The Paper Boy vs The Wolf

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.

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 Kona and headed for the front door. As soon as I hit the step, I pointed at the 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#ckin' 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. Kona, 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. Kona screeched to a halt and dropped his newspaper beside the fence. The goats huddled together like innocent choir boys and stared.

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

sheridan
(Although it was a metaphysical impossibility, by some miracle, I did manage to make it to church with time to spare. Sometimes I think God just needs a laugh. That's why he sent me these goats.)

Xena Rides Again!

January in Texas tempts us with Spring days that stir the heart of any gardener, and I'm no exception. As soon as the sun comes out, I'm already planning new beds for flowers and sewing the seeds for this year's herb garden. I spent today hauling horse manure to make new beds. I put some serious thought into why I even considered yoga and a work-out program when I have chores like: shoveling manure, hauling manure, picking weeds, and trimming trees. If you add the extra exercise benefits of wearing rubber boots while clomping through mud, actually "paying" for the privilege of working out not only seems a bit asinine, but I'm sure it would have farmers in my family tree rolling in their graves.

So I hauled countless loads of old and new manure today. As often happens when one is deep in repetitive labor, my mind began to wander and I left the gate opened. And as sure as the sun will come up in the morning, if a gate is left open, a goat will find it - three goats to be precise. So as I strained like a mule to pull a load of fresh manure through the mud, I noticed three white goats in my neighbor's front yard. Now my neighbor is unlikely to run off and buy three white goats, so it was a sure bet that they were mine.

I am rarely, if ever, in the mood to fiddle-fart with loose goats, and today was no exception. Since I have a very willing farm-collie to help me, I pointed out the goats and said, "Kona, fetch 'em up." What happened next was pure poetry. A tawny streak raced across my yard and into the neighbor's. The goats dropped their jaws in open-mouthed shock. Kona went wide, circled the goats, and did a beautiful lift. Since the dog has no training in herding, I was pretty darned impressed. So were the goats. In fact, the goats were so impressed that they came running straight toward me. Kona was beside himself with glee. He was fetching goats. The goats were beside themselves with hysteria. A large wolf was behind. (keep in mind that three weeks earlier their comrade was killed and eaten by loose dogs, and it's probably still fresh in their little pointy heads) The goats were racing towards me at warp speed, when they decided that the obvious path to get back into the pasture was to take the long way around my property to the only other gate they knew. They hooked a left around the front of my house. I called the dog back to me. He was quite disappointed that he didn't get to complete the fetch. The goats ran around the edge of the property and waited at the gate. Fine.

Since goats don't have thumbs, they need help opening gates, and so I put the dog on a down-stay and started to walk toward the goats. In a blind panic, they raced down the fence line. I turned to glare at the dog. Nope, wasn't him. He was still on his down-stay with the intoxicated look of a crazed football fan. I wouldn't have thought they could see that far, but obviously they weren't taking any chances of becoming some dog's dinner. They ran down the fence line and crashed into the hot wire fence. It is a scientific fact (we proved it today) that goats are more afraid of dogs than electricity.

With the goats safely back in the pasture, I put Kona in the back yard and went to check the fence to see how much damage they did to my hotwire. Hmmmm.... three frenzied goats can bound through a four-strand barbed wire fence that is re-enforced with two strands of hotwire and the only evidence will be a tuft of goat hair in the barbed wire. No fence repairs needed. That didn't suck.

So I headed back to the barn. And that's when the rooster attacked me.

That red bastard ran straight at me with fire in his eyes. I kicked the crap outta him. He ran in two more times and met my boot both times. Then he got crafty and started this circle/feint/attack move. It was getting serious. I screamed for Kona. There was an answering bark, "Shit!" I had locked him in the yard.

I had no back-up and the rooster wasn't backing down. I started edging toward a board on the ground. The rooster kept rushing me. The dog was throwing himself against the fence in a rage. Slowly I moved toward the board. Bending over to grab it was a tricky thing because the rooster kept up the attack. But when I finally reached that 2x4, I was Xena Warrior Princess. "Look out you Red Bastard!" I started swinging. Roosters are amazingly agile when facing off with a woman that is armed with a seven foot long 2x4. I was unable to kill him, (which was indeed, my goal) but at least I got some respect and he soon shook his feathers at me one last time and wandered off. I then called my mother and informed her that Wooster, otherwise known as That Red Bastard, had to GO!

She protested that he was her best rooster. I advised that if he attacks me again, he will be dog food. Kona is more than willing to oblige, since not only do farm-collies fetch goats, they will also make short work of crazed roosters. Xena Warrior Princess might not be fast enough with a 2x4 to kill a rooster, but I'm sure Kona the Wolf Dog is.

Murder & Mayhem

The only thing worse than stumbling to the barn in the morning fog and finding all the goats missing, is stumbling to the barn in the morning fog to find only one goat missing. If they are ALL gone, you can assume that they got out, but if only one goat is gone – He's dead.

I stood in the barn this morning and watched as three goats dutifully filed into the barn (with an extra spring in their step) and went into their stall (prison). Three goats? Counted them again. I hadn't finished my coffee and Math is not my forte before 8 AM. Three goats. Hmmmm…. That can't be good. Listened carefully. No bleating. That was definitely Not Good.So I locked the inmates inside their prison, grabbed up my coffee and headed out to the pasture.

Noted a large pile of feathers behind the barn. Hmmmm…. My mother raises a rare breed of Heritage chickens in my pasture. Apparently Spotted Sussex Chickens are a bit rarer after this m orning. Saw a suspicious lump in back pasture. I'm a crime scene investigator; even before I've finished my coffee, I can spot a goat stomach at 40 yards. (no specialized training is really needed for that)

En route to the stomach I found more feathers. Subtracted another Spotted Sussex. Found what's left of a Boer goat. Not much but a head, a backbone and three feet. Even I was impressed at the way poor Ken looked. The Boogey Beast may not have been too keen on goat entrails, but the rest of the goat was pretty much gone. I had turned that goat out to graze at 12:30 AM last night. By 7:30 AM this morning, Ken looked like a lion kill that had been picked clean by buzzards. Impressive. Very impressive.

Started poking around the pasture and found bits and pieces of Ken all over. It would appear that the Boogey Beast was actually a collection of Boogey Beasts. Canine paw prints marked the area. And more dead chickens. Actually, they were just piles of chicken feathers – no bodies. A trail of chicken feathers led out of the pasture and into the canal. Okay then. I could accept that coyotes had come in and stolen my livestock. I live in the country. If you live in the country, those things happen. I even happen to like coyotes. I could donate a goat from time to time to wildlife. (Ken would vote differently on that issue.)

I decided that I would just have to make sure to keep the goats in their stall at night, and make sure that the chickens were not released until well after the sun was up. I was comfortable, (not happy, but comfortable) with that idea until the rancher next door shot a hole in it when he pointed out that the tracks were not coyotes, but dogs. "WHAT!!! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT DOMESTIC DOGS JUST KILLED FIVE CHICKENS AND ATE AN ENTIRE GOAT!!"

Rancher informed me that he'd been having a problem with dogs comi ng from the neighborhood across the canal. I looked down at what was left of Ken and started to get mad. Rancher put on rubber boots and followed the trail of feathers through the fence, across the canal, and up to the neighboring street. It appeared that Fluffy and Friends got tired of eating Purina and had decided to cross the canal and hunt in the Serengeti.

Those goats have been a pain in my butt, but come on – Ken was in his own pasture, minding his own little goat business (for once in his life!) and the chickens were simply early risers (undoubtedly they had not finished their coffee either) who had unfortunately been invited to breakfast by Fluffy and his friends who were still picking their teeth. I was ready to follow the feather trail myself to find Fluffy's owner and inform him that he needed to confine Fluffy and Friends. Rancher pointed out that I didn't want to do this since it could cause me to lose my job. I followed his train of thought for a moment and realized that perhaps he was right. There was a strong possibility that Irate Farm Girl With a Badge And a Gun was unlikely to be amused when Bubba informed her that this was a free county and it was his God-Given Right to let his dogs run free. It is also highly unlikely that the Police Dept, my employer, would be amused when we had to extract my gun from Bubba's butt.

Yes, Rancher was probably right about this one – let Animal Control handle it. So now the remaining three goats are locked in their stalled (and are apparently quite happy to be there!) After six hours the Animal Control guy still hasn't showed up. I figure they're busy and Fluffy is not a high priority. But -- since Ken was eaten a mere baseball throw from my barn (and a $7000 horse!), I can assure you that if I catch Fluffy chasing that horse, lead will fly.

And I hate to even think about what my mother will do if she catches Bubba. Exactly how far can a cane go up someone's butt?