The wind chill is five-degrees; the wind is blowing; my shoulder and jaw still ache. (I think I pulled a muscle -- it started as a 'migraine' on Saturday and has just kept going...) And Don had to report to work this morning; being faculty, I don't report, officially, until tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. However, I still had a ton of things to get ready for classes next week. And, on top of it all, the CSA was scheduled to meet tonight in Boone... along with five-inches, possibly, of snow. So, I knew I had to feed early and get the milking done so I could get to Boone on time.
As I started out at 1:30, I felt rather like the little brother in "The Christmas Story" and could hardly put my arms down -- winter undies, sweat pants, henley, insulated bibs, sweatshirt, quilted coat, scarf, winter leather and fleece gloves, hat, scarf, wool socks, and insulated boots. I was ready for anything. Thank goodness I didn't have to make a pit stop once I was dressed. It would have been a tragedy. Anyhow....
Everyone needed water; thankfully, it hadn't frozen, much, in the night, and a pitcher of warm water released it pretty quickly so I didn't have to haul water. In fact, everything was going so well, I was going to be done no later than 2:30. Was. Then it was time to feed the goats. I carried the two bales of hay and the 50 pound bag of feed to their lot, slipped in, deposited hay in all the racks and carried the feed to the milking parlor. Then I realized I had one too many goats in the doe yard. Charlie. Who is a BUCK. Who wants a date. WHO won't be caught for any amount of feed. And he is chasing Mia, who is obviously in labor.
She bawls, "No, No, No!" as Charlie chases her across the loafing yard talking his best "boyfriend langauge" to her. She wants no part of him. And she is all he can think of. Fortunately, this works to my advantage and I slip up behind him, grab his horns, and try to drag him out of the fence. He is not budging. Very long story short, I finally get him into the milking parlor and out the back door. I head back out to fix the fence that he has climbed over to discover he is back in talking smack to Mia again. Another chase. This time, all the bucks are lined up at the fence shouting encouragement. All I want to do is shake my fist at them and say a few choice words to Charlie.
I am hot. Sweaty. Out of breath. For crying out loud, he is 1 year old; I am 54. And I have on far too many clothes for this kind of chase. Finally, I catch him, toss him out, and turn around to fix the fence only to find he is BACK over it again and chasing an exhausted Mia. My hat hit the ground followed by gloves and jacket as I give chase, trying to decide if the ground is too frozen to bury a bad little goat. At last he is cornered, tossed out and the fence is repaired.
I stagger to the milking parlor, collapse on the floor, trying to catch my breath. Outside I can hear Charlie calling Mia and she is still responding, "No, no, no!"
If only she had said that five months ago. I wouldn't be out of breath and Charlie wouldn't be an issue. Do you think I could get them to take a purity pledge?