Have you ever walked out among your goats and scratched your head at how they are acting? I have lost count of the number of times I’ve done that. Why is that one’s tail down? Are the eyes on that one looking a little dull? Is that one acting sick? I’d finally give up and go to the house, deciding if they weren’t lying there dead, I was still a little ahead of the game.

It wasn’t until Suzanne Gasparotto and the members of chevon talk shamed me into learning how to take a temperature, did I finally find one way of figuring out if my goats were sick or not. Lee and I don’t even take our own temperatures and here we were willing to learn how to take a goat’s temperature.

I hate reading a thermometer because I can’t. Trying to find that little blue line or that little red line drives me bonkers. Usually Lee and I will lay a wrist across our foreheads and try to decide if we have a temperature or not.

Another way is if you don’t want to eat. Then you know you are running a temperature. One evening I pushed away from the dinner table and announced to Lee I had a temperature. He asked how I knew.

"Well, I can’t eat my dessert, I must have a temperature," I patiently explained.

He pointed out that I had almost finished off a large pizza and maybe that was why I couldn’t eat dessert. I thought his reasoning pretty weak, but didn’t want to make him feel bad.

Anyway, when Suzanne and chevon talk said to use a digital thermometer on the goats, it was like a revelation. Wonderful! I could read that. I hurriedly bought one the next day that would let off beeps when it was finished and would also tell me what the last temperature was. A smart thermometer! Well, as smart as anything can be that let’s itself get stuck up a goat’s behind.

I waved the new, digital thermometer under Lee’s nose. "Let’s go try it out," I said. "You hold the goat and I’ll take the temp."

We went out to the goat barn and Lee caught a yearling doe. I lifted her tail and studied what was underneath for a few minutes.

"Well?" Lee asked.

"It’s gone," I said.

"What’s gone," he asked, puzzled.

"The hole."

"How can the hole be gone? What does it look like under her tail?" he asked.

"It’s all puckered. Just a lot of tight wrinkles." I had a great idea. "Let me go get the flashlight."

I was back in seconds and had even brought a bucket to sit on to study the situation. I turned the flashlight on and sat there a few more seconds.

"Well?" Lee asked.

"It’s gone."

"It can’t be gone," he said. "Just take your thermometer and try it."

"All right," I said a little doubtfully and started probing. The doe started having a fit. "Hold her still, Lee," I complained. "This isn’t easy, don’t you know." He just gave me a look.

He got her under control and success! I got the thermometer in. The doe had another fit.

"Where’s the thermometer?" Lee asked.

"I still have hold of it," I said. "See, my fingernails have a death grip on this little piece that’s sticking out."

"Uh, I don’t think you are suppose to shove it in that far, Connie. The instructions said just the tip."

"Oh," I hurriedly eased it out, leaving the tip in. "I thought you took it out to read after you heard it beeping inside. That’s why they had the beeper."

Strangely enough the doe settled down with only the tip of the thermometer in her. The beeper went off and I checked the reading. "She’s perfect. No, temperature here. Let me try another goat."

I confidently grabbed hold of the doe’s tail and plunged the thermometer in. The doe squealed and jumped forwards.

"Too far up," I explained.

Next goat...
"No hole."

The next time it was right in the mark.
Perfect.

"Let’s try a few more. I need to practice." Fifteen goats later I was very pleased with my performance on taking a temp.

Now, when I walk out to study the herd and I notice at least 16 goats clamp their tails down, study my hands, and silently sneak off, I know exactly what is going on. Besides, I’m sure the extra holes will heal quickly.

THE END