Sit down, or fall there.

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Some days, you have plain old incidents.  Other days… you have Goat Incidents.  Tonight… I had a Goat Incident.

I was getting home after dark.  I had a Board Meeting this evening.  My schedule isn’t as busy as SOME people’s… so I went straight out to the barn yard… to take care of the barnyard crew.

They were stomping hungry.

The first order of business is always the goats.  I got their scoop of food, and headed to the feeder.  Apparently, Gracie did not feel that I was moving swiftly enough.  So.  She gave me a push in that general direction.  She did not “butt” me with her heard.  No.  She jumped up… and with her hooves…. sent me flailing in several directions at once.

Let’s clear something up before I go any further.  It is difficult to dance in Rubber Barn Boots.   Especially when, directly under those boots, are five goats, three chickens, and two geese.  Back to the “push.”

Yes.  Gracie shoved me. Hard.  So I went into my very best Gene Kelly — Singing in the Rain — maneuver.  It is the kind where you sort of lean forward, bending at the waist, and your arms spin round in the fashion of a helicopter.  And while you are moving forward and sideways…. at the same time…. and your legs are trying to catch up with the rest of your body.   THAT Gene Kelly move.

As hard as I tried, I could not miss all the obstacles in the path of my flailing body.  I tripped right over our little girl goat.  Her name is Izzy.  She didn’t really fall.  She fainted.

Izzy faints.  When she gets scared.  So… over she went.  I managed not to step directly on her… and continued thrashing  about and falling forward….. … finally coming to rest face down in the goose, chicken, goat poop yard.  I looked over… and Izzy was still on her side, in a fainting-seizure-shimmy.  Finally, we both got up… limping.

Boy, oh boy… was I ever mad. Not only was I pissed off… I was pooped on.

I brushed off my jacket, as well as my ego….  and started the feeding process all over again.  First the nice goats, and Gracie…. then the chickens… and finally the geese.

To reflect on the incident,  I will sing you a song.
Old McDonald had a farm.  Eee-i-ee-i-o.

Nowhere does it say… not ANYWHERE in those lyrics….   Old Kronenberger had a farm.  It doesn’t sound good.  Besides… it just wouldn’t make sense.

Oh wait… it truly doesn’t make sense.

Have I mentioned lately, just how much I love my dogs?

Eeeee – i – eee  – i – OH!