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I was on a dyeing frenzy last week. I had two pots going at once and was actually coordinating between the two. I was fiddling with a technique where you don’t want to be fussing with the pots once the color has been added. As I checked one pot, it seemed rather cool - and it HAD BEEN hot. Crap! What a time for a dyepot, er, turkey roaster, to die! I carefully lifted the whole works out of the dyepot - fiber/dye/inner pot-liner. I didn’t want to disturb that process, but what else could I do? I might add that it was danged heavy!
It just so happens that I have been waiting for one of my pots to literally die so I can replace it. Aha! Then my husband came out to the studio and told me he wanted to try and rescue the old thing. Have you ever taken one of these turkey roasters apart? They are really quite simple….
Lots o’ insulation all the way around. The problem? A broken wire lug my electrician/husband tells me. “I’ll have it fixed in two minutes!” Great. And I was hoping for a new one.
Does anyone know how to order just new liners? I know there is one dyepot (the one I’d like to order) with a stainless steel pot-liner - that would be the way to go…….
Terry
It seemed like I’ve only had her for a short while. But as I pulled out her registration papers, I could that “Lilly” had been on my farm for the last eight years. At almost five years of age, she was not a young girl when I purchased her – at least not by goatie standards.
Lilly was a gray agouti Pygora goat. She had exquisitely soft silver fiber that was extremely dense. Her bone structure was extremely fine which made her appear dainty and light as a feather. In her younger years, she could run like the wind and a favorite pastime was leaping onto fallen trees and walking their length. Goats do so love a high vantage point!
My favorite time of day is when the warm sun is still out after I return home from work. I walk down to the goat pasture and find a place to sit and then let the goats come say hello. Lilly was almost always the first one to approach, sidling up to me to ensure that I could easily reach her back for a good scratch. Much like a dog, when I would stop scratching she would gently lick my hand or nudge my arm, practically begging me to continue. As I scratched, her neck would stretch out and her eyes would gently close, “Ahh……that’s the spot.”
A couple of months ago, I began to notice changes in Lilly’s behavior. She no longer followed the herd as closely as she once did. She could often be found out in the far corner of the pasture, standing alone under the ancient apple tree. When she would see me approach the barn, she would come down to join the rest of the herd, but she moved slowly and purposefully.
As is often the case with nature, the rest of the herd began to pick on her, often refusing to let her come in out of the rain. I suspect this harkens back to when wild goats would push the sick and weak out of the herd to let them fall as an offering for predators, ensuring that only the strongest goats would survive. But this was MY domestic herd and I would not let the herd cause Lilly to suffer. When the weather was bad, I gave Lilly a luxuriously big stall, bedded with thick straw to spend her days and nights. Because goats don’t like to be alone, Lu, one of Lilly’s daughters, was happy to join her. These two old gals got the best I had to offer – water freshened daily, grain supplement, and free choice sweet orchard grass hay.
Lilly and Lu did just fine in their stall for several weeks. They were let out to enjoy the sunshine but put back in as soon as poor weather threatened. But soon it became apparent that old Lilly was beginning to fade. Although she continued to eat and drink, it was terribly obvious that she no longer enjoyed it as much as she once did. There just was no “goatie gusto” when it came to her food. Was it possible that she was sick? I checked her temperature and listened to her rumen sounds, checked everything else I could think of, but all appeared normal. She still took treats from my hand, but only nibbled at everything else.
Once a day I would sit in her in her stall and she still came over to lean on me for her back scratches. As I scratched, her eyes would close and her breathing softened. Maybe she wasn’t too bad after all! She still wanted her scratches!
But one day as I sat her in stall, Lilly wouldn’t come over to greet me. Instead, she walked to the far end of the stall and stood with her head in the corner. Occasionally she would glance back over her shoulder at me. When I walked over to her, she turned her head away from me as if she was asking to be left alone in her misery. This was not a good sign and, when it was repeated over the next two days, I knew that Lilly was telling me that she was quickly approaching the end.
When you’re intimately acquainted with the various personalities and quirks of your animals, you know when something isn’t right. My heart wanted to ignore the obvious and I managed to do it for quite a while, but it was very apparent that Lilly was beginning to suffer. She was hardly eating enough to sustain herself and she was very dejected. She couldn’t follow the herd on their daily travels about the farm, but she couldn’t live in a stall full time either.
I took a day off of work to tend to some other farm issues and, while at the vet’s office on other business, I asked Julie, my veterinarian, if she could come by the farm later that day to put down my old friend. Julie, knowing that cost is always of consideration, asked if I would rather bring her into the clinic to avoid the additional charge for the farm call. “No,” I said, “she’s an old friend and I don’t want her to suffer the stress of being loaded into the truck and hauled down the road.” I headed home with heavy heart to await Julie’s arrival.
To spend the remaining hours with Lilly, waiting for Julie, I busied myself with cleaning out the barn. Back and forth I went with the loaded wheelbarrow, between the barn and the muck pile. Each time I passed Lilly’s stall I stopped to talk with her or offer her a handful of fresh grass or other treat. She was content to be in there alone with me and did not call out for the other goats.
After a couple of hours, I heard Julie’s truck coming down my driveway and my heart dropped. This was it; the time had come. Julie came into the barn and looked at Lilly, asking me a few questions about her behavior and symptoms. She agreed that the time had come. She went to her truck for a big dose of a sedative – much better to give Lilly an injection of sedative first so that she would lie down and be relaxed or sleeping. She gave her a dose of sedative that probably would have knocked out a 1,000 lb cow but given the constitution of a goat, this was quite necessary. After administering the sedative, we left Lilly in her stall to let the drug take effect. We talked for a few moments and then heard Lilly snoring away in her stall. With the syringe loaded with the overdose of barbiturates, we re-entered the stall. Lilly appeared to be sleeping peacefully and didn’t move as we clipped her soft fiber from her neck. After gently palpating her neck, Julie slipped the needle into the neck vein and slowly pushed the plunger. With her head resting in my lap, her breathing slowed down to nothing and her heart gradually stopped beating. If animals can know such a thing, I hope her last thoughts were of home and warm sunshine before she headed off for the Rainbow Bridge.
Making a conscious decision to end the life of a living creature is a difficult, painful thing. We humans assign our own emotions and feelings to these things but I’m not sure that’s necessarily a bad thing - a decision such as this should not be taken lightly. But I truly believe that ending the suffering is the last kindness I could offer to a creature that has blessed my world.
Lilly was 13 years 2 months and 5 days old. She was, indeed, an old goatie.
I don’t know who wrote the poem below. But it’s obvious that this person loves animals and understand about “the last kindness”. Susan
“The Last Battle” -
If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this — the last battle — can’t be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don’t let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn’t want me to suffer so.
When the time comes, please, let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they’ll tend,
Only, stay with me till the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree
It is a kindness you do to me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don’t grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing to do;
We’ve been so close — we two — these years,
Don’t let your heart hold any tears.”
Everyone here on the farm is back to normal…it took a week, but we all made it. I wonder how many spinners ever think about all the “adventures” the fiber animals and their keepers go through each year. I know when I was a new spinner with no fiber animals at home - I never gave that a single thought. Oh sure, I knew wool came from sheep - and I even knew different sheep breeds create different kinds of wool, each unique on their own. But I never thought about the trials and tribulations of raising fiber animals….the supremely happy times….the very scary times….and the heartbreakingly sad times….
It might be compared to those who have no idea - or give much thought to - where that food in the supermarket comes from. But I digress….
I have heard from many a goatherd - “if water can get through your fence, so can a goat”. So my Gary built me a very sturdy fence from cattle panels and they’ve served us well. That is, until last week. Here is our grim and very scary story…..
Get up at 4:00, feeling rather bleary-eyed even though that is normal “get up” time. Make coffee and start making a lunch. Read a few emails.
4:45 am - head down to the barn to feed the goats. Notice the whole herd is laying in the barn (nothing unusual about that) and am still feeling a bit bleary-eyed. Toss hay in the feeders and immediately notice a bad smell. Notice extra “ick” on the barn walls and begin checking goatie behinds for scouring. All behinds are clean….then notice green-colored ick around two goats mouths. Oh, this is bad, this is waaaay worse than scouring. Head back up to the house for the med kit.
5:00 am open back door from the garage with med kit in hand. Stand and stare stupidly at entire goat herd which has gathered at the back door to greet me (note: this is not part of the pasture). Rub one eye, thinking this is just a bad dream. But no - the whole herd is out and they’re waiting for me. Lead herd back into pasture, mentally throttling myself for being so dorked out by goat vomit that I apparently forgot to close the gate. Look up at said gate and see it’s very closed and secured. Stop and rub eyes again - and force self to wake up a bit more and begin checking the fence. Spot the breach and then lead goats into other secure pasture. Go get the fencing wire (and silently think that going out to feed goats in jammies maybe isn’t such a good idea). Repair fence breach and allow goats back into main pasture. Contact vet and best friend/goat breeder with frantic phone calls.
6:00 call into work - try to explain to rather cosmopolitan/jock-type boss that my goats are deathly ill and if I come to work I could lose them all. He is remarkably ok with that…..and no snickering could be heard. Go back up to garage and grab flashlight. Walk through yard in the dark, wearing jammies and barn raincoat, flashlight in hand looking for goat berries in the yard. Spot numerous goat berries all around a very nibbled looking rhododendron. Almost sink to my knees and cry - knowing full well that this could be fatal for the entire herd.
7:15 on the road to the vet’s office for a large container of Magnalax or Magmalax - whatever - it’s “goatie milk-of-magnesia” if you will. Vet confirms my worse fears - there is no antidote for the goats. The best chance they have is for me to administer the magna stuff each time they barf. Saves their esophagus and stomach. Oh - did change into sweats to go to the vet’s. Didn’t think jammies would be terribly smart.
8:30 back from the vet. Now have 2 more barfing goats. Mix up the magna stuff - holy crap! It works out to be at least 100 cc’s (that’s alot of volume - and you just can’t shoot the whole thing down them at once - it takes several squirts). Squirt the first 5 or so cc’s down Alfie. He gags, shakes his head (I would quickly learn this is a BIG WARNING TO STAND BACK). Then he let loose with what can only be described as a “goat exorcist-like moment”. Ok, so I didn’t know it was coming the first time. Good thing my barn coat is a raincoat as it was immediately covered in green, foul-smelling goat vomit. 10 minutes later I’m done with him. Diamond is next, followed by Thunder and Buckwheat. And they all barfed. Copious amounts. I was proud of myself for not even gagging - all I could think of was saving my boys!
9:30 first doses have been administered to all 6 goats. Step out of barn to wash my hands. Husband is down at the shop, looks up at me and immediately gets a funny look on his face. He is mildly grossed out, but knows better than to say a word. He has been in the house through all of this.
I spent the rest of the day watching (literally - in a lawnchair - thankgoodness it wasn’t raining). Each time a goat barfed - back into the stand they went and received another dose of magna stuff. By that evening the vet said as long as nobody is barfing by the next morning we may be out of the woods. Nobody wanted to eat much and I did squirt water down a couple that didn’t seem to drink much during the day. Thunder (read: extra piggy goat) was the sickest - he likely ate the most. I was completely exhausted - both mentally and physically. The goats don’t like that magna stuff. And Susan told me that they likely blamed me and my dosing them as the cause of all their digestive pain. Great.
Next morning - I can’t bring myself to walk to the barn. What if Thunder didn’t make it. Ah geez. I waited till daylight was just breaking and walked down. I almost cried - but they were tears of joy - everyone was still alive and nobody was barfing. Thunder didn’t really want to get up and eat - so I had to continue to worry about him another full day. The good news is that they all pulled out of it.
Everyone is back to normal now. Our fence has been reinforced in a few problem areas. The rhododendron still stands in our front yard. Will they get out again - I sincerely hope not. Would they try the rhodie again - maybe. Will we rip out all our rhodies - no. We will be more diligent with fence maintenance in the future. While I feel absolutely terrible this happened, I can’t think of anyone that I know who owns goats - who don’t have a “goatie escape” story. Ours was just a bit more scary and messy!
Terry