Thor was in the process of being wethered when he came to live with us. His previous owner had tightly banded his teensy testes and we were instructed to just be patient while they withered up and fell off. This was something with which we had no experience. So when his testicles became a single engorged giant balloon that prevented him from moving comfortably, we thought, Hm. That’s interesting. And gross. Then it exploded.
Exploded is hyperbolic, perhaps, but our response to the blood and pus was as dramatic as if they had exploded. Expletives escaped in shrieks of disgust. Prayers ascended in weeping wails for mercy. We surrounded our miniature Nordic god with coos of comfort, but he suffered. The vet was summoned.
The doctor saw the pools of blood in the stall, he saw Thor’s abscessed scrotum, and determined without hesitation that surgery was in order. An immediate Sunday castration in the barn ensued – an unsterile sterilization. The prognosis appeared dire. Diagnosed with severe anemia due to blood loss, Thor’s weakness and despondency suggested that he would most likely die.
Thor sequestered himself in a dark corner of the barn between bales of tasty hay for several days. It was his healing space. One day scrunched out under the back door of the barn to sunbathe against the sunny south side of the building. Victory. Thor lives!
Thor still spends time in his corner on rainy days and surrounds himself with the comfort of unlimited food and peace away from unruly sheep but now he shares his secret spot with the rest of his goat family: Ramona, Lydia, and baby Reggie (who arrived last weekend thoroughly neutered).
Thor hanging out by his big tree and Thor with Lydia and baby Reggie.