Friday, November 5, 2010

Don't Butt Heads with a Goat

Here are the facts: 

1. It gets dark, now, rather early in the evening. FarmWife prefers to feed dinner rather late in the evening, so as to have our breakfast arrive 12 rather than 14 or 16 hours later. Therefore, it gets dark before FarmWife feeds dinner.

2. Our shed is rustic. Unlit. 

3. FarmWife divides the goats up at dinner time, that Missy and B.G. may sup upon alfalfa whilst Jasper Jules joins me in a bland, grass hay repast. She accomplishes this by feel. Jasper has a 1", double-layer nylon collar and a beard; B.G. has a thin, 3/4" nylon collar and no beard; Missy is naked entirely. Groping in the darkness for the bearded goat with the fattest collar, FarmWife shepherds JJ away from the delectable edibles and locks him into my half of the shed. Again—a dark, cave-like, primitive dwelling.

4. Did I mention that our shed is dark, and that FarmWife accomplishes all of this without the aid of vision? On a moonless or foggy night, it's like braille. 

5. Goat heads are really, really, really, really, really, really hard.

So, the scene is set: Dark shed, moonless night. FarmWife, cradling delicious alfalfa against her busom in defense against the hungry, fat boys. Groping, blindly, through the dark. 

FarmWife bent down last night, as is her habit, to duck under the board dividing Here from There. This board keeps me from snuggling down into the comfiest part of the shed, but that's another subject for another day. Today's matter: when FarmWife bent down (briskly, and with great energy), Jasper Jules happened to be rushing her (briskly, and with great energy) in pursuit of the alfalfa. The consequence? A great, resounding crack. FarmWife's forehead against J.Js, with the force of a small traffic accident. 

Here's the way things stand today: Jasper, so far as we can tell, is physically uninjured. FarmWife has a throbbing headache and a tender goose egg. Jasper, however, has conceded the win to FarmWife! Convinced that she attacked him as an intentional display of status, he is cowed before her almighty presence. He is downright nervous, now, and cedes the road to her at every opportunity. She has plied him with gentle pats, handfed treats, and quiet words, but he is quite convinced that she is a titan, a warrior, and a dominating master. "She," he says, "has one hard head." 

If he could only see her now—four ibuprofin and a frozen gel pack later. 



  1. Oh, OUCH! I can just imagine..!

  2. When Mother needed to check for the plug in my empty tooth socket every day, Aunt Nancy bought her a little bitty but bright LED headlamp on an elastic strap that is super light, and was quite cheap. I don't have a plug anymore, so Mother has no need of it... should she send it to FW?

  3. Holy cow! I can only image! I'm thankful my goaties have never come in contac with my head. Hope your head is feeling better!

  4. Well, Bif . . . FarmWife has a tough relationship with flashlights. I think that she is swinging closer to acceptance, though, after this injury, so if your mother's headlamp is TRULY extra, and if your mother wouldn't miss it in the least, I think my dear FarmWife might very well accept (and gratefully!). You're really terribly kind.

    Sylvia, Sian . . . FarmWife is quite concussed! She's been far less than normal all weekend, but we're hoping that she snaps out of it soon. She's still mustering the strength to feed me, so that's something.



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