Letting Go of Fear

Tallulah and Plucky Baby Goats

After our adventures in the Galapagos Islands, I’ve been mulling over the concept of evolution. Seeing first-hand how animals adapt to their environment over centuries got me thinking. At home, humans intervene in the developmental process of species to create animals (and plants) that suit some human need or whim.

We do it everyday on The Goat Farm. Katherine breeds for specific traits in her animals: length of body, ease of kidding, thickness of bone … and TEMPERAMENT.

I won’t bore you with an essay about those first three traits. It’s temperament, and specifically the “friendly” gene that I want to discuss. 

First of all, I acknowledge that “friendly” might not be the correct term. It’s an entirely human sentiment, not animals. All of us “friendly” people know what the word means, but for those of you who are un-friendly (and you know who you are), here are some synonyms: kind, pleasant, affable, amiable, genial, congenial, cordial, warm, affectionate, demonstrative, convivial, companionable, sociable, gregarious, outgoing, comradely, neighborly, hospitable, approachable, easy to get on with, accessible, communicative, open, unreserved, easygoing, good-natured, kindly, benign, amenable, agreeable, obliging, sympathetic, well-disposed, benevolent. Phew. A few of those terms could apply to goats.

Even the chickens aren't afraid

How about “fearless” instead? Bold, brave, courageous, intrepid, valiant, valorous, gallant, plucky, lionhearted, heroic, daring, audacious, indomitable. Closer.

On our trip, I learned the phrase “ecologically naive,” which sums up our ideal pygmy goat temperament: 

loss of defensive behaviors and adaptations needed to deal with predators 

(Personally, though, I prefer to think we breed for “plucky” or “neighborly” goats, but anyway…)

Really, Katherine just wants goats that will make nice pets. Goats that interact with ANYONE. Goats that express an interest in humans. Goats that won’t run away in fear. It’s her specialty, her niche, in this cutthroat goat business. Other people may have more “correct” show specimens, but you can actually snuggle with goats from our herd.

Fear is, of course, necessary for survival in the wilderness. Take this little mouse, for instance. Katherine found it in the barn. Terrified. Which makes it run away and hide – and have a better chance for survival (and, ultimately reproduction and continuation of its genes down the line).

But fear is not necessary for our pampered pygmy goats. Well, fear of humans, that is. Hell, at our house they shouldn’t fear the dogs either. They definitely should fear the mountain lions, but that’s a different blog post.

Katherine, "Kisses" and Rojito

Not so long ago, when Bubba was in charge of the herd, the goats were flat out blind with fear of people. Catching them was like trying to trap a feral cat. And forget about PETTING them. Precisely 2 of the 50 were approachable – not “pettable.” Now, 2 years later, the ratio has flipped: 2 (or 3) of the 50 are still afraid of people. But the rest of them range from approachable to attention-seeking. 

So, how did we get here? How did we go from feral to fearless? The same way that people bred pugs from wolves. 

Wolves to Pugs, Alice Bouchardon

Mu and Toga (from "Toga the Goat")

By some stroke of luck, we had a friendly buck (“Mr. Mugatu,” or “Mu” for short) who came out of one of the only 2 friendly goats in Bubba’s herd. Katherine, who spends hours of time sitting in the goat pen observing her kingdom, noticed that Mu’s babies were (usually) friendly, too. Even if the Moms were somewhat spooky, the babies had the potential to be congenial – IF, and here’s the key component of this project – IF we socialized and played with the babies from their very first day.

We are up to second and third generations of goats and the friendly goats—ones that were predisposed to being friendly and who were also socialized from day 1—are now having their own friendly babies.

Shazam. Genetics (combined with nurture) are breeding out the “fear” gene. Our goats are becoming “ecologically naïve.”

Does the same concept apply to people? Are we hard-wired to be frightened? Can we overcome a predisposition to be afraid and anxious with proper nurturing and socializing?

Yes.

I have spent most of my life paralyzed by fear and anxiety. In my case, the source of my anxiety is both nature and nurture. I blame my Mom, just as my children will surely blame me some day.

My mother and I would go on amusement park rides, like a Ferris wheel, and she would literally throw herself across my frail 4-year-old body to keep me from falling out. Um, isn’t that what the safety bar is for? And, a Ferris wheel, really?

Once we went to a park with huge, white geese and my mother spent the whole time standing between me and the demonic beasts to keep them from killing me. (OK, geese are big and they are scary, but they aren’t carnivores.) She was like a mother tiger – save the young at all costs.  The genetic material must survive! 

Swim Test

Anyway, I grew up afraid of amusement parks, zoos, public transportation, the ocean, telephones, etc. I was painfully shy, petrified of talking to strangers (DANGER DANGER DANGER), or even making a phone call. 

Then, 6 years ago, I realized that this debilitating anxiety is not entirely genetic. I consciously decided one day to let it go. It was the day that Bubba said, “Let's go on a cruise to Mexico.” Gulp, “OK!” I said with as much false bravado as I could muster. 

Me snorkeling with Bobby (age 8)

Since then, I have learned to tolerate long lines and crowds at Disneyland, ride the “Tower of Terror,” speak in front of crowds (without notes), travel internationally, and snorkel. 

I admit that the first time I took 8-year-old Bobby snorkeling in the ocean I panicked just like my mom did: I was terrified that he would sink, get eaten by a shark, wander off, or all of the above. 

But, you know what? He was just fine. He loved snorkeling so much that he’s been nagging me to get certified for Scuba for the last two years (maybe…). 

My children don’t share my fear of the outside world. Maybe they didn’t inherit the fear gene? Maybe I didn’t instill it in them with my own freaky behavior? Maybe they feel safe enough to take risks? 

"Look Ma, no stirrups!"

Bella (my 18-year-old daughter), for example, is the bravest person I know. In her equestrian days, no jump was too big. No cross-country course too daunting.

In this photo, she was navigating a tricky line of 3 consecutive jumps (gigantic in my opinion). She lost her stirrups somewhere in the turn to the line. But that didn’t stop her. Even a split second of hesitation would’ve unnerved her and thrown her off her game – literally. 

I asked Bella afterwards if she was afraid. She emphatically replied, “YES. But I decided to keep going anyway.”

Out of the mouths of babes. Sometimes we need to just suck it up and keep on going anyway.

Fly, Baby, Fly, Erin Hanson

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!)

"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