Fainting Goats

You think you've had a tough day. Try being a fainting goat.


Goats hit ground whenever startled
By J. STEVEN DILLON STAFF WRITER (from The Courier - Findlay, Ohio - 8/30/03)

Nine-year-old Meeghan Kelly of rural Fostoria had more to worry about than the other contestants in the junior fair goat show Thursday. She had to keep Sugar, her goat, from fainting. No kidding.

Meeghan, a member of the Biglick Buckeyes 4-H Club, has three Tennessee fainting goats at the Hancock County Fair, and a fourth back at home. But her ordinary-looking goats aren't so ordinary. They have a genetic condition known as myotonia congenita, and will drop like flies if they are scared or startled -- hence the name.

"They fall rigor mortis stiff," Meeghan's dad, Chris, explained Friday. "Their tongues hang out, their legs stick up in the air and they look like they're dead." Fortunately, the "spell" lasts for only a short period of time and doesn't cause any lasting harm. "We've had a vet tell us it (fainting) is good for them because it causes them to stiffen, and then loosen their muscles," Chris said. "It's almost like an exercise for them."

Historically, fainting goats have a noble past, having served as "sacrificial lambs" for other barnyard animals. According to goat lore, shepherds would often mix a few fainting goats in with their more valuable sheep to protect the flocks from predators. When a wolf or coyote approached the herd, the frightened goats would faint -- unwittingly sacrificing themselves for the sheep, which would scamper away unharmed.

The Kellys discovered fainting goats while looking for a companion for their horse, Tymer, a Tennessee Walker, who had grown lonesome on the family farm after their dog died. Last year they bought Bailey, a male fainting goat, after locating him through the Internet in southern Indiana, and liked him so much (so did Tymer) that they acquired Sugar, a female, early this spring.

Sugar arrived pregnant, and a week later gave birth to twin female kids -- Blizzard and Snowball. It was soon decided that Meeghan would make Sugar her first 4-H animal project, and take her to the county fair. Luckily, Sugar didn't drop during Thursday's goat show, and Meeghan placed sixth out of 11 contestants -- good enough for a pink ribbon to go with the blue one she earned for best variety goat.

"I was pretty nervous," Meeghan said. "I was hoping Sugar wouldn't faint for the judge." On Friday, Meeghan, dressed as a cowgirl, and Sugar, wearing an Indian costume, were second in the "Best Dressed Goat Contest." This weekend the pair will compete in the goat milking and obstacle course competitions.

Needless to say, the fainting goats have been getting plenty of attention in the goat barn. "A lot of people have stopped and want to see them faint," Meeghan's mother, Jill, said. "It doesn't hurt them, but we don't want to overdo it. What we've been doing is showing them pictures we've taken of them after they faint."

Different things will cause the goats to faint. Snowball is the most prolific fainter, and routinely passes out at changes in her environment. "Sometimes she will go down five, six or seven times just coming out of the barn," Jill said. Blizzard is more susceptible to movement. She fainted once when a grasshopper flew by her. Sugar, meanwhile, freaks out when stepping on anything soft but has learned how to faint without falling to the ground -- which makes her more suitable for showing. "She'll stiffen up and freeze, but won't go down like the others," Jill said. "I guess that comes with age."

The Kellys, who plan to attend the National Fainting Goat Convention in Tennessee in October, hope to increase the size of their goat herd in the future. Fainting goats are said to have been introduced to that state in the 1880s by a migrant worker from Nova Scotia, and are still raised there, primarily for meat. "They are very popular in Tennessee," Jill said. "Breeders there actually make them faint on a regular basis to build up their muscle tone to improve the quality of the meat."

Fainters are growing in popularity elsewhere, too, largely due to their novelty. "The first time you see one of them drop, you're hooked," Jill said. "With us, one just wasn't enough. We had to have more."

And if that's not enough, you can catch all of the latest news about Fainting Goats - or join a worldwide brotherhood of fellow Fainting Goat Fanatics - at the website of the International Fainting Goat Association at www.faintinggoat.com.

Finally, A Members-Only Jacket Worth Owning

Poetry for the Masses

It has been widely circulated elsewhere, but no home or office in America would be complete without a nicely framed copy of this poem. To write your own, using the most updated material, borrow from the list posted at http://slate.msn.com/id/76886/ and then post a comment here. But in the interest of preserving history and as a public service to all, enjoy the original:

MAKE THE PIE HIGHER
by George W. Bush

I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty
and potential mental losses.

Rarely is the question asked,
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the Internet become more few?
How many hands have I shaked?

They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.
I know that the human being and the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope, where our wings take dream.

Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher! Make the pie higher!

compiled by Richard Thompson, Washington Post

One Vegetable's Hidden Lessons

Who among us has never picked up a zucchini, held it in our hands, and wondered, "Why do I feel such crushing despair?"

Well, folks, now there's an answer. Consider:

Zucchini's Twenty Metaphors

When you think you have seen the last zucchini, a co-worker brings one to work, gleefully offering it to you, or a neighbor drops by with one in hand. In my work metaphors count, and so while I do not eat them I have found a use for zucchini. It is a metaphor.

GUILT is twenty ways like zucchini (though unlike the zucchini, guilt flourishes year round.)

1. People plant it whether they like it or not. Having it grown, and even flourish, is often more obligation than choice.
2. The yield is always more than expected.
3. People try giving it away, and to their great surprise others accept, often with a smile. It means they were taken by surprise, or that they would feel worse saying "no."
4. If they were just being polite, it becomes their's none the less.
5. Giving it away seems not to diminish one's own supply.
6. Having grown or accepted it, people try - usually without success - to disguise it.
7. The more they have, the more ways they try disguising it, pretending it is something else, something really good for you, and the more they try the more others recognize it for what it is.
8. No one wants to be seen throwing it away -- it was, after all, a gift, and it was supposed to be good for you.
9. Friends and neighbors are suspicious of those who have none.
10. They are more suspicious (though envious) of people who want none, and say so.
11. Trying to bury it, denying it was ever yours, causes more to grow.
12. If at first you liked it, it was not long before you had had enough.
13. It is never as good as you wished it might be, but you are not surprised.
14. Those who might accept a little, are always offered more.
15. Even when people have grown a crop of their own, they can seem open to the offer of someone else's - another instance of politeness gone astray.
16. It is not something where there are "fair shares." It is not equally distributed, and you can always seem to have much more than you felt you deserved.
17. Even when grown, packed, stored, or preserved by an expert, it is in the end still zucchini.
18. You do have choices about accepting it when offered. The first "no" - or "no, thank you" - may be the most difficult to say. After that, it is only practice.
19. It would be okay to grow instead a smaller crop.
20. Better still to plant something you might prefer.

[Published in the February/March 1999 issue of "Rural New England Magazine"]

Tell me: what other lessons can wayward vegetables teach us in these troubled times?

Off To Join The Service: Part III

Somewhere in the army was a need for surveyors, for men who would determine where to put the guns relative to the position of the enemy. After a leave longer than we needed, Jake went back to New Jersey, to Fort Monmouth, where he would learn something about some aspect of a missile, though not enough to be an asset to the operation of it. He would also break his arm playing football, and be re-cycled, a delay that assuring his going to Europe at training’s end.

I boarded a flight to Dallas, a charter I believe. It was an airline I had never heard of, and would never hear of again. We left early and arrived late, transferring then to a smaller plane, one that flew close to the ground and followed the highway leading from Dallas up into Oklahoma. Though it was my first time in a plane, I was sure that this was not how it was ordinarily done. My mother and I had in the previous year been to see ‘Oklahoma!’ and ‘Carousel,’ a double-feature at the Alpine Theater. I had not thought it an omen, but my mother was pleased to see me off to a place where people sang a lot, and sometimes danced. She knew, of course, it was probably not that way, at least not anymore; but, it was better to think of it that way than as a place where even when it snowed the wind was blowing dust on you, a place the government thought might be improved by cannon fire. It was open and could appear bleak, but I liked it. I especially liked it when thinking that the skills acquired would serve me well once I got to Germany.

I was early arriving at Fort Sill by a day or so and waited for enough people to make a company of would-be surveyors. While waiting, I heard a man say, ‘Where can you find a beer in this place?’ Enter John Degnan. John was a football coach and teacher from Middletown, New York. He had a voice suggesting he should be on the radio and a personality that made him seem a friend from the time he said hello – or, in this case, ‘I need a beer.’ John was in the National Guard, and after training would go home to be married and to resume his teaching career. In the meantime we would learn these intricate skills together.

Surveying is intricate. It is geometry. It has theoretical foundations and practical applications. But, in the army’s hands it becomes a question of following the form, filling in the blanks, looking data up in the tables provided, and checking with whomever is in charge. That the theoretical aspect was given short shrift surprised no one. That the applications were limited to where does the gun go and which way does it point made as much sense as it could. The idea was to make us serviceable in eight weeks. It worked.

It was also time to introduce ourselves to Lawton, Oklahoma. It has changed some, but in those days it was a main street beyond which few soldiers seemed to venture, a number of bars where the soldiers were at ease while drinking and a land where real people lived, worked, went to school, and led non-military lives. It was clean, neat, open, and responsive. Some of those living in Lawton worked for the army, or were in the army, but many were as you might find them in any town. Very pleasant, kindly folk.

We never had much money, and even less as the month progressed; but, being broke was no reason to stay on the base. One Sunday morning, to get a free breakfast, John and I went to a service and meal at the Catholic Church, where over pancakes and coffee Charlie Wade, the owner of an automobile dealership, and Father Dan Allen, the pastor, recruited us to coach basketball. I could tell the difference between a basketball and a brick, but was less certain about other aspects of the game. Not John. He knew drills, plays, strategy, motivation and all one would expect of a coach. We became the Coach and the Other Guy. It was fun, and it was away from the base. It lent normalcy to life, and while I inherited the coaching position when John moved back to Middletown, I can only say that no one died as a result of my efforts. The kids won some games, lost others. In addition to the game there was the company of those I met, people like Mr. Wade, Fr. Allen and others of the parish and Lawton community.

Because of our financial status, we attended other free meals. We spent Thanksgiving with Brother and Mother Crockett at their storefront church. We began with polite conversation, a few prayers, a hymn or two, and waiting for others to arrive. When they were slow to appear, we nodded at the message Brother Crockett provided, a religious message entwined with the values and worth of military service. I recall, perhaps incorrectly, how God was pleased and proud to see us in uniform, defending the free world, containing atheistic communism, making the nation almost as proud as God was, and being ready to accept salvation should it be offered. We sang another hymn or two - I’m not sure I knew the words and could only hum the refrain - but Brother and Mother Crockett had enthusiasm enough and nice voices too. While we sang, or hummed, the potatoes were mashed and whipped once more, and the vegetables set to bubble. A little more conversation, a few more salvation stories, another prayer. Still no one else came. I was pleased we had. We were not expected to join the storefront church. Salvation was not on the immediate schedule, though it would, we were assured, be available when we were ready. With no ill feeling, no annoyance at those who had not come, Brother Crockett told Mother that the congregation was fully assembled, to cut up the bird, and to please pass the peas.

Back on the base, training was a practical thing. After a short time, we were in the classroom out in the field. Aiming circles were used to determine angles, a simple device, more manageable than the transit or theodolite we would later see in use. It was a matter of angles and distances and how they related one to another. To measure the angles, one peered into the aiming circle, aligned it on a familiar object – one whose coordinates were already known – then turned it to another, usually a rod held by another soldier, and recorded the angle in the official army book and on the even more official form. The distance was determined by stretching a metal tape from one site to the other, keeping the line as straight as possible. In determining titles for those performing these tasks the army avoided clever or too technical names. He holding the rod was called the Rodman. Those taping the distance were known as Tapers. The person looking into the device measuring angles was called the Instrument Operator.

On one of our earlier problems the instructor picked a soldier to serve as Rodman. He said, ‘Take the rod and go stand alongside that tank out there.’ Off he went. The instructor then explained what we would do, but the explanation became more complex than expected and as we watched the Rodman came to no tank. There was none to be seen. We assumed it could be seen through the magnification offered by the aiming circle. As the instructor talked, the Rodman grew smaller and smaller. Soon he was gone. It would have helped had he known that in this part of Oklahoma a tank was what others call a pond. I suppose there is out there on the range, or even beyond, a very old Rodman still in search of a tank. Or else his bones can be found, leaning forward, rod in hand.

The Tapers were often a Mutt ‘n Jeff team, one tall and the other short. It facilitated going up and down hills, keeping the tape as level as possible. One could hold an end above his head while the other stayed low to the ground if need be. These days, I see no more Tapers when I see survey crews. Their role was even then being replaced by a radio or light signal.

In addition to those out surveying were others who listening to the sound of shots, determining the distance intervening, and so the position of enemy guns. Others tried to measure based on the flash seen as those guns fired. Still others were forward observers, positioned where they could see the shells’ effect and radio back alterations in elevation or charge if the attack was to be successful.

The course having been completed I was ready to go to Germany, but the Army was not ready to send me. Instead, I was to stay at Fort Sill, moving to the Artillery and Missile School, as an instructor; or rather an assistant instructor, with officers providing the more essential information, especially since other officers would be the students.

To be Continued...