I grew up reading "All Things Great and Small" by James Herriot. His life as a country vet among the heathered moores of England sounded peaceful, entertaining, fulfilling, and just about everything an aspiring 12-year-old veterinarian could wish for ... While some of my romantic notions have come true caring for dogs, chickens, hamsters, fish, and a menagerie of wild, injured animals over the years, goat ownership has brought my James Herriot notions to a screeching halt!
Our adult goat, Violet, came to us with minor bumps on one of her udders which we were told were nursing scars. Unfortunately, the bumps continued to grow over the past month and I finally accepted the fact that these bumps were not mere scar tissue. So, I called our friend Jane -- who is the original owner of the goat -- and told her that we needed an expert goat handler to come down and take a look-see at these bumps and counsel us on what to do.
I envisioned that she would tell us over-worried city slickers to just wash the bumps with soapy water, perhaps rub a little bag balm on them, and call it done. Instead, Jane showed up with scalpals and rubbing alchohol. The next thing I knew we were holding down a kicking, 120 pound adult goat to slit open what were infected abscesses. Blood and other horrific-looking ooze literally poured (not dripped) onto our garage floor. Thank goodness there were other strong stomachs on hand because I had my eyes closed throughout the entire "procedure". All I can say is, James Harriot would have been disappointed (in his gentle, old soul way of course!)
It turns out that Violet has something called CL (Caseous Lymphadenitis) which is the bane of the goat and sheep world -- a chronic diesease that affects approximately 30% of all flocks world wide. It can be treated (doing just what we did) and is harmless to people. That said, NO, we are not drinking the milk until Violet heals up. It is painful to pour a gallon of fresh milk down the drain each day, but we feel safer doing it. Hoping it will only be a week or two before Violet is feeling 100% and we can return to cheesemaking! Signing off -- a squeemish, no-longer, vet wanna-be
Nicoletta surprised me on Mother's Day with a pasta dish straight from her imagination and ... the backyard. I saw her in the woods and guessed she was picking a boquet of flowers or hunting for insects. Instead Nicoletta was picking tender fiddleheads from the last few ferns that had yet to unfurl. She carried them inside (rather sneaky like) and sauteed them in butter and garlic with fresh morrel mushrooms from our neighbors.
