This morning, The Pony went out to release the goats for their morning graze in the Mansion front yard, and found the goats already grazing in the Mansion front yard. He had no idea how long they were out. Yesterday, he put them up and found Nellie strolling around without her yellow-duct-taped wooden spoiler between her horns. She's pretty smart. A real escape artist. If she was a TV WWII POW, she would be Colonel Hogan.
This morning, ALL the goats were out. And the gates were closed. That's significant. The Pony walked the fence, and found an area where they could squeeze through. Except it wasn't big enough for Goatrude. She's a bit portly, maybe from pregnancy, maybe from gluttony. There's no telling until about a month before she has kids. I told The Pony to walk the ENTIRE fence, including the new part on the other ten acres. He huffed and puffed like a gruff billy goat, but off he went like Sherlock Holmes without a magnifying glass.
The Pony returned to inform me that a tree had blown down on the fence. Not just any tree. A tree that the fence was nailed too. A tree too big for him to move. And that the area the fence was down was about the length of two couches. We had nothing to close it off to reincarcerate the prisoners. I told him to call his dad and let him know. Worst case scenario, the goats would be out all day. The main problem with that is when they eat my lilac bush and roses. Since they've already reduced the lilac bush to post-apocalypse rations, the only issue would be if they stood in the gravel road and wrecked somebody's car. The Pony would have to spend the day herding them. Which he does from the front porch, with a laptop on his knee.
Farmer H called to inquire. He told The Pony where to find wire to try and patch the hole he had cut in the fence from the old pen into the new addition. He said he was coming home to deal with it. You know. Just a little 40-minute drive each way on his lunch hour. Good thing he's salaried, not hourly. Too bad he wasted his time last night going to Lowe's instead of checking his pen for goat-holes after The Pony reported the escape issues.
I have no idea what he's doing right now. He has not enlisted The Pony to assist, so he might be sawing up that tree with a chainsaw. You never know.
The goats are good at teaching Farmer H new tricks.
2 comments:
Once I played "Donkey Basketball" which was the most fun I've ever had.
Perhaps you could start a preschool this summer, and the cute little tots could play "Goat Basketball."
I think it's a winning idea...
Sioux,
That's a scathingly brilliant idea! With a slight modification. I will run that goat-rental business out of my proposed handbasket factory. Perhaps you could travel with the team, and instruct un-goat-savvy faculty on how to seat their tots on goatback. I'm sure your buddy Linda could whip up some snazzy saddles out of used Chinet paper plates and dental floss.
Post a Comment