08/18/2026
In the Adirondacks we often tell the story of Theodore Roosevelt's midnight ride to the presidency. Set in 1901, it's a rousing tale in which the forty-two year old vice president races down Mt. Marcy, wolfs down dinner, kisses his wife and children, and races off into the night. He travels through the darkness over terrible rough roads with a driver and horse team, heading for the train station at North Creek. There he arrives around dawn. A telegram handed to him tells of President McKinley's death. Young Roosevelt has become the country's twenty-sixth president.
This past Saturday night, Buck the Goat, age eleven, also made a breakneck journey through the night. He had stopped eating and largely stopped drinking. Everything about him spoke misery. Buck's excellent personal physician hurried to our goat barn and conducted an exam that included ultrasound, but she acknowledged that Buck was suffering from a possibly life-threatening condition of uncertain nature, one she lacked the tools to diagnose and treat. There was only one thing to give Buck a shot at survival: drive him to Cornell University's College of Veterinary Medicine, where a crack team of vets and techs would do what could be done.
That day, I'd given a talk and led a walk at the Lake Placid Lodge, and in the evening I'd delivered a slide presentation at Adirondack Loj. I came home weary. My wife, Debbie, daughter, Tas, and I quickly conferred. We agreed there was only one course of action we could live with. Tas and I would leave with Buck at once. We'd drive five hours to Ithaca. Debbie would hold the fort, care for Buck's roommate, Kiko, and report for work at her new job the next morning. It all happened quickly.
After coaxing 230-pound Buck into the back seat, we launched. We drove dark winding roads to Tupper Lake and on to Cranberry Lake and Wanakena. Midnight came and went. Near Watertown, we hopped on I-81, and at Cortland we veered off. At 3:30 a.m., Buck, Tas, and I pulled up to a horse-sized sliding door at the back of Cornell's hospital for large animals. We did not have to knock. The door was open. Lights were on, and a team of kind faces leapt out and surrounded us. In minutes Buck was in an examination room, surrounded by new friends. Tas and I collapsed in a waiting room until the news came. Buck had stones in his urinary tract. His bladder was at risk of rupture, and his pain was surely intense. A surgical solution was suggested. Tas woke Debbie with a phone call, and we agreed I would sign the consent forms and hand over a charge card. Buck's chances suddenly looked bright.
At 10 a.m., a surgical team led by a skilled and lion-hearted vet from Brisbane, Australia began the effort to save our much-loved goat. At 1:30 p.m., Tas and I, who had grabbed a couple of hours sleep sitting up in the car, received joyful news. Surgery had confirmed the diagnosis, and Buck was drained, opened, de-stoned, and sewn back up.
His prognosis is excellent. Three cheers for modern medicine, including modern veterinary medicine! Three more cheers for the kind, caring, talented, hard-working, sleep-deprived people who came to Buck's rescue in the middle of the night! Buck will remain at Cornell for ten days, healing and getting his plumbing working again. Tas and I drove home, arriving around 9:30 last night. Now it all seems like a dream---a dream that began as a nightmare and morphed into something happy and full of gratitude.
The photo shows the patient shortly after surgery, still d***y with anesthesia. Tas is delivering TLC. A young vet-to-be doing her residency hovered just out of view, keeping our much-loved quadruped under close watch.
