(no subject)
again one of your careless, flppant remarks has pierced my sensibilities with an arrow of condescention not to say just plain snottiness. first it was VOKDA drinkers, then alcoholics, and NOW it is people who raise goats. will it never end?
the following things happened to me when i decided to raise a goat. see if you think it was stress-free and easy compared to being sur la route as i think you are now.
i went in my car to buy a goat. once there, i had to pay off three families who were shopping for barbeque material, as it was two days before cinqo de mayo. i am sure they spent their goat money i foisted on them for veggieburgers at the nearest bodega. two hours later i bought Alexander the Goat, who was three months old. i bought him by the pound, and he weighed 35 pounds. we went to the feed store, and then home. that was the beginning. within a month Alex had destroyed most of the landscaping (rented), a Datsun, my kitchen door, the telephone connection, my friendships with the neighbors. never mind that, Alex and i went for long walks in the country together, and just before my best friend's daughter was to be married, he ate a chunk of my hair so i had to go the wedding partially bald. so i got him a goat of his own, thinking that would amuse him. goat #2, Balthazaar, was from a diary in the city where i was Planning Director at the time. it was changing from rural to suburban with great difficulty but there happened to be a famous goat dairy, Laurelwood, inside the sphere of influence. i got a goat there, a companion for Alex. as i had hoped, they became best friends, and partners in crime. they both had foot-long horns by the time they were a year old. well, we moved to a bigger place, built them a bigger house, separated them from the horses. all this time, i was learning how to care for goats because i took the trouble to interview a dozen veterinarians until i found a goat guru who had spent years in africa teaching goat stuff to people you would think knew all the goat stuff there is to know. i liked him because he understood that my goats were not food items, or income, but "pets". he comes into this story later. i learned that goats need to have innoculations, boosters, clothes, pedicures, specific foods, companionship, rides in the car, pies, baths, and you'd better not just go away and leave them for the weekend thinking the kid you hired to feed the horses will be able to manage. nevertheless, we moved again, to a bigger place in the mountains, bringing the goats in the car, and their house on the back of a huge flatbed truck. they liked being mountain goats, but we had to be careful because there are mountain lions here, too. i met a friend who raises angora goats, just for their hair, which he sells to people in asia to use for bird nests. he has 700 angora goats, and he comes into this story later, too.
Alex became ill, and because even the goat guru didn't know what was wrong, we had him evaluated at UCDavis, famous veterinary school. they said he had a metabolic disorder extremely rare and if we were willing to take the risk they would put him on a protocol of human growth hormone, but we had to sign for each dose and give it under supervision, etc. blah blah blah. we said ok and that's what we did. this was at the same time the chinese swimmers in the olympics all got disqualified for being in last place one day and first place the next because they were taking this very drug concoction. once when i was driving Alex to the vet in my car, i stopped at the post office to pick up mail (we live ten miles from our mailbox) and an entire busload of tourists disembarked to take our picture. now thousands of people in asia think that there is a little town in northern california where the locals carry their livestock around in cars. Alex did well but died. the guru and i did the necropsy at his house on a sunday morning, finding a large piece of hay string inside him, which could have caused the trouble but we really cannot be sure. i said no more goats, just Balthazaar. but he was lonely, and one of the students where i worked fancied himself a gentleman farmer, bought some acreage and animals and soon realized that he knew nothing about anything and went back to silicon valley. we got his pygmy goat, Chelsea. She had lived with dogs and was fierce and smart. She intimidated Balthazaar, but they became pals, even though he was six times her size. he was a wether, though, and Chelsea craved more than just friendship. when in heat, she would change her voice to an unearthly scream instead of the mellow baa, she would attack any living thing in her area, and she attracted predators. so, to keep her company we got a pygmy baby. then i visited some goat farms and realized that even if baby goats are the world's most endearing creatures, you need buck goats to make them, and i couldn't do it. they are big, and they really do stink. i mean, i have all sorts of animals, i have worked in a zoo, i am not squeamish one bit, but buck goats smell --it's indescribable. girl goats love it, though. all you have to do to find out if a doe is in heat (like you couldn't tell anywaY!) is to rub a piece of cloth on a buck, put it in a jar, and let the doe, even is she is ten mies away, sniff it. she will be immediately crazed with lust. so no, no breeding at our place.
when we got the baby pygmy, he was delivered to me during the staging of a parade i organize annually for an event called Joaquin Murrieta Days, which is to raise money for animal welfare. the woman who had the baby was in the parade, and she lives far away so we arranged to have her bring him to me on that day. he was the size of a small cat, so i could easily keep him with me until after the festival. during the parade, i fell in front of the sheriff's posse and was trampled by two of their horses, breaking my nose and causing me to go around with an ice pack on my face for the entire weekend. i was in charge of the thing, so i was conspicuous already, and of course everyone thought i was drunk. another story, , , ,
so, the baby, now named Paddington, came home and because he was so little, we let him sleep in the house the first night, to keep him from crying. He lived in the house, sleeping in my bed under the covers, until St. Patrick's Day the next year. did i mention that Joaquin Days was in September the year before? he finally moved out to Chelsea's house, and she tried to kill him. the acclimation took six months, and we had to build a second story on the goat house so he could jump up there and escape her when necessary. but it's all ok now. Paddington still likes to come in and watch TV with us, and Chelsea still kicks his butt from time to time, but they both have enormous horns and its a standoff.
during part of this time, i worked as a maid at a motel in the nearest town, in order to finance my horse stuff. it can cost $25K to keep a horse on the jump circuit for one year, and i wasn't even that good, so i had to pay for my competitions by riding, grooming, cleaning, feeding, etc. other people's horses. i thought the maid job would be a change, but it wasn't...they had goats at the motel, and when they went out of business i took those goats home with me. the wether hated me, broke my ribs on two occasions, didn't get along with the others, and was generally a terror. he didn't like women, and they have a keen sense of smell. i gave him and his mate (Dawn and Midnight) who were huge animals, bigger than a pony, to the birds' nest goat guy. he bred Dawn to a "rough goat" to start a foundation stock that will be substantial enough to keep coyotes and lions off their backs. so, Dawn is the mama of a new breed. Midnight also hates the goatman's girlfriend, and is bad to her.
during all of this i was living my regular life, taking care of my family, being a source of goodness in the community, looking after my health, learning more stuff, worrying about the future. and you think it's a piece of cake to have goats. well, mr. swine, once again you stand corrected.
i love it when you do that.
the following things happened to me when i decided to raise a goat. see if you think it was stress-free and easy compared to being sur la route as i think you are now.
i went in my car to buy a goat. once there, i had to pay off three families who were shopping for barbeque material, as it was two days before cinqo de mayo. i am sure they spent their goat money i foisted on them for veggieburgers at the nearest bodega. two hours later i bought Alexander the Goat, who was three months old. i bought him by the pound, and he weighed 35 pounds. we went to the feed store, and then home. that was the beginning. within a month Alex had destroyed most of the landscaping (rented), a Datsun, my kitchen door, the telephone connection, my friendships with the neighbors. never mind that, Alex and i went for long walks in the country together, and just before my best friend's daughter was to be married, he ate a chunk of my hair so i had to go the wedding partially bald. so i got him a goat of his own, thinking that would amuse him. goat #2, Balthazaar, was from a diary in the city where i was Planning Director at the time. it was changing from rural to suburban with great difficulty but there happened to be a famous goat dairy, Laurelwood, inside the sphere of influence. i got a goat there, a companion for Alex. as i had hoped, they became best friends, and partners in crime. they both had foot-long horns by the time they were a year old. well, we moved to a bigger place, built them a bigger house, separated them from the horses. all this time, i was learning how to care for goats because i took the trouble to interview a dozen veterinarians until i found a goat guru who had spent years in africa teaching goat stuff to people you would think knew all the goat stuff there is to know. i liked him because he understood that my goats were not food items, or income, but "pets". he comes into this story later. i learned that goats need to have innoculations, boosters, clothes, pedicures, specific foods, companionship, rides in the car, pies, baths, and you'd better not just go away and leave them for the weekend thinking the kid you hired to feed the horses will be able to manage. nevertheless, we moved again, to a bigger place in the mountains, bringing the goats in the car, and their house on the back of a huge flatbed truck. they liked being mountain goats, but we had to be careful because there are mountain lions here, too. i met a friend who raises angora goats, just for their hair, which he sells to people in asia to use for bird nests. he has 700 angora goats, and he comes into this story later, too.
Alex became ill, and because even the goat guru didn't know what was wrong, we had him evaluated at UCDavis, famous veterinary school. they said he had a metabolic disorder extremely rare and if we were willing to take the risk they would put him on a protocol of human growth hormone, but we had to sign for each dose and give it under supervision, etc. blah blah blah. we said ok and that's what we did. this was at the same time the chinese swimmers in the olympics all got disqualified for being in last place one day and first place the next because they were taking this very drug concoction. once when i was driving Alex to the vet in my car, i stopped at the post office to pick up mail (we live ten miles from our mailbox) and an entire busload of tourists disembarked to take our picture. now thousands of people in asia think that there is a little town in northern california where the locals carry their livestock around in cars. Alex did well but died. the guru and i did the necropsy at his house on a sunday morning, finding a large piece of hay string inside him, which could have caused the trouble but we really cannot be sure. i said no more goats, just Balthazaar. but he was lonely, and one of the students where i worked fancied himself a gentleman farmer, bought some acreage and animals and soon realized that he knew nothing about anything and went back to silicon valley. we got his pygmy goat, Chelsea. She had lived with dogs and was fierce and smart. She intimidated Balthazaar, but they became pals, even though he was six times her size. he was a wether, though, and Chelsea craved more than just friendship. when in heat, she would change her voice to an unearthly scream instead of the mellow baa, she would attack any living thing in her area, and she attracted predators. so, to keep her company we got a pygmy baby. then i visited some goat farms and realized that even if baby goats are the world's most endearing creatures, you need buck goats to make them, and i couldn't do it. they are big, and they really do stink. i mean, i have all sorts of animals, i have worked in a zoo, i am not squeamish one bit, but buck goats smell --it's indescribable. girl goats love it, though. all you have to do to find out if a doe is in heat (like you couldn't tell anywaY!) is to rub a piece of cloth on a buck, put it in a jar, and let the doe, even is she is ten mies away, sniff it. she will be immediately crazed with lust. so no, no breeding at our place.
when we got the baby pygmy, he was delivered to me during the staging of a parade i organize annually for an event called Joaquin Murrieta Days, which is to raise money for animal welfare. the woman who had the baby was in the parade, and she lives far away so we arranged to have her bring him to me on that day. he was the size of a small cat, so i could easily keep him with me until after the festival. during the parade, i fell in front of the sheriff's posse and was trampled by two of their horses, breaking my nose and causing me to go around with an ice pack on my face for the entire weekend. i was in charge of the thing, so i was conspicuous already, and of course everyone thought i was drunk. another story, , , ,
so, the baby, now named Paddington, came home and because he was so little, we let him sleep in the house the first night, to keep him from crying. He lived in the house, sleeping in my bed under the covers, until St. Patrick's Day the next year. did i mention that Joaquin Days was in September the year before? he finally moved out to Chelsea's house, and she tried to kill him. the acclimation took six months, and we had to build a second story on the goat house so he could jump up there and escape her when necessary. but it's all ok now. Paddington still likes to come in and watch TV with us, and Chelsea still kicks his butt from time to time, but they both have enormous horns and its a standoff.
during part of this time, i worked as a maid at a motel in the nearest town, in order to finance my horse stuff. it can cost $25K to keep a horse on the jump circuit for one year, and i wasn't even that good, so i had to pay for my competitions by riding, grooming, cleaning, feeding, etc. other people's horses. i thought the maid job would be a change, but it wasn't...they had goats at the motel, and when they went out of business i took those goats home with me. the wether hated me, broke my ribs on two occasions, didn't get along with the others, and was generally a terror. he didn't like women, and they have a keen sense of smell. i gave him and his mate (Dawn and Midnight) who were huge animals, bigger than a pony, to the birds' nest goat guy. he bred Dawn to a "rough goat" to start a foundation stock that will be substantial enough to keep coyotes and lions off their backs. so, Dawn is the mama of a new breed. Midnight also hates the goatman's girlfriend, and is bad to her.
during all of this i was living my regular life, taking care of my family, being a source of goodness in the community, looking after my health, learning more stuff, worrying about the future. and you think it's a piece of cake to have goats. well, mr. swine, once again you stand corrected.
i love it when you do that.