Only survivor? Goats

Dear friends and family,

It was New Years Day in the morning. I was the only residence at the big hostel. I hadn’t slept very well as it seems every Croatian loves to set off fireworks all night the last night of the year. 

I woke to fog and even a little smog with the gunpowder smoke hanging in the air from the night. As I packed, I gave extra precaution to make sure that I had everything since I knew that once I closed the door of the hostel behind me that it would take a lot to retrieve it as the owner was on holiday and communicated with me via phone only.

So, I checked and checked again, made sure I had all my gear and hopped on the bike. It was quiet in the fog, no people around, no sign of life. Maybe the end of the world happened overnight and I missed it. The lights worked in my room, so I thought that unlikely, but had to think about it.

My phone”s directions spoken aloud presented the only sounds. No people, no cars, no lights on in houses as I cruised out of town. It wasn’t early, it was about 0930, so not like I left in the middle of the night. 

I could feel the push of my legs on the pedals and the propulsion to move me forward. The wind I created against my face and hands, a bit cold against the handlebars, fully in the present moment. Wonderful feeling it was.

After over an hour riding, I was passed by the first car of the day and soon after saw bicyclists out for their holiday exercise. I eagerly greeted them with “Dobar Dan”, my only words of Croat, but got no response. No matter. No more flat riding, it’s all hills here, so took a lot more effort per mile gained. Feeling I should by now be fit enough to handle it I disappointed myself when I had to walk the bike up a twelve percent grade for about a half mile. The feeling didn’t last as I was engrossed in the scenery of the coast and offshore islands. 

On a dirt trail inland from the coast I came across an old billy (male) goat struggling to get up and walk. I was thinking about what I could do to help the poor animal and came up empty. I stopped to talk to this animal and instantly felt a huge wave of sadness come over me. Enough to force me to lay my bike down and have a sit.

When I took a survival course from the Wilderness Awareness School a few years ago, one of the lessons was about slaying and field dressing in the wild, a large animal for survival. I never shared this with anyone before outside my mates in the course, maybe you will understand why.

We were in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains in Washington State. An old farmer delivered to us an old billy goat and explained that his time had come to die. We were asked by the guide who wanted to deliver the throat cutting to this goat to end his life. 

I, instantly, broke into tears. Not a few, but a deluge of tears taking over my whole self. I walked myself away into the woods alone to process this.

When I was about ten years old I got a baby goat (called a kid) as a pet for 4H, which is a farming organization to teach children about caring and raising animals. This pet became my best friend. She followed me around the yard and I felt proud of the care that I was giving this animal.

One day, as I approached the barn with my usual “baa” sound and expecting the same response, I heard nothing but quiet. As I opened the door of the barn, there was my goat laying on her side, dead. 

This was my first experience with someone (something?) so close to me passing on. My friend, who I was responsible for, and now dead.

My mother and I took the dead goat to the local vet, who laid it upside down and took a razor knife and sliced her underside open, end to end. What I saw was a belly full of worms. Full!

That image is locked into my memory even though it’s been over 60 years ago. My goat, my responsibility, and I let it die of a worm infestation. I honestly cannot remember if I missed the part about worming goats regularly or if one was supposed to wait till later, don’t know or remember. 

This sad old goat on the trail triggered all those memories. Nothing I could do to help as I couldn’t find any sign of a farm or people to alert them.

Finally I rode on up the rutted uphill trail leaving behind the goat but not the memories triggered. 

The flood of emotions sapped my energy and I struggled in riding the next three hours. I did notice all the restaurants and stores I passed were closed and I did a mental inventory of what I would have for my New Years dinner: dried apricots, a small bag of mixed nuts, two energy bars. I knew it wasn’t serious, but sure was expecting some discomfort of hunger.

When I checked into the rooming house, my hostess told me that her family was just sitting down to their holiday dinner and she knew that all restaurants and stores would be closed today so would be happy to share their dinner with me. So, instead of the dried fruits and nuts, I had a whole homemade dinner placed before me in my tiny room. She didn’t speak much English and of course no Croatian for me, so it was all done in mime and laughter. It seems that laughter bridges cultures pretty darn well.

Sending love,

Charley