If I have to wrestle another naughty goat and end up with my back out, I will be needing some goat cookin' receipts.
Today I let the girls into the portable fence so they could graze on some fresh grass. Someone (Anabelle) lead the way to push the fence down. And Someone (Anabelle) convinced the Other Goats that the Lady didn't care if they went out. Then, Someone (Anabelle) talked everyone into making a run for it when the Lady and the Mister came to get them in.
Ironically, Anabelle was the easiest to get in. She lives by her stomach and the though that we had a Special Feed Bucket Just For Her was enough to lead (read: drag her by the horns) to the barn. Not the other girls. After enticing them with feed for 30 minutes, we finally got Clara, Lucy, and a few of the babies in. Even Mary and Mia went in fairly easily, but they are dominated by their stomachs (like me).
The back injury came when I gathered up Lila, who had gone into the open milking parlor door to go back to the goat yard. Stupid Me. I bent wrong. And fell to my knees where I stayed until the Mister came to rescue me as I struggled with a wiggling goat wrapped in my arms.
Did the other goats have pity for the Lady? Not Charlie and Layla. No. Not them. They ran up and down the mountain for another 45 minutes before they were worn to a bone and "decided" to go to the milking parlor door to go in.
At one point the Mister asked me: "What do you want me to do?" I can only surmise that my crawling on the ground and crying made him think Something could be done for me...
"Get the gun," I replied.
"Me or the goats. Murder. Suicide. It is all the same right now. It will stop the pain..."
He shook his head and started up the hill again. What a guy...
So, we are now in agreement that the next escapee will be dinner. Plain and simple. Only problem is: I don't eat meat.... but I think maybe I could start...