There’s No Crying in Farming (aka: a fatal collision of nerves, work stress, PMS, bad luck, inexperience and a full moon)

(caution: talk about guts will ensue, not for the squeamish)

Last week at the show I did not blog the entire story. Mostly because I was a bit in denial, but some because I just didn’t want to think about it and hoped it would go away (isn’t that denial?).

When you practice leading a goat for a show, unless you’ve started with them from day one that they are a tiny bottle baby, they don’t like it. They pull and drag around until you get the hang of it. Most animals don’t take very long to get used to it, and don’t mind it at all.

Most.

Aurora was not in the category of “most.” She was in the category of, “I might have gotten the hang of it the last time we practiced, but this time I don’t like it, and I really don’t recall what we did last time anyway.” We struggled and pulled and dragged and coughed and sweated and didn’t get too far. She acted like this was something new every time we did it. We practiced every day for about 10 days. Some people start later than that. They say you don’t want them too docile or they start dozing or they just look too calm and without that wide-eyed spirited look. I am not sure who “they” are, though. And I’m not sure if I agree with “them.” But, my point is, 10 days in advance was not putting it off until the last minute, according to “them.”

So, during all of this struggling and wrassling, L said to me, “Ewww, what’s with her butt?” Okay, if you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that poop and the poop area of the body is not something that is a tee-hee for us. It’s way beyond that. It’s about health, money, and work around here. So asking me about her butt was a very weird thing for him to do. I looked at her butt, and said that it looked fine to me, and that I was surprised that after all this time he thought goat poop was offensive. He just shrugged, and I didn’t think anything of it.

Fast forward to last week’s show. I already said that we struggled and dragged just before the show, and that I finally took her to the ring to wait because it was such a struggle to get her anywhere. Well, on the way, a boy was following behind and asked me what was wrong with her, and if it was a prolapse. Prolapse to me (until now) was defined as the uterus coming “inside out” during kidding. Well, Aurora is 5 months old, and is not even ready to be bred, let alone kidding and able to have a prolapse. So I just gave him a weird look, and then looked at her butt. Well, boy howdy was I in for a shock! Part of her intestine was out of her body—it was like a giant hemhorroid. But then it went right back in.

I debated what to do, and ultimately decided to go into the ring and not jerk her around any more. I did that, it worked okay, and then we won. And all was well.

All was well until she came home with a sniffle and a cough. That in and of itself is not a huge deal, it’s like a person getting a cold. We watched her, and as the week went on it seemed to get a little better. I gave her some Vitamin B and extra enzymes, and she seemed to perk up. However, she had a cough. And the cough strained her bum, which caused her to prolapse even more. The deal I made with myself was that I could show her Saturday, but I could not practice leading with her for the whole week, and I would have to take my chances in the ring with a goat who had not been led in a week (and before that was obstinant).

By Thursday the prolapse was worse, and was not going in right away. I was really on the fence. I don’t think it was hurting her so that it would be cruel to take her, but that’s not something you want people to see in your goats. So I was racking my brain about the pros and cons. I put her up on the fitting stand, and it popped out again, worse than ever. I decided that I would not take her.

Thursday was also the day that Luna got bloat. I don’t know why, it’s usually from eating lots of grass or too much grain, and we are careful about the amount of grain and pasture they get. So we don’t know why, but she got it. And that involves force feeding her corn oil and baking soda and massaging her stomach until she burps and the giant kettle drum that is her stomach is smaller. I came out of that stall covered in oil and white powder, hair and smelling like a goat. Oh, and she hated me even more.

Not ten minutes later, Wolfgang jumped up on the gate and stuck his head between the bars on the gate, getting his head stuck. He would have suffocated had B not climbed over the stall, pushed his head forward and then, togtehr with me, turned it so he could get it out.

At that point, I just sat down on a bale and cried. This is not easy. It’s tons of hard work, tons of money, tons of worrying. And after you’ve invested all of that, there is still no guarantee. Other jobs are virtually guaranteed that if you do XYZ and you do it well, you will be successful. You can do your farming job well, follow the directions to a T, have spectacular animals, then get a disease off of a visitor’s shoe, and have your entire herd wiped out. It is overwhelming.

I am not quitting, though those words passed my lips on Thursday. It is just an immense responsibility, and I am such a perfectionist with myself, that nothing less than 100% is good enough. The problem here is that it is way out of my control—something that a control freak like myself finds it hard to handle. I mean, it’s healthy for me, and I need to keep doing this—and I want to keep doing this. But it’s very, very hard. So I just had a good cry, and threatened to quit.

The next day, I came home and was ready to load Wolfie up for the show. Wouldn’t you know that Aurora looked fantastic? I took her out—no prolapse. I bathed her—no prolapse, and then I decided to take her.

She did have a bit of a proplapse while we were there, but not while we showed. Come to find out, the “old timers” knew all about them, and said that it was because she was carrying extra weight, and that if we trimmed her down it would go away. They said it would not be a fault if it happened in the ring, and not to worry because it likely would not happen in the ring. It was happening in her pen on the rare occasion that she was headbutting her neighbors in the next pen.

So I took her out there, with me trembling the whole way. I was beside myself with fear and the anticipation of the crowd being mortified as my goat’s ass falls out in the ring. I was sick to my stomach, and my knees were probably visibly knocking.

The judge looked at Aurora a little longer as we walked around. I was thinking that she must have thought she was really pretty, as she was holding her head up and walking along very nicely. I knew her prolapse was not showing because she hadn’t coughed or yanked on the chain, etc. We stopped, and I posed her beautifully, and the judge came by to check the requisite disqualifying areas on a Boer goat: the tail, the teats and the teeth. The tail has to have dark pigment on the underside, as in the warm sunny climates they are prone to skin cancer. The teats have to be four or fewer, and can’t be fused, etc. The teeth have to line up with the top pad in their mouth.

She checked Aurora and moved along to the other goats in the class. Then she came back to check Aurora again. And asked me to look at her teeth—I was shocked to see that her top and bottom jaw did not meet! Now, I had checked her when we bought her, and I had checked her through the months we have had her on occasion. Never did I see such a gap. And she had been checked the week before at the previous show, without any problem! (and won grand champion)

I have no idea if it could change that suddenly, if the judge the week before just missed it, or what happened. But it was completely unexpected and mortifying. Aurora was disqualified, and I had to leave the ring and not be judged. I did find out who my friends are, as a group of them crowded around to ask what happened and to comfort me and give me advice. Bless them, it was much easier to be comforted by them then to walk to her pen alone and put her away with people staring at me from the bleachers. The judge was gracious and pleasant and absolutely right to do what she did. I am just mortified that I brought an animal that was incorrect according to the breed standard. What a newbie…

And so the prolapse was not even a concern, but something actually much worse was. I am second guessing myself up and down—and probably I will never know what happened.

Wolfgang went on to do quite well, he ended up taking second place in Fullblood Buck Kid 9-12 months. I was especially happy because he was the youngest buck in the class, yet he stood up to them just fine. The judge did give me some ideas on where he can improve, too, so we’ll get ready for the 2007 show season.

And so we packed our bongos and came home. It was exhausting just to show the two, I can’t imagine if I had 20 or 25 like some of the larger farms. That is a lot of entry money, but it’s all about advertising. However, I can’t fit them all in the dog carriers in the back of our car!

Speaking of showing them, and thinking about next year, there is a “herdsmanship” award. If you have ever been to a fair or a show and noticed the extensive stall decorations that some of the exhibitors bring—some bring tables with literature, business cards, signs, banners, some even have carpeting and plants! There is an actual award for the nicest “bank” of stalls and the best farm presentation. You are judged on your clean animals, whether they are well-cared for, if they have food and water, if you have signs, and coordinating buckets and business cards etc. I was a judge this time, given that I am a newly-elected board member of our state organization. It was quite eye-opening.

So we really have some work to do this winter if we are going to show in the spring!! Maybe I will look forward to a long winter, with lots of days so we can get a lot accomplished…