Farm Fresh Blog

                                                                                
The Paper Boy

People who raise goats share one thing - loose goats. As you get more experience, (and better fences) the episodes are not as frequent, but nevertheless, every goat is a blood relative of Harry Houdini. Not only are they escape artists, they are also psychics.  Goats KNOW when you are too busy to fiddle-fart around with them .

Nothing in my life is ever simple. Now I'm not a mathematician, but I do see a common denominator among the problems in my life. Most of my headaches stem from the same source - goats

Goats. God sent goats to test me. God sent dogs to help me . . .

Tonight I found myself running late for church. I had exactly fifteen minutes to make it out the door and into the chapel. It's a ten minute drive. I didn't have time for a shower, so I put on a clean shirt and a spritz of perfume (just in case I smelled like a dog.) I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. That's when the phone rang. There are four words I do not want to hear at any time of day or night. They are fingernails on a blackboard: 1) Your 2) Goats 3) Are 4) Out

I glanced at the clock again. "Please, please, please Lord... can you just slow down Time a little so I won't be late for the service?"

And with that prayer, I grabbed up The Enforcer and headed for the front door. As soon as I hit the step, I pointed at the loose goats and said, "Fetch 'em up, Boy." A tawny streak raced across the front yard... until he saw the newspaper. I could read the indecision on his face.

"The paper. The paper. She always sends me out the front door for the newspaper. Maybe she wants the paper. Goats? Paper? Goats? Paper?"

I yelled at him. "Not the paper! Get the f#*kin' goats!"

Ah! A language he understood! But to err on the safe side, he grabbed up the newspaper as he raced across the yard toward the goats. By this time, the goats were already in a full-scale panic. The Enforcer, still carrying the newspaper, looped behind them and galloped them back toward me - at break-neck speed. They passed me so fast that I'm surprised there was no sonic boom. With a nimbleness that would make a gymnast pea-green with envy, they vaulted onto a stack of firewood and leaped back into the pasture. The Enforcer screeched to a halt and dropped his newspaper beside the fence. The goats huddled together like innocent choir boys and stared.

Then the dog turned to me, picked up the newspaper, and said, "Hey, you still want this?"