Sunday, August 27, 2006

Another Great Country Day

Apologies dear readers for waiting so long between posts. The week seemed to evaporate rapidly, leaving me little time time for sharing my thoughts with you. But it is Sunday - and despite having much on my plate to accomplish - catching up with you is top priority.

I'll rewind to Friday night, when I got home and hung out with Elvis and Ann-Margaret on poo patrol. It's been a month since their last exam and we have completed 2 rounds of de-wormer (and in Ann-Margaret's case, a 7-day dose of antibiotics), so I figured it's time for them to be re-checked.

My goats were in fine form and it took a record 35 minutes for them both to take care of business. Of course, while hanging out, I noticed that Ann-Margaret had a bit of a cough. Actually, it was more than a bit. She sounded like Sebastian when he coughs up a hairball. Of course, she wasn't coughing up anything so I naturally worried.

When you google "pygmy goats" and "cough" the first hit you get suggests that a rough cough could be a sign of lung worms - a potentially fatal parasite for goats. It doesn't say that a cough could be symptomatic of many things (similar to humans where coughing can mean anything from "I've got a tickle in my throat" to "I am dying of tuberculosis."). With only a 50% track record for goats and a history of worms, I panicked.

So Saturday morning, instead of running the samples out to Cornelius, I decided I'd bring Ann-Margaret too. The anxiety I had a month ago about loading her into the carrier and driving her all the way out to the doctor was gone and I very efficiently put the carrier in the bed of the pick-up, scooped up my little goat and plunked her inside. What I didn't count on was that she would howl. Literally. She was bleating so loudly that Marty came outside to see what was going on.

The problem is that Ann-Margaret only has Elvis in her life, so when she gets separated from him, she freaks out. So I gave in to goat psychology and waited for the doctor to make the trip to see us.

As it turns out, a physical exam showed Ann-Margaret to be quite healthy (I got a big I told you so from Marty on that one). I held her while Dr. Severt listened to her heart, felt her stomachs and took her temperature. He said short of being stunted in growth and chubby, she's fine. Of course, we'll see what the fecal exam reveals but maybe we are finally getting turned around on this goat situation.

For lunch, Marty & I drove to the Chuckwagon. How do I describe the Chuckwagon? It's basically a drive-in - Similar to Sonic - except that it's been there for 100 years and the waitresses don't wear roller skates (wait - do they wear roller skates at Sonic? Shit - I can't remember). It's a little shack and two rows for cars to park. The menu is standard NC fare - burgers, footlongs, and fried everything and probably hasn't changed ever. Marty had a Chuckwagon sandwich (chicken fried steak on a roll with lettuce, tomato and mayo) and I had a Superburger (cheeseburger with mustard, onions, chili & slaw - also known as Carolina style). The chocolate shakes were good (but not as good as Circus Hall of Cream).

Goats. Chuckwagon. It was a good country day. And as we walked to Harris Teeter to pick up groceries for dinner, all I could think was that I love my life down here.

And if that ain't country, I'll kiss your...


Rick said...


I had the chicken sandwich and a cherry slushy... pretty tasty.