My personal weather forecaster held firm for many weeks on his prediction that the early burst of March warmth was just that, an early burst, not the start of warm weather. He scoffed at farmers who wanted to plant early, against the advice of insurance companies that declared they would not cover crops planted before a certain date. And he was right. Just last week we had to cover our new blueberry bushes with tarps to protect them from possible frost because the summer-like week in March caused them to blossom too soon.
Now, this week, my personal weather forecaster has declared that warm weather is here for the duration, and he is shedding his winter coast as proof. He needs help shedding that coat, and each morning this week when I sat outside in the shade to read he stood next to me so I could wield my brush and remove his downy undergrowth, a white wool much like sheep’s wool that even looks like carded wool thanks to the lines drawn through it by the brush that I used to pull that wool from under the outer layer of stiffer hair.
It’s just the start of Eutzly’s shedding for the year 2012. His first spring, in 2003, he began to shed in April, but he rarely begins so early, and this year is more typical. Warm days won’t inaugurate shedding on their own because it seems my goat’s shedding responds to nighttime temperatures, not those of the day, or to an average of the two. Even with daytime temperatures reaching the low 80s at times, Eutzly sheds with reluctance when nights are cold.
Eutzly is ready to rid himself of that wool that brilliantly kept him warm on the coldest winter nights, but he’s not quite ready to divest himself of the coarse outer layer. I know the time for shedding has arrived when Eutzly begins rubbing his sides along the fence, and when the outer layer begins to slough off the fence wire will be wrapped with goat hair. Once that begins, Eutzly will be banned from the garage and patio because the hair falls off in clouds of its own free-floating volition and lands everywhere. I can track it into the house merely by visiting Eutzly at his house, and before Eutzly was banned in springtime from visits to the garage, the area around the steps to the kitchen would be coated with a layer of off-white goat hair because Eutzly, associating those steps with his kidhood and his early days in the garage, likes to stand by the door to the kitchen. The slightest pass of my hand over Eutzly’s fur can send a legion of hair to the floor, and that hair, which easily sticks to shoes and clothing, ends up in my car, the house, and sometimes our food if Eutzly is allowed in the garage. It’s easier to restrict the goat at this time to his house and the yard.
When it’s all over, and when the goat hair has settled, Eutzly will exhibit his short summer coat, which looks trim and neat after months of thick, bushy winter fur. I’ve saved his hair during brushings for the last couple years, thinking it’s too nice to just discard, that it could be made into something, but so far no use has come to mind. Birds have found a use; a nest that fell from a tree recently was partially lined with goat hair. I keep hoping to make an ornament for a hat but haven’t figured out how to assemble short goat hair into something decorative.
This shedding and the warmth that cause it can’t come fast enough for me. I’m a lover of warm weather and bright sun, and I spend eight months waiting for the four months of warm weather that pass much too quickly. It doesn’t help to know that we have one month until the summer solstice, when the sun will be at its brightest for 2012, and after that we’ll start heading again toward the bleak days of winter. But I can’t dwell on such thoughts, and for now I’ll continue to brush my goat and enjoy the short but welcome warmth.
johnw@the-review.com