Hmmm

The other day I was thinking.  I am subject to bursts of random thoughts - often nonsensical, but entertaining (at least to me).  So this particular day, I was thinking about my animals and got to wondering:  If I were to pick real-life celebrities who would best embody the spirit and personalities of my animals, I wonder who I'd pick for which animals...

 I kind of have to start with Cleo, herd queen extraordinaire:

and I'm going with Queen Latifah. 
Cleo does not let her size hold her back, preferring to think of herself as "statuesque."   Cleo is a permanent grand champion doe, winning her first grand at the age of 5 and finishing as a 7 year-old. 

Cleo may have lost her girlish figure, but she still sense of humor.  

 And she never seems to tire of enthusiastic applause.

In fact, she sometimes come looking for it.

  Cleo definitely deserves to be considered a queen.

*Tomorrow's blog -- Patsy is definitely Shirley Temple...

Who Let the Goats out? Who?! WHO?!

Now each of my goats have -- believe it or not -- pretty distinct voices.  I certainly can't tell them all apart, but:

• Cleo sounds like "Bap-bap-bap"
• Texy says, "Ba-ah-hah-ap."
• Harry is a "Maa" -er
• Kiss sounds like "Buhaaapppp"
• Cheater says in a very small voice  "b-b-baa"
• Cherish, Molly, Glory rarely say anything at all.
• and BIG, being the only buck on the property now, says in his new, very big boy voice : "BAHH-T, BAHH-T"

So yesterday I heard: "BAHH-T!!! BAHH-T!!!  BAHH-T!!!"
and I knew it was Big ---

--- and something was amiss.

Because Big is the only buck on the property, he's in a pen with one doe while the herd runs amok free.

I knew he was yelling because, most likely, the rest of the herd had wandered out of sight.

So I looked out the window and saw this:

an apparent breaching of the back yard. And as soon as I hollered at them, they all dashed around the pool....

where Cleo was trying to camouflage herself in the rock fountain. (often pygmy goats in the wild will camouflage themselves near suburban pools.)

But it was too late.  Her fellow scofflaws gathered around and threw her under the bus.

Once busted, they agreed to remove themselves in an orderly fashion.  Sure there was a little pushing and shoving and they hit a small bottleneck. (No pygmy seems to realize that just because their head will fit through an opening, it doesn't mean their less-than-svelte bodies will.)

and here they come...

a few fell out of the ranks,

but they safely landed. And no one was talking.  No one would admit a thing.

Who, Us?

A Post That is Not for the Faint of Heart

The worst part of owning an animal is the time when you're faced with make the ultimate life-or-death decision:  the one that ends in Death (euthanasia).  The second worst part of owning an animal is what to do with that animal after you've made that God-awful decision.

I had Justy euthanized yesterday.  Even though I logically knew it was the right thing to do, I was still a basketcase all day, until Greg (the vet whom I have known for 20+ years)  finally showed up.  Then the question became:  What do you do with a 60-pound dead pygmy goat?

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when Annie died

I had her cremated...

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when Stuffy err.....  Fluffy died....

I brought her home to be buried in the backyard.

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Toby was cremated and is, I think, still in the hall closet...

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After her dramatic demise, we buried Maria

because she was awfully special (to no one but me!)

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But what do you do with your animals when you've run out of burying holes and it costs too much to cremate them (not to mention having enough room on the mantel)?  Well, I discovered two options here in San Diego: one was D & D Disposal Services.  They pick the animals up and deliver them to a rendering plant.  The other was ThaniCare, who calls ahead to our local landfill to have them dig a hole, and then he buries them there.

The latter may sound rather undignified and kind of gross.  But let me say that I am not a bleeding liberal. I am not a card-carrying member of PETA. I am not a vegetarian, much less a vegan. But I do believe that these animals deserve fair and honest treatment and -- whether they are beloved pets or food animals destined for the table -- a quiet and pain-free death.

 That said, do you have ANY IDEA what a rendering plant does?    This gets a little graphic here... use some discretion as to whether you want to read on. 

A Melancholy Sort of Day

I took PerfectGrace to the vet today.   Nothing life-threatening, but the arthritis in her knees has become bad enough that she's having a hard time getting around.  She can't jump up onto the bed or into the car anymore; she slips on the hardwood floors and goes down.  It's very sad.  We're putting her on Rimadyl daily, plus a month's worth of weekly Adequan injections.  She is truly PerfectGrace...

And while I hate that she -- or any of the animals in my life -- are getting old 

 this post isn't really about PerfectGrace.

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It's about my Justy.

Justy's not even old, but I've decided it's his time. 

What a horrid decision...

...and it's one I didn't want to make...

...But I did.

I made that decision

and called the vet today...

 Justy is tired and he hurts.

I suspect he had an injury before he came to live with me

that affected his shoulder.  He has terrible arthritis in that leg and 

 has become so lame on that leg, that he rarely walks upright.

He recently has taken to scooting along with that knee on the ground..

I've had him on double the recommended amount of Previcox

to make him comfortable.

He's only five.

He was never very friendly -- a little timid --

but he's a good boy.

Even though he didn't ask to be mine, he is.

and he deserves a soft landing...

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.

The Usual Suspects -- Caprine Variety

Because they are such a huge part of my daily life --

THE DOES

1. Cleo (right) PGCH Canyon Kids Unwritten Law, a black agouti born in 2002 The Grandame, the herd queen, resident Senior Doe, 2nd doe I ever bought; rules the herd with strong indifference.
2. City Lights Texy Garcia (left)daughter of Cleo. goes by Texy. Nearly two years old, expecting her first kids in March. Has illusions of grandeur and believes herself to be a chief muckety-muck simply because she is her mother's daughter.
3. Sunnyslope Pygmys Black Velvet aka Velvet, Velvee, Velveeta. The oldest doe at 10, came to from a breeder in Tucson. Velvet likes to pretend she's a herd queen, but she's like a QB: she want the glory of the ball, but avoids contact. Hangs behind her offensive line, throwing encouragement via vigorous head tosses and bristling of hair. (Velvet pictured below)

4. Dunn Deal Pygmys Cherish another creaky, tottery old goat from my friend in Tucson. Timid, fretful, and one of my favorites.
5. CL All Dark and Soxy a tiny little doe that kids beautifully. Daughter of Lucy (my first kidding!) and a PGCH buck. Brave only with one or two of the other goats; she backs off quickly from most of them.
6. Radiant Pygmies Mariposa an older doe, not particularly friendly, but not unfriendly, just bland. She is built like an incubator and mother of Radiant and Cheater.

More intros to come....