The vet came yesterday.
That's such a simple statement, but it encapsulates what we like about living out here in this less populated county. My husband had noticed that Emma-the-goat's eye was tearing, and then yesterday morning, she was having trouble opening it. So he called our local vet. He's a small animal vet, and we've seen him one time, for the cat.
My husband described the problem, and the vet said that he would come out to our place after he closed for the day. A house call. Wow.
He came out and was just the nicest man. We held Emma while he looked at her eye. We had been worried about how hard it might be to hold her, but she was her usual sweet self. I straddled her and held her under the chin, and my husband held her by the horns. She hardly struggled, but she and Arlene kept up a constant low-level exchange of "maas." It was obviously a form of communication, and made me want to read up more on how goats communicate.
Afterwards, the vet stayed for a beer, and we talked about life in the country, and life in general. We really enjoyed it.
In our previous life, I can't imagine a vet coming to the house, and then I can't imagine him or her being more than just business-like.
Did I mention that it was his birthday? Again, wow.