The Goat in the Room
Farms sound fun. Hay bales and baby animals cavorting in green pastures is the pastoral ideal-
but frozen mud is the brutal reality.
The Cats are not amused. This summer’s kittens are agog at the frigid slush; just yesterday, it was pleasantly warm to walk through the dried grasses, but now the little needles of ice surprise their fuzzy paws, and they crowd the porch, complaining to managment and demanding recompense in the form of kitty kibble. The Hounds, being older and wiser in the ways of Texas winter, are more sanguine, shuffling through their pen to inspect the thin layer of ice before retiring to their individual hay-stuffed Igloos. The Equines and Bovines don’t care - the donkeys are lounging next to the haybales as if they are sunning at the beach, and the Longhorn is eyeing them suspiciously, for she knows the littlest Longear, JimmyJack, is a troublemaker supreme. He brays: the Help better show up soon, and He better be bringing feed...
Slogging through sleet to the chicken coop is chilly at 25 degrees, but the chickens are bustling and must be fed. Fair enough - they feed us eggs. Gathering the eggs is fine, as the Heat Lamps make the chicken house pleasant as long as the Biddies don’t peck when you take their eggs; some of them are pretty serious about their products. But then it’s back to the outside world and sleet. Busting the ice out of the water troughs with an old Texas-shaped branding iron makes reality more picturesque, but it is still uncomfortable, as one’s hands and coat cuffs still get wet, no matter how hard you try. Fortunately, there is an answer to all these rural problems:
grow your own Wrangler.
Having enrolled in this program early, our Farm is now enjoying the fruits of that program, as said Wrangler is now doing the farm chores and hauling wood. The door slams, and I anticipate an armload of oak -
instead, He has an armload of Goat. He stomps the sleet off his boots and gently lays a little brown yearling doe on the dog’s pillow by the fire. Naturally, this happens in the middle of an ice storm, and the vet it not available to us. Discussions ensue and details reviewed: she was found lying in the hay, and though she was fine an hour ago, she is currently wobbly and weak. Supplements are administered: vitamin b, dextrose, baking soda, then hay and water are offered. And now, she rests -
I have a Goat in the room. It would be more charming if she wasn’t under the weather, but it still has a certain absurdity that elevates the mundane. A Goat in the Room isn’t something people talk about often, but livestock in the house happens with some frequency out here. The discussion occasionally comes up in casual conversation, over bar-be-que or at church, and then comparisons are made. One man’s daughter brought in her entire flock of show chickens and put them in her bedroom closet during a freeze; another Rancher brought in a newborn calf and warmed it by her fire when the snows came. Of course, the calf became a bottle baby, and as you all well know, those stories almost always end with a cow named Daisy becoming the next member or the family - or with people crying over a delicious steak. It depends on the family.
Our family has a Goat in the room.
As our little Goat snoozes, we wait for her to finally come to her senses and decide that this is no place for a Goat. If she recovers, she should at some point jump up and run through the house, knocking over items, climbing on chairs, and demanding to be treated as any Goat should be treated - by being carried back out to pen and tumped out by the hay bale to continue in the important work of being a Goat. It is only when they are under duress that Goats accept confinement and rules to be thrust upon them…
I wonder if we have as much sense as Goats. Perhaps not; even when we’re not sick, we accept confiment and rules without a bleat.
Perhaps we should be more Goat.