Old age is glamorous

And other lies I don't believe

This is “Captain Midnight.” He is 13 years old. According to a random “goat to human age calculator” I used, that makes him about 70 in human terms. I am absolutely horrified by this calculation, though it feels frighteningly accurate for my bodily experience as of late. Let me explain (and, Mom and Dad, or any other reader over 65? You might want to stop reading right now. Come to think of it, my 40-something friends might want to call it quits here, too. You’re welcome.)

---

Random picture of a goose to distance an unsuspecting reader from seeing scary things below.

Now that Mom and Dad have cleared out (probably not, actually. They are determined people) let me explain why this calculation is just… not kind. If Midnight is “just like a human 70 year old,” I have grave concerns for my friends and family who have crossed that threshold, and my own bleak future. You see, here are some things we have noticed with Midnight:

• Most of his teeth are gone. He still tries to eat his usual foods (hay, browsing on brush, etc) but this results in him mashing his food into an appalling paste as well as failing to properly chew/digest his cud. So, often, he greets me in the morning with a horrid green slime running down his chin. It smells as foul as it looks. There’s nothing quite like it to start the day. Since we want to help him hold his nutrition as long as possible, we feed him pelleted hay that can be made into a mash, mineral supplements, and soft grains. In other words, Midnight gets the “soft and nutritious diet” that nursing homes aspire to.

• When he walks, his joints creak. Loud enough, I can hear it quite a distance away. He’s arthritic and stiff, and moves at a sloth’s pace when the weather is cold or damp. I already move that way. I have to use a heating pad on my back most mornings just to be able to put on my socks. You can only imagine the stiff-bodied moaning I make when I’m getting up from the ground in my garden or from being half-upside down beneath a goat with assisting a baby feed. It is already giving “ask me about my favorite joint liniment” vibes, and I’m only 46.

• Despite the nutrient management, he still has lost significant weight. It seems a lot of this loss is in muscle mass. He is no where near as strong as he used to be— which is probably the only reason I’m alive, given the fact that last autumn, he slammed his horns into my skull as hard as he could. No matter how much he walks and climbs and rams around his pasture mate in a day, his muscles just wither.

• His once-gleaming coat of jet black hair (hence, the name “Midnight”) has faded to a wiry, patchy, rusty, copper-deficient brown. Yes, he gets supplements. No, they are not restoring him to his shiny youthful look. Same, Midnight. Same. Come to think of it, the disappearing muscle trick is also relatable- Midnight is only missing the soft, “cortisol belly” that I’m sporting these days. Evidently, he doesn’t suffer from hormone imbalances/chronic stress. No kidding, dude. He doesn’t read the news, and “living in nature” is his entire vibe.

• In addition to the color change, he’s now vulnerable to mites. Specifically, a nightmare mite called chorioptes caprae, which results in scaling, flaking, sometimes bleeding skin. The very glamorous treatment (in addition to systemic medications) is painting him in lime sulfur dip and/or a nasty-smelling paste called NuStock. So, in addition to drooling green goo down his chin, he also reeks like brimstone, and is slimy with medicated paste. (Picture the consistency of diaper ointment slathered all over his legs and rotten-egg-stink-water doused all over his body. You’re welcome.) I don’t know about you, but I already noticed skin and hair changes on myself that I’m less than thrilled with, so if this is 70… oh, boy, are we in for good times!

At “70,” Midnight is clearly being held together by willpower and spite (he really doesn’t want his pasture buddy, Charlie, to get his half of the barn, or any of the grain!) Otherwise, he’s looking more and more like he created a horcrux or is channeling Yzma from Emperor’s New Groove. You see his list of ailments. And that’s with a lifetime of CLEAN, VEGETARIAN EATING, NEVER HAVING SCREEN TIME, NEVER CONSUMING ALCOHOL OR TOBACCO, PLENTIFUL EXERCISE, LIVING OUTSIDE IN FRESH AIR, AND HAVING ABSOLUTELY NO JOB-RELATED STRESS. HE NEVER EVEN HAD A JOB, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR THE REST OF US?!!!???!!!!

Lastly, please note that the world’s oldest recorded goat was 22 years old! I BEG YOUR PARDON!!???!!! If Midnight lasted another 9 years, he will be entirely bald, living on liquid nutrition, and likely too stiff to walk. Clearly, McGinty the ancient goat had a secret he took to his grave.

Dear Reader,

If you are still here, thank you. Or, I’m sorry. Just remember: Midnight has never brushed his teeth, and you do not chew a cud or eat poison ivy for breakfast, so the repugnant green chin is not your future. Also, you likely have access to proper hygiene. Beyond that, chorioptes caprae are species-specific, so you can rest easy, knowing your ankles aren’t going to turn grey and crusty and covered in scabs any time soon. I won’t be coming at you with the brimstone cream. At any rate, I wish you a healthy and happy aging process- something far too many don’t have the privilege of, I know. We are in this together! Let’s cheer one another on, and I promise I will only ever write about my old GOAT and his disgusting ailments, or myself— never a parent or a friend. Unless they tell me to. Your gross ailments are safe with me. Yours most sincerely, Michelle.