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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Sue Lani Madsen: Neighbors silver lining in goat roundup

Fireworks explode over Spokanes Riverfront Park Tuesday, July 4, 2017. (Jesse Tinsley / The Spokesman-Review)

Kaboom! The sound echoed across the water and through our tent at 11:23 p.m. last Saturday. Camping on Independence Day weekend can mean enduring a thoughtless stranger’s ill-timed fireworks.

But the setting wasn’t an isolated campground next to a pristine lake. We were in Central Park in Issaquah (population 37,322), next to the stormwater pond. Over 200 goats were bedded down nearby, protected by electric netting running at 7,000 volts. The fence deters most predators and usually keeps the goats in place. The possibility of a stampede brought us instantly alert.

My husband manages the herd to remove vegetation on steep slopes and riparian areas in lieu of equipment or herbicides. I joined him over the four day weekend in case of trouble on Independence Day. We weren’t expecting fireworks on the first night.

Craig unzipped the tent and crouched at the entrance, scanning the goat pen uphill for trouble. I looked across the pond toward the soccer fields in time to see one last high aerial burst. Craig pulled on jeans and boots while keeping his eye on the nervous goats, then took off to walk the fence.

The 911 dispatcher was handling multiple calls from the neighborhood, including mine. Silence returned. The goats milled about at the far end of the pen with Craig, calmed by his presence.

Midnight, and Kaboom! Kaboom! I stuffed my feet into shoes and headed in the direction of the continuing sound while calling 911 again. Kaboom! The second round of missiles faded away by the time I reached the baseball field. No sign of the nincompoops who lit the fuse.

This time, the 911 dispatcher stayed on the line long enough to hear how fireworks endangered the herd, and why the goat lady stalking the park in her pajamas was not amused. There wasn’t much the officer could do when he arrived other than express sympathy.

Craig successfully calmed them after the first attack, but 25 kabooms from an aerial missile package called “Pink Champagne on Ice” might as well have been called “Pink Blossoms of Terror.” The second barrage sent the goats again panicking toward the fence. This time they knocked it over and kept going.

God bless Simon, a neighbor from one of the houses on the park. He caught on to gentle pressure herding quickly, with no prior experience with animals. We thanked Simon profusely for helping with the roundup. Craig found the last handful in a backyard next to the forest, and we secured them in the pen too.

Next morning, we realized Gigi, our livestock guardian dog, had not come back with the goats. She’s their protection against fence-jumping cougars. Her instinct to chase predators could have led her anywhere. Social media recruited hundreds of helpful eyes to search the community, but we had few sightings. Neighbors Julie and Winnie found her 22 hours later and three miles away, totally lost and running down Lake Sammamish Parkway.

We took steps to avoid a repeat performance. Craig gave the goats a larger pen to run and Gigi a safe space to hide in her kennel. We arranged to close the park gates at dusk, and Issaquah police added extra patrols of the parking lots. We had one full night’s sleep before the nincompoops were back. Fireworks from the soccer field and then the baseball field again, this time at 3:20 a.m. The larger pen gave the goats space to dissipate their flight response. Craig calmed the goats while I called in another police report.

Then came the Fourth of July. Craig was in place to talk soothingly to the herd, I was ready to scold teenagers in the parking lot. The professional fireworks shows ended. A golf cart avoided the park gates and sped past me. They set off an aerial burst at the end of the soccer field, and I realized I’d been unfairly profiling teenagers. Issaquah police responded, but the two golf cart guys got away.

Another resident disturbed by the explosion joined me in the parking lot. “I’ve got this. Get some sleep,” Justin said. Good neighbors outnumbered nincompoops in Issaquah. And now I can’t get Mr. Rogers out of my head. Won’t you be my neighbor?

Columnist Sue Lani Madsen can be reached at rulingpen@gmail.com or on Twitter @SueLaniMadsen.