Saving Pépito
(de Nederlandse versie van het verhaal van de bok Pépito is hier te lezen)
(Vous pouvez lire l'histoire de Pépito en français ici )
We are an association for cats in France. Our repertoire of animals expanded when Pepito, a billy goat came to stay. Pepito had been raised on a goat cheese farm where he worked as a stud. Unfortunately, at the ripe old age of six, he had to make way for a younger replacement. However, instead of a gold watch and a pension, Pepito's retirement package consisted of a trip to the abattoir.
Fate intervened on his behalf in the form of Elie, a visitor taking a guided tour of the farm. Once she learnt what the future held for him, she asked his owners if she could save him. When they agreed, she quickly made plans and a two part solution was found. His permanent home would be with a family who had other goats, so they could only take him once he was no longer fertile. In the meantime he would stay with us.
The big day arrived and Elie turned up in her van with Pepito.
Once she let him out we were impressed by the size of his bladder as he relieved himself at great length after his two hour journey. Amazingly, although this was his first ever journey in a vehicle, he didn't do any of his business in the van. We were somewhat less impressed by his odour. Strong doesn't do it justice: it's also “sticky”. Once you touched him the odour stayed on your hands and then was also transferred to whatever you touched.
Pepito was easily lead to his new accommodation in our garden. It must have been quite a big change for him as until then he had only known the pens at the farm. In fact, he was so unused to nature that it took a few days before he began to eat any vegetation, his previous diet consisting almost entirely of hay and concentrate.
After a few days the vet came round to carry out the castration... and so began one of the most fraught experiences of our lives. This was the first time that the vet had operated on a goat, so he had to estimate Pepito's weight for the dose of anaesthetic. He definitely didn't underestimate because Pepito went under quite rapidly, so he quickly got stuck into the operation. As I was directing the light I had a wince-inducing front row seat view and you can be thankful that I'm sparing you the gory details.
Once the operation was over, we waited for Pepito to wake up. And we waited, and we waited and then... he stopped breathing. Aghast we waited for the vet to do something, then, after a few very long seconds, Pepito finally took another breath. Phew! Then he stopped breathing again. The vet reached into Pepito's mouth and pulled his tongue out and Pepito took another breath. Apparently pulling the tongue stimulates the breathing reflex.
For the next 45 minutes or so we all watched on tenterhooks for Pepito's breathing to become regular. There was no antidote to the anaesthetic, so it was a question of waiting for him to metabolise it. Eventually the vet declared that he was satisfied that Pepito's breathing had stabilised, so he packed up and left.
No sooner had he disappeared down the lane, then Pepito stopped breathing again and didn't start no matter what we tried. A brief panic ensued when I discovered that I didn't have the vet's number on my mobile, so I dashed back to the house and called the surgery. Luckily, whilst I was making the call, Pepito had started breathing again. A few minutes later the vet returned and gave an injection of something to stimulate the breathing. Soon after, the anaesthetic wore off sufficiently for Pepito to unconcernedly get to his feet, totally unaware of the nervous wrecks surrounding him.
A couple of weeks passed, during which Pepito found gainful employment, once he had discovered the joys of eating weeds and brambles and then he went off to his permanent home. As a precaution, he was kept separate from the young ladies for a little while just to ensure that he couldn't impregnate them. He's now living amongst them and enjoying a life in nature rather than a muddy pen.
