Animal News: The Chronicles of Newman and other Stories
King of the Hill
Now, with a subject line like "King of the Hill" I know that all of you are going to say "Oh no, another Mr. Newman Goat story". Well, yes, but hold onto your horns as there's more to it than "just" Newman.
It starts back in the wintertime. Remember winter? When I lived in the city, winter meant wearing itchy sweaters and not going out as much. It meant fewer social events and occasional difficulty driving to work. It was a grey, rather depressive time of year, inconvenient, with a few holidays interspersed. The transition from winter to spring was a wonderful, joyous time, often with a few false starts when March winds whipped through making you put your heavy coat back on again. But that, folks, was about it. Trees blossomed, sweaters were shed, and one could forget those cold times for several months without looking back!
For those who have ignored previous newsletters, here's a quick review of last winter on Star Gazing farm:
Erratic temperatures, making the ground freeze and thaw at speeds too fast for nature (and grass roots) to keep up. Such cold at times that the outside pipe from the fuel tank to the furnace froze up, leaving the house at an average of 35 degrees inside. Carrying heavy water buckets out from the bathroom when the water hydrant froze. Because of moveable temperatures and ice->mud->ice effects, getting a truck up the hill to the barn to deliver hay was impossible after November, resulting in a patchwork effort to haul enough hay in to feed everyone. And then there was mud.
Thawing ground+rain=Lotsa Mud.
Mud+horse hooves=Lotsa More Mud+Hoof-Sized Potholes.
Horses moved around precariously, sheep and goats developed hoof problems, grass roots were zapped, entire parts of pastures completely eroded, and more than once I found myself sliding down a slope on my bum.
"All right, enough already!", I hear you suburban dwellers with your paved driveways shouting out, "so you had a bad winter, get over it!". Ah, to be young and naive again. As a city girl I just never gave much thought to things like the depth of grass roots and the path water takes downhill, and the formula of just how much topsoil is removed with how many inches of rain. (Of course, I also never thought I'd be a semi-professional medium-weight goat wrestler.) Plunging into this agricultural thing, I bought some books, scoured the Internet, went to a farmer's conference, and ultimately engaged a local farmer to come in and clean up, fertilize and reseed our entire 4 acres.
Part of the overall new management plan is to limit the locations where hay is fed, and that has led to the purchase of Yet Another Expensive Piece of Equipment - a round bale feeder. The nice thing about the round bale feeder is that it generally keeps most of the hay contained, so it can't spread out and ruin swaths of pasture. The other nice thing is that there is a spot for every animal to eat at his or her own comfort and speed. The horses eat holes out of the middle, and the sheep nibble around the edges of the bottom end. Mr. Newman Goat simply sits on top of the whole thing.
Ordinarily I might mind that just a tad, but last weekend Newman became very ill. I found him in the evening lying way too quiet for a Newman, with a funny look on his face - he was spitting up foam, not ruminating, and unable to eat. The other animals looked uneasy; the balance of power shifts when Mr. Newman is out of commission.
I nursed him through to the next day when the vet came out and did some "unspeakable things" (Newman's words) to him. By late evening he still wasn't showing much sign of improvement, and very worried, I brought a sleeping bag out to the barn; who knew just how sweet it can be to sleep next to a goat? Were it not for the constant loud munching of hay in the next stall, the periodic squawks from the goose, the constant wandering of various animals up and down and up and down the corridor, I might have actually gotten some rest. Late in the night I heard his rumen grinding into action, and he started chewing his cud. We were out of the woods. The next morning when he energetically butted a sheep and stole the first flake of hay put out, I knew Newman was back!
Even though he ate my cell phone charger the other day and chewed up some restaurant coupons I was going to give to a friend, I just can't get upset -- he's alive and well! I lose most of our wrestling matches, but that's OK. Mr. Newman will always be King of the Hill.
Till next time,
Farmer Anne
Star Gazing Farm
http://www.stargazingfarm.org
© 2005 Star Gazing Farm, All Rights Reserved
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