Goaty Goats
It was one of those days that make me think, Life doesn't get any more relaxing than this. I was photographing a black swallowtail, the ducks were playing in the kiddie pool, Louisa and Finnegan were lounging in the yard, and the sky was my favorite blue with white clouds shaped like Noah’s animals walking two by two.
My backyard is an extension of my home. a quiet refuge of green foliage, colorful pots of flowers, hummingbirds fluttering, and all the lovely critters meandering about or snoozing under the crab apple tree. But it’s not always peaceful—not since Hans and Vincent came to call it home.
Last year, they managed to knock four pots of flowers off the porch rail. Gorgeous pots with colorful blooms lay smashed on the ground below, the blossoms chewed off.
Just a couple days ago, Hans and Vincent had a picnic with my newly planted marigolds as the main course. The day before that, it was the begonias.
The newer long pen we built a few years ago has been a problem. The corner brace was on the inside of the pen, so Hans and Vincent were able to use it like a trampoline to bounce up and over the fencing. Once we fixed that issue, they started using the woven fence wire like a ladder by sticking their tiny feet in the squares to climb out. This surprised us because Peepers and Luna (may she rest in peace) would never think of doing such a thing. Bottle-fed kids aren't as rambunctious as Hans and Vincent.
Baah, baah, baahhhhh abruptly shattered the tranquility of this lazy day.
I realized one of the goats must be hurt, so I ran to their pen. Hans was lying on the ground outside the long pen with his back hoof caught on the top wire of the fence. He was flopping like a hooked fish, and my heart sank. His leg had to be broken.
I could see that the fence wire was embedded between the pads of Hans’s hoof, and I couldn’t get it out without wire cutters. He was already damp from shock and hyperventilating. I rushed to get my phone and call 911.
“An animal emergency,” I said, and hung on long enough to say I needed wire cutters and to give my address.
Hans’s eyes were closing. Stroking him over and over, I kept telling him it would be okay. But adrenaline or whatever would kick in and he’d thrash and flip again from one side to the other with his leg dangling down, held by the wire stuck in his hoof.
Again, I ran up toward the house to get phone reception and this time called my friend Mark. “Bring a wire cutter fast, an emergency!” I said, and back to Hans I went. I was sure he was dying. His eyes closed, his breathing became shallow, and I wondered if he would go easily, as if he were napping.
I heard Mark’s car before I saw him, and I shouted up to the road, “I’m down here!” A police car wasn’t far behind him. As soon as Mark saw the situation he cut one side of the wire. Hans immediately started thrashing again, and I was a wreck, trying to calm him while Mark maneuvered around to cut the other side.
Mark and the police officer then took turns carrying 48-pound Hans up the yard to my car, and off we went to Ridge to Rivers Animal Clinic.
The vet tech, Jade, has goats and was confident in dealing with Hans. Dr. Janna checked him over and declared his leg not broken. They gave Hans a shot of anti-inflammatory medicine and some anti-bacterial cream for his cut foot.
Back at home, Hans was eager to return to his pen. He went right into the Goat Palace and lay down—but not for long. When I brought over a slice of hay, he stood up and started eating before going back to rest.
My backyard is a home away from home, a quiet sanctuary for me and my critters. But some days aren’t as peaceful as others, at least not since Hans and Vincent, true goaty goats, came home to stay.
