Sinead Nut Removal

[Baby Ethan]

One of the last pieces of advice Bob gave to me before he died was very straightforward and delivered emphatically: Never get goats.

You can already see where this is going. It’s not that I went out of my way to purposefully defy him. And in my defense, I have managed to honor some of my promises to him. For example, as he lay dying, I promised him I would never again get involved with another shitty man. I’ve kept my word on that for seven years now and have no intention of ever going back on it.

Maybe the eventuality of me getting goats was an act of substitution. Maybe the absence of bad men created a vacuum. Maybe my subconscious abhorred that vacuum. Maybe I ached for some chaos, any chaos, something to liven up the days that had grown too quiet, too calm without the daily drama of dating a dumbass.

Goats certainly filled that vacuum, scratched that itch. I have had many goats since Bob died. I’ve had many goat problems. I’ve had some goat tragedies so horrible and graphic that I will spare you and me both the unease of revisiting the details.

[Baby Ethan and Crazy Sinead]

Instead, I will skip ahead to my current goat problem. Back in December 2023, into the world arrived the Son of Garreth, the most assertive goat I ever had. Mistaking the Son of Garreth for a Daughter of Garreth, I named him Sinead. When I realized Sinead was a boy, he kept the name. Because a) it makes perfect sense for a woman named Spike to have a boy goat named Sinead and b) as someone pointed out, the Sinead for whom Sinead was named certainly had balls. Oh yes she did.

Which brings me to the problem. When Sinead was about eight weeks old, I made the executive decision to castrate him myself. I watched YouTube videos on how to use this metal device and a thick band of rubber tubing to basically make a man bun out of his wee goat gonads which would then, courtesy of cut-off circulation, eventually shrivel up and drop off. I didn’t feel great about executing the procedure but I made myself follow through because I wanted to avoid more baby goats in general, and inbred goats in particular.

As you would imagine, Sinead screamed like a banshee as I clutched him, belly up, between my old lady thighs, got that device in position and snapped the band into place, checking to be sure I hadn’t accidentally caught one of his man teats in the band, just like the instructions instructed me to do. In hindsight, it seems I was so distracted congratulating myself over the teat avoidance that I failed to notice I had—wait for it—only captured one nut in the loop.

One way you can discover that your at-home castration was a fail is when you notice your two lady goats—including, yes, Sinead’s mother—are getting pretty round around the middle. Further proof will then arrive in the form of Baby Ethan, whose mother Wendy put on a great screaming show of giving birth for some lucky wedding guests during a recent reception here.

I have, for weeks now, had SINEAD NUT REMOVAL on my No Really You MUST DO THIS List. It is written in heavy black sharpie to let me know that I’m not kidding me. Still, I dragged my feet, in part because I feared what this professional nut removal was going to run me. Which in turn reminded me of one of the best slogans I ever encountered, the motto of a thriving shop in Brooklyn that proclaims: “We Repair What Your Husband Fixed.”

Finally I messaged the mobile vet who specializes in goats, and who came out here last summer when I was convinced that Hook the goat and both livestock guardian dogs and probably also myself had rabies, which despite the preposterousness of this idea, became lodged in my brain as the stone-carved truth. The estimate to surgically separate Sinead from a hacky-sack sized appendage was not as bad as I guessed it would be. It was way worse. By, like, double what I told myself I would, on the outside, spring for.

I thanked the vet’s office but said that wasn’t happening. I decided I would call my friend Brandon, who is a real rancher, not a hobbyist like me, and beseech him to save my ass yet again. I first met Brandon when a neighbor introduced us years ago and Brandon traded me my bull for a cow. Over the years Brandon has cheerfully relieved me of many animals when at long last I was able to start facing the fact that I adopted way too many beasts during lockdown. Surely Brandon would take Sinead. Problem solved! I went to sleep pleased with my sound decision.

Next morning, I woke up in a different frame of mind, one that recalls another favorite saying I encountered long ago: Quit anthropomorphizing the animals—they hate it. Dogdammit, I realized I was more attached to crazy Sinead than I wanted to admit. Could I really let him go? Wouldn’t it be emotionally cruel to separate him from the herd he was born into? The vet’s scheduler texted me just then, as if her Spidey sense had suggested some perfect timing, offering a payment plan. Would that work?

Before you could say Layaway three times fast, I replied that I was all in.

And so, very soon, the deballing will commence. Sinead will scream yet again. But then it will all be over and he will get to remain with his family.

Somewhere out there in the universe, The Current Version of Bob is laughing his ass off. Fortunately, the sound of Bob’s laughter was always music to my ears, an easy dopamine hit. So even though his laughter is at me, not with me, I’ll take it.

THE JOY AND BEAUTY DEPARTMENT

I’ve really been enjoying sharing with y’all snippets of how I am exercising RESISTANCE by paying close attention to all the beauty and joy in my life in spite of the Fascist Freaks continued attempts to rob us all of those things. So here are a few beautiful and joyous notes from my week:

I accidentally lost touch with my fabulous Swiss friend Brigit during lockdown. We finally reunited and Ori, my ex, joined us. Back in the day we all used to spend time together in Real de Catorce, Mexico, where Brigit has a wonderful house and was one of the local midwives for many years. So wonderful catching up.

My friend Sandy surprised me with this Buddha head planter when she came over to play ceramics with me. As with my gathering with Brigit and Ori, spending good quality time away from the news and having fun in person with Sandy gave me a much needed mental health boost.

Auntie Erin treated Levon the Ass to some tasty snacks. Levon loves Erin. So do I.

I performed an outside wedding up on a hill last Thursday. It was in the thirties and windy and reminded me very much of another wedding I did in the same spot in December 2017 (right).

I’m continuing to bake pastries for my friend Pascal who has glioblastoma. This past week I made cinnamon rolls, cardamom rolls, and almond chocolate chip cookies. I’m also getting ready to host a living memorial for her so we can all tell her how much we love her in person. If you’re a friend of Pascal, hit me up for the details.

I have the best tenants here at the ranch. We don’t group text often but when we do…BTW, no one found the phone but everyone had something brilliant to say in reply to my initial text.

The only thing I enjoyed about last week’s freeze was that Mercy found a Frisbee-sized hunk of ice in the backyard. It was love at first sight.

NOTES:

Y’all, while there’s never any pressure to bump up to a paid subscription, I am strongly encouraging you to do so if you are able to part with $5 per month. If you sign up this week you will be directly contributing to Sinead’s ball removal—bragging rights!

You can also help by sharing this substack with others. And you can also help by buying one of my books. I’m running a special this week—$10 gets you e-copies of my memoir The Tao of Bob AND my new novel Grok This, Bitch. You can Venmo me @spike-gillespie. I also have some print copies of the novel available for $30. Shoot me an email for details.

FREE WRITING WORKSHOPS! March through May, every Monday morning from 10 am til noon I will be serving up a free writing workshop at the San Marcos Public Library. All you need to do is show up. And twice each month—first and third Tuesdays from 5:30-7:30 pm I am offering free writing workshops at the Hampton Branch Library in Oak Hill in Austin. For the latter workshop, it helps us if you register as all the available slots do fill up. REGISTER HERE.

Donations Thanks

Wanted to let y’all know that the ongoing donations of adult clothes, shoes, bedding, hygiene items and eyeglasses is going GREAT. Y’all are really delivering and I am enjoying redistributing your stuff to Austin’s homeless population. Good job! Thank you so much. If you’re in Austin and want to donate, drop me a line.

RESIST

PLEASE DO NOT BUY ANYTHING ON FEB 28th. This is a nationwide buying blackout. It literally requires you to DO NOTHING.