Goats
When you have a daughter who is almost three, your life does this funny thing where all of the stuff that used to be astonishing and crazy becomes normal, and all of the stuff that used to be normal becomes astonishing and crazy. Can you provide specifics please, dear bi-weekly columnist? You ask. OK, here:
Me: “Hello beautiful kind wife. How was your day?”
Beautiful Kind Wife: “It was nice. We went to the park. Your daughter swung on the swings and slid on the slides then she took off all her clothes and peed on the grass. After that we had lunch and…”
Two years ago, nudity and urination outside of the confines of a bathroom would have been cause for consternation, alarm, shock, astonishment. Today, I hardly even notice. Lying in the mud? Drinking it? Nothing.
On the other hand, things that used to go nearly unnoticed now result in Oprah-sized celebrations. Like for example, have you seen this fantastic machine called a “Dustbuster?” If you press the button, all of the Kix cereal on the rug gets sucked away like magic! Or spackle, have you heard of this? You put it on the wall. The wall. With a knife!
So the other day, we were all out doing our happy stroller family health walk in the foothills when we found something that nearly blew all of our minds right out of our skulls. There were goats! They were right next to the road and down there in the ravine. Of course we stopped next to the electric fence and entered into a lengthy dialog about the goats and why the goats were there and what the goats were eating and why we don’t touch the goats and the coyotes that don’t eat the goats because of the dogs that are with the goats. It was a sort of panel discussion with many questions coming from the audience, which consisted of a single 2.75 year old female who could not have been more riveted.
Then, as we were standing there beside the road, admiring the goats, all of our dreams came true. Jorge the goat man (he said it, not me) pulled up in his Subaru Outback with a “Jesus Saves” three-dimensional decal. He said hi and told us that he was Jorge the goat man (told you), and he offered to take us down to meet the goats. (!!) Come to find out, these goats are professionals. They clear brush and prevent fires. The neighborhood homeowners all pitched in to hire the goats to eat their poison oak (what must that be like?) so they can avoid fire department fines. Jorge’s friend Jose whistled the goats into the chain link holding pen, and along with Jorge, began feeding them alfalfa and oats, and something called “sweet licks.” The goats mobbed Jose and he had to kick them in their bellies to keep from being trampled. It was wonderful.
Jorge was not shy. In about four minute’s time we learned that he is a happily married Christian philosophical goat man. He told us that “the goats are like the world. They are selfish and petty and they’ll stab you in the back.” And I believed him. When I looked one of the goats in the eye, I could tell that he wanted to cut me. Jorge said that we were sheep, and up above is our shepherd. I asked him what the dogs were. He said they were Great Pyrenees. He made us smell the alfalfa. Meanwhile, just on the other side of the fence, there were 140 South African Boer goats and Spanish goats kicking the snot out of each other just to get a mouthful of something not poisonous. It was basically the best day ever.
When you have a daughter who is almost three, your life does this funny thing where all of the stuff that used to be astonishing and crazy becomes normal, and all of the stuff that used to be normal becomes astonishing and crazy. Can you provide specifics please, dear bi-weekly columnist? You ask. OK, here:
Me: “Hello beautiful kind wife. How was your day?”
Beautiful Kind Wife: “It was nice. We went to the park. Your daughter swung on the swings and slid on the slides then she took off all her clothes and peed on the grass. After that we had lunch and…”
Two years ago, nudity and urination outside of the confines of a bathroom would have been cause for consternation, alarm, shock, astonishment. Today, I hardly even notice. Lying in the mud? Drinking it? Nothing.
On the other hand, things that used to go nearly unnoticed now result in Oprah-sized celebrations. Like for example, have you seen this fantastic machine called a “Dustbuster?” If you press the button, all of the Kix cereal on the rug gets sucked away like magic! Or spackle, have you heard of this? You put it on the wall. The wall. With a knife!
So the other day, we were all out doing our happy stroller family health walk in the foothills when we found something that nearly blew all of our minds right out of our skulls. There were goats! They were right next to the road and down there in the ravine. Of course we stopped next to the electric fence and entered into a lengthy dialog about the goats and why the goats were there and what the goats were eating and why we don’t touch the goats and the coyotes that don’t eat the goats because of the dogs that are with the goats. It was a sort of panel discussion with many questions coming from the audience, which consisted of a single 2.75 year old female who could not have been more riveted.
Then, as we were standing there beside the road, admiring the goats, all of our dreams came true. Jorge the goat man (he said it, not me) pulled up in his Subaru Outback with a “Jesus Saves” three-dimensional decal. He said hi and told us that he was Jorge the goat man (told you), and he offered to take us down to meet the goats. (!!) Come to find out, these goats are professionals. They clear brush and prevent fires. The neighborhood homeowners all pitched in to hire the goats to eat their poison oak (what must that be like?) so they can avoid fire department fines. Jorge’s friend Jose whistled the goats into the chain link holding pen, and along with Jorge, began feeding them alfalfa and oats, and something called “sweet licks.” The goats mobbed Jose and he had to kick them in their bellies to keep from being trampled. It was wonderful.
Jorge was not shy. In about four minute’s time we learned that he is a happily married Christian philosophical goat man. He told us that “the goats are like the world. They are selfish and petty and they’ll stab you in the back.” And I believed him. When I looked one of the goats in the eye, I could tell that he wanted to cut me. Jorge said that we were sheep, and up above is our shepherd. I asked him what the dogs were. He said they were Great Pyrenees. He made us smell the alfalfa. Meanwhile, just on the other side of the fence, there were 140 South African Boer goats and Spanish goats kicking the snot out of each other just to get a mouthful of something not poisonous. It was basically the best day ever.
posted by kyle at 10:48 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home