Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Old goats, slow goats.

For the first time in a long time, my goats escaped.  My son received a phone call from the neighbor last Saturday morning to let him know that Leslie and Cinderella were on the loose.  He wasn't at home so he called me.  I was on my way home from town but unlike years past, I wasn't in a frenzy to get home and catch them. Because honestly, those goats are old just like I am. They are no more interested in going any farther to get something to eat than I am interested in traveling very far for food.  So I took my time and when I got home, I stood out back and sure enough, the goats were close to the fence nibbling on the neighbor's rose of Sharon bush.  All it took was for me to jiggle an empty bucket and the girls came trotting up the hill and back into the pasture without a problem. Also unlike years ago, they didn't run right back to where they escaped so I had plenty of time to gather the tools I needed and leisurely fixed the fence.

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“A little child…a shining star…a stable rude…the door ajar. Yet in that place, so crude, forlorn, The hope of all the world was born.” ...