...And Stuff

The night before last, the goatmother came into the barn to perform the usual nightly routine. She noticed that hay was needed, so she climbed up on the stack to bring a bale down from the uppermost layer. She cast the hay hook into a choice bale and pulled mightily to bring it out. The only problem was the hook didn't hold and the goatmother went flying. Literally. Backward and downward, all at the same time. We watched. What else could we do? (We're only goats, for goats' sake!) The goatmother ended up smacking the floor on her side, twisting her ankle and jamming her arm upward. She lay there for a bit wondering if she had broken her ankle or any other important body parts. I, of course, became immediately concerned that she might not be able to get up and get to the Peanuts. Then I heard her mumbling something to the effect that she would have to get up because the goatfather would never come to check on her. Let's face it. Goats don't make very good Lassies. "Goatfather! Come, quickly! Timmy has fallen in the well!!!" That just isn't in our vocabulary.

Finally, however, the goatmother managed to get up - albeit somewhat slowly and painfully. To her credit nothing was broken, but merely bruised and swelling. A woman of any lesser bone density would have been left crying in her beer. You can be quite sure of that! What a trooper! We not only got our Peanuts, but got hay as well. And we have continued to be fed, though I have to admit the service has been somewhat on the slow side.

So that is one reason why I have been somewhat remiss in my musings of late. Let's face it. If the goatmother ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. But there has been another problem as well. You might recall my recent writing about the Winter That Would Not Die? Well, that was in March. This is April. This is the middle of April, to be exact. Guess what? The weather forecast for Friday and Saturday involves snow down to sea level. You heard me, SNOW. Oy. And, they call this Spring. Now THAT is a misnomer. Maybe we should just be calling it Sprinter.

At any rate, I just haven't felt very philosophical lately. It is just too darned cold to get out there on that stump. Walt Whitman had it right when he said, "Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling." Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout!