Right. The goats.
So, today I went on a medical call in the early afternoon.
An elderly lady had fallen and had hit her head and elbow on the paved driveway. She was comfortable on the driveway, so I left her there and did my assessment. She seemed to be in pretty good shape but was getting sleepy. She was disoriented as to the date and time and the circumstances leading to her fall. The chief was on scene and asked me if I wanted to have him ‘expedite the ambulance’, but I really didn’t get the sense that the patient was critical despite her sleepiness. I started her on o2 and did a careful trauma assessment. She seemed fine; a little nap on the driveway. It was comfortably warm.
The ambulance came after a while and took her away.
I went back to the firehouse to do the paperwork. As part of the reporting, I called dispatch to get the times for the call; time of the call, time of the first unit to sign on, time of the first unit to arrive on scene, and time the units cleared.
I identified myself by number. The dispatcher immediately said that he had a question for me. Uh, oh.
“Whatever happened about those goats?”
The dispatcher explained that he had chuckled for an hour after taking my call about the goats, and had been wondering how it turned out.
So I explained the whole long saga. Both and I had driven over and left messages with different people, but both of those people had neglected to give the message to the goat owner and had gone away without telling him. It took a few days for him to get the message. He came by and told RK that he would pick up the goats as soon as he got a truck; finally, he came and took the goats in a sedan.
“Only in Vermont,” the dispatcher mused. “Where else can you have goats show up on your porch in the middle of the night, then see them picked up in a car?”