The girls go to co-op early for dance practice. So as we’re on the porch waving good-bye as they drive away in a friend’s car, Ruby announces, “The goats are out.”
Really? Now? When the girls are gone and I have to take all four kids ages four and under up the hill to chase some stinky goats? After my shower, when I’m in good clothes? Of course. When else?
Sterling held Pierce (and then Charlotte knocked him over, so he’s laying flat on his back, hollering for help because Pierce was on top of him and he couldn’t get up. That was a sight.) and I started the foolish process of catching a goat that doesn’t want to be caught. One’s tame as can be, caught and back in his pen. The fence is fixed, and then, doing what I’ve found to be the best way, (because goats really like to get out, so this is a common occurrence, unfortunately) I chased the doe toward the big hay bale. In one giant leap, she’s on the bale, cornered, and all I have to do is grab her, pull her down, and put her away.
I’m starting to get good at this. That’s sad.
Rescue Sterling for his cloud gazing position on the lawn, tear Charlotte away from the new baby goat she’s determined to love on, and we’re back to normal. You know, our normal. I have a feeling we’re anything but everyone else’s normal.
FYI: The bed under the bed worked beautifully, and my handmade pull-ups are fully leak proof. Life just got a whole lot easier and my house gained 12 square feet.