On particularly fine days the goats are well nigh impossible to bring in from pasture for the evening milking. You have to haul them one by one into the barn - and once you get them there, there is no guaranteeing that that is where they will remain while you fetch in the next forty-eight.
Still all hope is not lost for this Sisyphian task.
I have discovered the perfect way to get them all indoors quickly and (relatively) painlessly. Just wander out behind them in a vain attempt at rounding them up and, while reaching for one of the girl's collars, trip over your own foot and crash to the ground all pinwheeling arms and flailing feet. You'll scare the bejeezus out of the goat you nearly fall on top of, and she - in her panicked dash for safety - will panic everyone else in turn. The ensuing rout will clear the field in a jiffy. Leaving you plenty of time to limp back to your trailer and change your pants (as they are now covered in soggy goat poo).
Fret for my integrity, friends. For I have learned that insidious lesson in which all tyrants have been schooled:
How to rule with fear.
BwaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
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2 comments:
All hail the skinny tyrant! I mean, who wouldn't fear you?
(Dad, actually) Maybe we should make this a requirement for all tyrants. Who knows how differently things might have turned out if Hitler had been trying to peddle Mien Kampf smeared in goat poo.
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