."  Some of them I paid attention to, some not so much.  Anyway her family was from Lima, Ohio, originally; then they moved to Condee, S.D., to farm.  She was born there.  Her dad was Edgar Cyrus Holmes and her mom was Zitella "Stella" Holmes, nee Jacobs.  Stella and her younger brother were orphaned and taken in by a family that Stella was working for, so Mom didn't know if Jacobs was her original name or if she took the name of the adoptive family.

So Mom told this story about Stella's grandfather....I think. (this is where should realize where my title comes from!)  Or it might have been a great-uncle.  I can't remember.  Anyway as the story goes, this man murdered his wife and was hung for it in Lima, Ohio.  According to Mom, he was the first man hung in Lima and the rope used to hang him is in a museum there.

Lo and behold, I had a judging assignment last spring in Wapakoneta, OH, and stayed in Lima.  Talk about fate.  Well, I had some time to check out the town a little, and there is no rope hanging in a museum.  I drove through the town and it is a lovely little Midwestern town, with lots of trees and sweet houses.  But no sign of a rope used to hang my great-grandfather.  But back at the hotel, I found a travel guide talking about the first public execution in all of Ohio, and it was in Allen County; in fact, it was in Lima!

I've certainly kidded my fair share of goats over the years, and I've certainly had my share of problems. Yesterday "City Lights Anna Molly" went into labor. Molly has two grand-champion awards; she needs one more to retire as a Permanent Grand Champion. Before Molly can compete again, she needs to produce a live kid and have it registered with the NPGA.

Molly was was spot-on from the time she was born, and I just really liked her.  Molly has a lot of structure and character that I'm looking for in a goat.  She's won nearly every time I've shown her and has been my "great white hope;" with one more win, she will be my first PGCH in my herdname.

All day yesterday, Molly labored and appeared to be going along normally. She didn't appear to be laboring hard and never really laid down and pushed.  I kept expecting her to get down to work, but nothing really seemed amiss. I watched all day and all evening. Dorian was over, as was Marty and some other friends of Allan's.

By 9p.m., I'd gone down for a nap, because I figured I'd be up doing midwifery duties later on.  Dorian stayed over in the guest room (because she's an awesome friend!).  Dorian checked at 11 pm.  I got up at midnight, checked Molly, and lay back down on the couch.  ***in retrospect, this is where I should have intervened ***

Between 1:30 and 2, I went back down and sat with her.  It wasn't until then I could feel a "bubble."  From here on out, only people who know goat-speak will be able to follow along.

Up til then, I'd been checking Molly; although she was dilated, I could feel nothing.  I was sort of thinking that those babies were just really deep into the horns, and she was slowly working them up.   Remember, she still wasn't pushing or straining.  She'd, sort of, squat and urinate and push a little.  And even now that I could feel the bubble, I still couldn't feel anything behind it.  By 2:30 or 3, I knew we were in trouble; but I also knew that whatever was going on, a few more hours weren't going to change anything.

 By 5a.m. she had the bubble out, unbroken.  Then I could feel a baby behind that -- tail first.  At 5:30, I called Donna (another incredible friend!) and Dorian drove Molly out there.  Donna pulled the kids -- FOUR OF THEM; all dead.  What happened?

From 3 a.m. on, I had had plenty of time to contemplate life with goats.  It wasn't until then I remembered that Spot, Molly's mom, had not been a good kidder.  She did (deja vu here a little too late, here) what Molly had done -- never really pushed or strained at all.  Her first kidding had a buckling born dead, then I literally went in and pulled Molly out.  Spot passed the placenta; I thought we were done; and twelve hours later, Molly started pushing again and out came another dead baby.  Her second kidding, the same thing.  Spot kidded a doe, passed her placenta, and twelve hours later -- another dead baby.  Spot died in her third kidding.

I am very saddened to lose all of Molly's babies; but as time has passed, I've become more pragmatic.  It's impossible not to lose them sometimes.  It's nature; it's what happens.  But is this something I want to continue to do?  I hate losing them.  I hate seeing the doe cry and look for their babies.  I hate selling animals and not knowing where they will go and how they will be treated.  As much as I love the babies and playing with them and showing, they really are my pets.   So do I want to continue on breeding just so I can show?

Should I rebreed Molly so I can get a live kid to register?  I know of people who have taken pictures of dying or dead kids, just so they could register it and continue competing with the doe.  Where do you draw the line? What if there is something genetic that Spot passed to Molly?  Do I want to perpetuate that?  Maybe it's just a fluke, a coincidence.  Do I want a ribbon that badly?  Sometimes, no matter how old we are, we still don't know have all the answers.

"How do You Judge a Boat?", or the prestige! the glory! the glamour! of being a goat judge.

I think I look pretty much like a normal person.  I have my own teeth, I speak in complete sentences, I'm usually not drunk.  So one day as I was flying to who-knows-where on my way to judge, my seatmate said to me:

"So are you heading to Whoknowswhere for work or vacation?"
"Work, actually."
"Oh, what do you do?"
"Mmm, I'm a goat judge."
"Pardon?"
"I said, I'm a goat judge.  I'm going to a goat show."
  --  moment of confused silence and then:
"How exactly do you judge a boat?"

I love judging goat shows.  I love the people I meet.  I love the friends that I've made.  I love the goats.  C'mon.  People ask me my opinion and then hand me a microphone.  What's not to like?

But glamourous, it's not.  It's usually a long plane ride, then a rental car, then a search for where it is I'm supposed to be.  I'm actually fine travelling alone and don't mind spending time on my own in a strange city.  In the last two years, I've had one club's members pick me up at the airport and entertain me (i.e. dinner) when I've flown in. (Hugs to Amy, Sheila, and the Idahoans.  And Terry, I know you would have, but you had WAY too much to do.)  So I'm usually on my own, trekking around, getting lost.

So here's snapshot in time of what  a judge's life looks like...

Here I am waiting for my connecting flight from Salt Lake City to Twin Falls...wait. let me get a better look... is that SNOW on those mountains?

HELLO!  That is SNOW.  Don't you all know I am a California girl?

***

So while I'm waiting for my flight, I take a picture of how crowded the airport is.  There are like 40 different gates in one room all leading to two-seater planes..oops, apparently I have the camera backwards...

***

Yeah!  I make it to Twin Falls.  The sun is setting outside my motel...

and first thing in the morning, I'm off to the fairgrounds to judge.

****

Okay, I finish up with the goaties.  After a quick change out of my bucky clothes in the bathroom at the fairgrounds, Amy takes me back to the airport the next day....

Bye, Twin Falls!  You're one of my favorites!

***

Taking off out of SLC -- a very common view....

***

I was in Twin Falls for 25 hours.  I arrived at the airport around 6 p.m. on Friday and left just before 7 p.m. on Saturday.

***

CAN I SAY IT AGAIN?  THE GLORY, THE POWER, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH...

Do I love it?  Is it wonderful?  You bet.