Sheep and Goats

Hmmm, I see that I have already posted twice as many times this year as the last.

So, the Holschers went away for the weekend. To be nice to me, they decided to send the dog to the kennel. He is a bit high-maintenence when the family is gone. He feels lonely and neglected. The least I could do was deliver the dog myself. I took him in my two-door, and being a hot day I rolled down the windows. And put the passenger seat forward so he could stick his head out. All was bliss and restraint until Delhi was reached. We slowed to 30 mph and he decided that more than his nose needed to be outside the car- first it was his whole head, then his front paws. Then I came to a stop sign and he was gone- all of him. I really wasn't expecting that. In a panic I pulled around the corner and leapt out of my car in my bare feet. Thankfully 30 seconds was all he needed. He came right back to me.

We proceeded a little farther- with the seat back up and the windows rolled up. Things became quiet in the back seat. Too quiet, but I didn't notice. I reached back to grab the paper with directions, which had slipped to the floor behind my seat. My fingers encountered something sticky. What in the world? Maple SYRUP??? Suddenly I remembered- there had been a lonely pint jug of syrup under my seat. And Reagan had found it. And chewed off the cover. And all that lovely pint was on the floor of my car.

It was with a rather vindicative pleasure that I delivered him to his Doom at the kennel (he really hates that place). We are not best pleased with him.

Saturday night I did the chores. Somehow, since I only do this once every couple of months, I always seem to meet with disaster, or at least Great Trials. I managed to let out 10 chickens while feeding them, and spent a frenzied few minutes darting after them and trying to herd them back into their pen.

Worse yet, I couldn't keep 26 goats under control at all. If there are only two goats that actually need to be milked, be assured that 4 others will crowd at the door desperately trying to shoulder their way out as well. They have beady eyes, and all the inborn stubborness of a greedy and self-absorbed soul. They weigh about as much as I do, and have twice the physical stability. I cannot win in a shoving match. Trying it just makes me so furious that my heart-rate jumps and suddenly I am turned into the wicked witch of the west. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING can push me as far over the edge into sheer carnality as a goat. I found myself hauling them around by their collars and shrieking at them. God chose well when he used goats as examples of how not to behave. And at that moment I wasn't acting any better.

Then there is that nerotic goat who can't stand the milking stantion. She thinks its an instrument of the devil. You have to coax her with grain to get her front hooves up, then lift her back end up. She eats grain peacefully enough while you milk her. When she runs out she startles backwards as if she were suddenly confronted with the devil himself. She is only okay if you give her more grain. Somehow I feel manipulated.

And after it all I ended up sitting on a wet deck chair in the dark, staring at the fireflys over the lawn and asking God for forgiveness. My heart is still pounding, and my nerves are rattled. Is it a sin to scream at goats?