Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Abstract Iguana

Land Iguana
Katherine and I are on an expedition in the Galapagos Islands. Time is short – it won’t be much longer before she decides that I am intolerably “uncool,” so I figured we’d better do something memorable while we still can.
First, however, I apologize for not having any goats in my blog. There aren’t many left here, after decades of successful eradication efforts (non-native species and all). So, I’ll use local wildlife to illustrate my thoughts.
Watching the animals reminds me of child rearing and growing up in so many ways. Here we go: Abstract Iguana.
Kids need down time, 
without a hovering parent.

Galapagos Fur Seal
We came across this baby Galapagos Seal (which is really a sea lion, but no matter) while walking through a lava field. It was lolling around in a tidal pool, letting the waves roll it any which way. Floating on its back; under the water/over the water. Its mama was out hunting fish somewhere. It saw our group coming and called to us with a long “maaaa.” It wasn’t anxious, stressed, or bored. Just saying “Hello.” Then it went back to lounging. Human children could do that a whole lot more: less scheduled time, more time amusing themselves and appreciating the world around them – without mom telling them how to do it.
Sometimes we hang on to things that don’t work anymore.
Flightless Cormorant
Here is a Flightless Cormorant. Its ancestors flew to the islands, but over the centuries these birds lost the use of their wings. No worry, though, since they dive for fish in the surrounding ocean. Those bitty little wings don’t particularly help them dive, nor do they hinder them either, so the wings stick around.
Some ancient instinct tells those silly birds to hold their wings out to dry in case they need to fly somewhere. Well, hello, those stunted wings aren’t going to fly anywhere. So why do they do it? Habit. Makes me think of all the habits that I hold onto that aren’t going to help me … Over time these birds may even evolve to have no wings at all – just let it go.
Help others.

Marine Iguana and Lava Lizard (I think)
Sometimes the little guy needs a leg up to get a better look around. What’s the harm? No need to be so competitive all the time. There’s enough to go around.
Stay close.
Marine Iguanas
I admit it, I’m projecting my own emotions onto reptiles that surely do not experience human sentiment. In this photo, the top marine iguana is trying to absorb some of the heat from the bottom iguana. But I’d like to think that they are snuggling up … I never thought that I’d use “snuggle” and “iguana” together. But there you have it. Anyway, you should snuggle (if for no other reason than to get warm!)
Wear sunscreen.
Marine Iguana
My kids have heard it a million times: wear sunscreen. But I’ll say it a million more times. And don’t forget the sunscreen on the lips… or you could be this fellow. Kiss kiss.
Trust yourself.
Blue Footed Boobie
No one taught this bird what to do with her eggs. She didn’t go online to watch a “YouTube” video to learn when and how to turn them. Heck, her mom wasn’t there to give advice (good or bad). Instinct. She just knows what to do, and she does it without weighing the pros and cons. We should all be so lucky to trust our own instincts to guide us in parenting. Humans have been raising their children for thousands and thousands of years, and somehow we haven’t gone extinct yet. So, trust yourself.
Children are pests.
Blue Footed Boobies
Children can say the most painful things to their parents (and bite your foot, like this Blue Footed Boobie). But it’s all part of growing up: developing coping strategies for stress, acting out in a safe environment, getting attention. And Moms/Dads roll with it. Like this bird, we will still feed you at the end of the day.
Dads can be good “moms,” too.
Frigate Bird and baby
Frigates take turns watching the fledglings. So should we. This chill papa Frigate has everything under control. Does that baby look stressed to you? I have known a lot of moms who were unwilling to hand over the proverbial reins to the dads to watch the kids, even though those same moms were desperate for a break. Like my point above, dads have instincts, too, and can rise to the challenge.
Let them go.
Flamingos
What’s the point of all this parenting if it isn’t to get the kids OUT of the nest? We have 18 or 20 or 25 years to give them all the skills they need to be productive adults. We can teach them to cook, do laundry, pay bills, be compassionate, be adaptable, laugh at themselves. Even better, the kids can figure it out on their own under the safety of our roof, watching our positive role modeling (like Dads doing childcare). Then they need to go put those skills into practice – and we need to let them go.
We all evolve.

Oh, yes we do. Evolve, however, suggests that these changes take generations to manifest. Not so. You can make a conscious decision to break a bad habit or try new things. I, for example, have learned to snorkel. Baby steps, I know, but for someone who has lived much of her life stunted by anxiety about so many things (amusement park rides, speaking on the phone, public speaking, cold blooded creatures), that’s a big deal. To venture out into the big, big world with my 16-year-old daughter to explore lands unknown, above and below the water--with swimming reptiles for God’s sake!-- … well, people change.
photo by Stella Rose

(p.s. Katherine took all the photos!)

Saturday, May 7, 2016

"Dear Bubba..."

Star & Lush
I’ve been sitting on this blog post for a few months now, with no intention of actually posting it. But something happened recently that knocked me off my tuffet.
It was a bad kidding. And I do mean B-A-D kidding. “Star” was over 6 years old and she was Katherine’s first goat. (Ironically, she was the goat in "It's a Shame But not a Tragedy".) "Star" was rather rotund to put it nicely, so no one suspected that she was pregnant. She’s too old to get pregnant, right? That last kidding really did her in, so she can’t get pregnant, right? Wrong and wrong. She went into labor on a Thursday afternoon.
Star
By Friday morning, not much had happened, so Katherine stayed home to monitor the situation in case we needed to call the vet for a C-section. After consulting with the “Goat Midwife” committee (aka our goat show pals), we all decided to wait a bit. Saturday morning rolled around – nothing.
Katherine got to work. I won’t go into the details of what she did. Suffice it to say that she did a lot. Eventually, she realized that the kid had died in utero and was starting to bloat, thereby blocking the birth canal. Time for the vet.
The vet didn’t have any luck either. “Star” was going into shock, and Katherine made the call to put her down. Not an easy decision, but clearly the correct one. I kissed “Star” on the head and snuck into the house. I am such a coward about these things. Katherine is the brave one. I busied myself with the logistics of disposing of … the carcass. It wasn’t “Star” anymore in my mind.
OK, so why did this episode make me think of Bubba?
A few years back I accompanied Bubba to the Auction Yard to dispose of another … carcass. I sat in the truck the entire time while he paid the disposal fee in the office, while he backed the truck up to the “pit of death,” and while he put the dead goat on the pile of other dead livestock. I sat in the car with my hands covering my face, trying not to think of what it looked like (Rule #2: You Cannot Un-Know Something).
This time, I had to write the check (to “Petaluma By-Products” – what does that mean?? Hotdogs? Dog food? See "Auction Yard Hotdog") and then help Katherine heave the …carcass… onto the pile of other dearly departed animals. The image is burned, BURNED I say, into my memory. Ack.
Katherine took pictures with her iPhone; teenagers are creepy. But I won’t include those images here. Rule #2.
What reminds me of Bubba even more is that I watched him deliver “Star” some 6+ years ago. It was the first goat birthing that I had ever seen.
Not "Star" but you get the idea
Bubba and I had been “hanging out” for somewhere between 2 and 6 months, depending on how one might have calculated a start date. Therein lies the root of the problem, actually. I needed to know if we were “dating” (monogamous?) or what. And Bubba would dodge, saying, “Do we have to call it something?” That’s the conversation we had right up to the bitter end of the relationship - 5 years later. (Sarah, take note.)
ANYWAY… Bubba and I were supposed to attend a Christmas Party together that night with a people we both knew from the horse barn where we both rode (and met). The Barn knew by then that we were …doing something … but that party would’ve been our first public event together.
Then the goat went into labor. The first of many times that goat labor would interrupt my life. But that time was different. I was as nervous as if I were the one in labor. I had never seen ANY birth before, unless you count the “Puppies Being Born” video in middle school or the “Baby Delivery” video in childbirth class. Even at my own child birthing (7 times), I declined the nurse’s offer of a mirror so I could witness my child entering the world. Not my cup of tea.
I watched Bubba manage the process. From waiting on the sidelines, to pulling the kid out of the doe, to furiously rubbing the newborn baby goat and then clearing its airways with the “snot sucker” and little pieces of straw.
I was mesmerized. Dumbfounded. Awed. I still am - every single time. It never gets old. New life is a miracle. I guess that’s why I have 7 kids.
Katherine & Star, February 2010
ANYWAY … that tiny baby goat was “Star.” Her sister, born a few minutes later, was “Pepper.” Bubba gave the baby goats to Katherine and Bella for Christmas as their first goats to raise and show.
Fast forward, 6+ years, and there I was kissing “Star” good-bye. It still makes me cry to think about it.
It also reminds me of the demise of my relationship with Bubba. The end of an era, so to speak.

Katherine again (different goat)
Back to my “Dear Bubba” letter. David once told me that perhaps I should write a letter to Bubba to purge the pent-up emotions and thoughts about the relationship and its demise that were cluttering my brain. He assured me that it would be cathartic. (He was right – as usual!)
A few minutes ago, when I started this post, I thought I might actually include that letter in this blog. Or parts of it…? But then I came to  my senses. So, Bubba, if you want to read it, we can talk … you too, David.
The whole reason I write this blog, though, is as an open letter to my children. I will say that the process of writing that letter was extraordinarily therapeutic, and I highly recommend it as a way of processing grief.
Kids, are you listening? I am quite sure each and every one of you will get your heart broken AT LEAST once in your lifetime. Here’s one little way to process some of the pain: write a letter to the person (but do not send it).
Here are the highlights of my “Dear Bubba” letter:
1)  I am still deeply saddened by the breakup and miss the life we had together, even though I am sure to my very core that leaving was the right thing to do.
    2) I take responsibility for my part in the breakup. I could’ve done many things differently, such as reaching out to you more, being more emotionally available, and telling you exactly what I needed rather than making you try to read my mind.


Kakopedija.com
3)   I’m sorry I misread your cues, and I apologize for putting you in a commitment situation that you weren’t ready for. 





4)   I thank you for helping me grow into the person I am now. As a direct result of our break-up I’ve done some profound “soul searching” that has enabled me to embark on the relationship that I’ve been waiting for all these years.
5) I thank you for loving my kids like they were your own. Katherine wouldn’t be the Goat Maven that she is today without your mentorship all those years. Bobby cherishes the special “Guy” time that you still carve out for him. You are one hell of a good father. 
The Early Days
 6)   I realize that neither of us could have been who the other one needed. I can’t blame an apple tree for producing oranges anymore than I can blame you for not being who I wanted you to be.

My life is still inextricably intertwined with Bubba’s because of our two young children. I’m ready to forgive myself and Bubba for our failed romance, and move forward with our new co-parenting relationship.
In the ancient Hawaiian practice of reconciliation and forgiveness, I extend to Bubba a peace offering:

Ho'oponopono



Saturday, April 9, 2016

Things that go "BOOORK" in the Night

Livestock Guardian - in training (Ned)
Besides being “kidding season” again it’s also MOUNTAIN LION season again. God dammit. In the past two years, we have lost three baby goats to mountain lions that roam the open space behind my house. It’s more than open space, actually, it’s the frickin’ “Mountain Lion Highway." 

My house backs up to a creek that is the lucky recipient of $700,000+ to fix it up so that the fishies can swim once again. Over the decades, a few barriers have impeded water flow. But, I gotta tell you, even after spending all that money, there is still not a single drop of water in this creek from May – November. I guess the fish are … somewhere else?

Anyway, a local land trust has been gobbling up land around this creek to make it a wildlife corridor as well as a fish habitat. And what a corridor it is. My little goat farm is just like a fast food drive-through for the felines.

I refer you back to my TWO posts ("Predator and Prey Part I" and "Livestock Dogs") about my personal run in with the mountain lion eating my goat 50’ away from my house – on the far bank of this "wildlife corridor" creek.

Mhysa and Ned
But why should I personally worry about it? I’m not a menu item in the goat-drive-through restaurant. Or am I? In the last twenty years, there have been 13 or 14 mountain lion attacks on humans in California (the reports are consistent). Only three were fatal. Phew. I feel better, don’t you? “Sure, kids, go play in the creek. (Just take the dog with you....)"

As a result of that mountain lion sighting, I raised my fences another 3', added an electric fence at the top, and purchased livestock guardian dogs. I like the following approach better, though… Maybe next.

Armed and Dangerous
Recently (March 2016) there has been a lot of talk about Mountain Lions in my neck of the woods. A researcher has started placing cameras around the woods (and creek) and putting GPS collars on the cats to learn more about them. Specifically, he wants to “shed light on how these cats are moving through the local landscape, and coexisting alongside humans and development.” 

Nom Nom Nom
In fact, one of those cameras captured this image  (left) of a mountain lion eating a deer near my house. REALLY NEAR my house. I annotated the following map to show my house, where I saw the mountain lion eat my goat last year (the paw on the left), where the recent (March 2016) picture was taken (paw on the right), and where the creek is…


Last November, about 6 months after the mountain lion ate my goat “Cookie,” another camera captured this photo of a mama cougar and her two babies (right). Hmmm. When the tracker came out to “depredate” the animal, he found evidence that it was a mother and two babies. I bet this is a photo of the goat-eaters!! Grrr.

Ultimately, the researcher hopes to “inspire some of us [emphasis added] to be better neighbors rather than adversaries.” Ahem. He admits he has never actually seen a mountain lion in person. Well, buddy, come to my house then we can talk about being neighborly.

OK, enough, AG. Stop being so bitter. 

As you can tell, mountain lions really get my goat (hahaha punny). But really. Just thinking about them sends me into a full-fledged PTSD moment reliving my encounter with the mountain lion last April: flashlight in hand, muscles tensed and ready to leap over the creek in a single bound with my magical clogs… or not.

But wait, one more point and then I’ll get on with this post. I love wildlife and nature as much as the next person, don’t get me wrong. But, I am fully within my legal rights to obtain a depredation permit if a mountain lion kills my goats:
California Fish & Game Code 4802: Any person, or the employee or agent of a person, whose livestock or other property is being or has been injured, damaged, or destroyed by a mountain lion may report that fact to the department and request a permit to take the mountain lion.
OK, I’ll move on now. Really.

So, back to my story: I was sound asleep in bed a few nights ago when my cell phone RANG. Not texted. But the PHONE part of it rang. Who uses the phone anymore?! I picked it up pronto, and it was Katherine. Her bedroom is just downstairs… why is she calling me?? IS IT A MOUNTAIN LION???!

“MOM! There are people at the front gate!!”

What the hell? Not a mountain lion?

The dog had been barking ferociously at the front gate for some time (an hour Katherine says, but that seems long), so Katherine had gone out to check on the baby goats and the mega-pregnant goats that were in a pen right next to the gate.

OK, not so ferocious here
She saw car headlights, which quickly flicked off, and then she saw people coming towards the gate with a lantern. At that point, she locked herself in the barn and called me frantically on her cell phone. Meanwhile, the dog was going ballistic.

Super Mom to the rescue! After last year’s mountain lion episode, one would think I would have had the sense to grab a rifle on my way out the door. Or at least wake up David, who was sound asleep next to me. Or perhaps call the police? Hmm.


I LOVE THIS PHOTO (Rustyroof25, imgur)

Nope. Just me and my trusty flashlight marching up the driveway (in my clogs and bathrobe again, too). Ready for battle.
I live in a relatively remote area. Not totally the sticks, mind you, but we do not get evening visitors. Especially not at midnight.



The dog saw me coming and came “borking” up to me in a fury. She backed down when she realized it was me, and turned back to the gate. At first I didn’t see anyone, and Katherine peeked her head out the barn door. 


Then I saw jeans and work boots. “Crap. It really is a person,” I thought.


I followed the legs up to the top of the person, and saw a long scruffy beard (think ZZ Top) and a white man in his 40s. He started explaining that “they” had a flat tire, and could I lend “them” a star tire iron.


“Who is WE?” I wondered. Then I saw a woman standing behind him, looking wary of my crazed dog. The dog did not let up for a minute. Good girl.



“We were walking into town to the Lodge and we saw your lights,” he explained.



My gut screamed “NOOO!” at me. He didn’t seem drunk or high, but something was … not right. 


GRRR
Who doesn’t have a cell phone these days? What TWO people don’t have a cell phone between them? Where was the car? If you know the area well enough to know that there’s a motel half a mile down the road, then wouldn’t you know that there’s a fire station a quarter of a mile down the road? Why would you turn the headlights AND lantern off when you saw a person?

The dog was still barking and pressing herself up against the gate. Her gut said, “NOOO”, too. (Ned was barking, too – guard dog in training).

I have been known to give people the benefit of the doubt in similarly freaky situations. Like that time Katherine and I got lost with the trailer in Plumas National Forest, and I let a total stranger drive my Suburban with my KIDS IN IT to turn my trailer around… (see "Looking Back")

Not this time. “Move along,” I snarled. Grr. Beware of my flashlight…I know how to use it (not).

What's in the barn...
Somewhere in this interaction, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the children had not replaced the lock on the person gate after the last time they took the trashcans out to the street. The bearded menace could’ve pushed open the unlocked gate very, very easily. But he didn’t know that. Good thing.

He and his lady friend turned around and walked back to the road, at which point Katherine leapt out of the barn and locked the gate quick as you please. 

I marched back up to the house, and the dog barked at the gate for another hour or so. She has great stamina.

I crawled back in bed, and David mumbled from his sleep that I should have offered to call the police to come help them with their flat tire. Brilliant! I should’ve taken him with me down the driveway!!! 

Let’s talk about that for a moment. I have been called both stubborn and pigheaded before--many times. I usually (always?) take matters into my own hands without asking for anyone’s help. It’s easier that way. I don’t do well with “group projects” either.


For example, a month after I split up from my now-ex-husband, I awoke one early morning to the sound of a bat flying circles around my bed. I screeched and dove under the covers. While I was stewing under the covers and feeling very sorry for myself, I wished that my (ex) husband had been there to exterminate the stupid bat. It was at that precise moment that I had a stunning epiphany: if my ex had been there, he would have made ME get out of bed to go take care of the bat. Shazam! 

NOT MY HOUSE, but it looked like this - with ONE bat, though
Just do it.

Back to our bearded menace story. I crawled back in bed, adrenaline pumping. Thoughts racing.



Fortunately, I was not on hold
! 
After David’s comment, it finally dawned on me, “Police! Yes, yes, call the police!” Duh. I dialed 9-1-1 from my landline (yup, I still have a land line), and the dispatcher sent a cruiser to drive by my property. My tax dollars at work.

I see that my story has taken a weird turn from mountain lion attacks to dangerous people at my front gate. I take great comfort in knowing that my goofy, white, fluffy dog protects me from both of these evils. 


Guard Dog Extraordinaire
Five years ago, even after I had been living in this area for a while, I could not have predicted this situation of single-handedly confronting a stranger at my gate at midnight. (Or watching a mountain lion eat my goat for that matter.) I was oblivious to the dangers of the world, which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever since I have lived in major urban centers most of my life (until now).

Or, possibly, in my former life I would’ve just called the police in the FIRST PLACE!?

By necessity, I have taken full responsibility for keeping my family (and goats) safe. Electric fences, guard dogs, guns, flashlights. I now chase bats AND MICE all by myself, too. 

I’ve always had a hard time asking people for help. I suppose I believe it is my duty as a mother-of-many to "Hold Down The Fort," because other people can’t be trusted to do it (right?). 

This is clearly not a good lesson to teach my children. They need to know and accept their own limits (which are many, believe me), and they need to know HOW to ask someone for help. I need to model that behavior for them.

So now, maybe now, I will ease up a little and trust someone else to help me. Next time, David – NEXT time -- the next time the dog barks at 1:30 am, you’re coming outside with me! Keep your PJs, flashlight and shoes at the ready. We are more effective as a team. And the dog will help us, too.

I'm gonna try...