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You know you're a real farmer/rancher when...

By The Armorer on July 11, 2011 | | Comments (12)
You lose a goat who last night was fine, and this morning you find dead of "bloat", despite having dosed everyone with baking soda. [Horus, you pig, you killed yourself eating too much clover.]

Then you have this email exchange:

SWWBO: I'm not able to bury Horus.

Sarah says she takes goats to the furthest reaches of her farm and that in this weather, they are gone in two days from predators and insects.

Is that too icky for you?
 
Armorer: No. You could salvage his skull if you wanted to. The only problem with that approach is... Molly. 
 

[Molly is the Great Pyr/Komondor also known as Leviathan, and has a habit of bringing home... icky stuff.]

SWWBO: I had to take the inside part of the stall apart to get him out. Now I'm trying to get him in the bucket, I found an old tarp that I have him on.
 
Armorer, being pretty much useless:I'm sorry Sweetie, that sucks.
 
SWWBO: Oh, It's okay, John. In a way, I'm a real farmer, now. I have faced my fears and overcome them. And Horus is far enough away that we should not smell anything before nature takes care of him, and in this heat, it won't take long, he was already kinda smooshy, if you know what I mean!

I'll keep the dogs inside tonight - it's too hot for them anyway!

By the way, we need dog food on your way home. Also, please get the large package of panacure (I think it's five or 6 syringe dosages, it's almost $90) I want to worm the heck out of the goats, just in case there were worms involved.

Love,

Farmer Beth 
 
Armorer: Otay. I still think we should consider after nature has run it's course, keeping his skull, for the horns.
SWWBO: Sure, we can do that.
 


Even a year ago, that would have been a much different conversation.

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12 Comments

By Fishmugger on July 11, 2011 12:32 PM
That is one brave lady to have around. Besides the de-worming stuff...maybe you should bring her home some really good chocolates. Nobody stays sad when chocolate is handy.
 
By Foxfier on July 11, 2011 1:08 PM
 *laughs* Outstanding!
 
By Robin from Anchorage on July 11, 2011 2:08 PM
Had Horus and the nannies taken care of succession planning?  I don't remember if any of this season's or last season's kids were little billies. 

 
By John of Argghhh! on July 11, 2011 2:34 PM
Sammy will step into Horus' shoes.  Then there's at least Little Nicky (he of the broken leg), Frankie, and Rory.
 
By J.M. Heinrichs on July 11, 2011 5:51 PM
 Oh dear, by next year, certain postings will begin with "By the Horns of Horus, I tell ye ..."

Cheers
 
By Martin Morehouse on July 11, 2011 7:47 PM
I remember burying goats that had already stiffened up. Or maybe they froze, this was eastern Oregon in the 60's, and I don't remember the details. That made it tough to get them out of our little cinderblock shed. Our water table was only about a foot down, so I always ended up with a large diameter shallow hole, and weighted them down with sod. I don't know if it was the water or the ice at night that discouraged the neigborhood dogs.
 
By R Jewell on July 12, 2011 7:31 AM

My dad used to "drench" a bloated sheep with a concoction of milk and pepper.  If that failed, he lanced them like the article says.  Caring for your goats could open up an entirely new Google Realm........I bayonetted my goat.

 
By NevadaSteve on July 12, 2011 8:03 AM
By the Horns of Horus I tell ye that you are off by only 364 days J.M.
 
By Chuck Simmins on July 12, 2011 8:14 AM
Kinda spells out what happens when you die, don't it? I call dibs on your skull.
 
By John of Argghhh! on July 12, 2011 8:33 AM
Well, I'm hoping SWWBO doesn't just drag me out to a remote corner of the demesne and dump me to be raccoon, opposum, coyote, and turkey vulture poop.  I'd rather be powdered and blown from the Howitzer,comes down to that.
 
By J.M. Heinrichs on July 12, 2011 4:29 PM
 "I'd rather be powdered and blown from the Howitzer,"
The Folsom Street performer's dream act.

Cheers
 
By Justthisguy on July 14, 2011 7:18 AM
John, I don't think she'd do that. I Imagine something more elaborate, and artistic.  Beth, are you with me, here?  The ceremony must, at the minimum, include the  playing of "The Mad Major" by Kenneth Alford.