So we have a goat. This is not news to anyone who is my Facebook friend, but I don’t know that I’ve mentioned it explicitly on the blog. The goat arrived, just a few days old, in mid-April, and lived in a kennel until the weather warmed up and he got older. (Among the things I never thought I’d say: There is a goat in my garage.)
I named the goat Gyro, because I am a bad person, and because Paul made plans to butcher the goat when it was full-grown. The boys are terribly fond of Goatie (they never much liked Gyro as a name), and our friend Mike observed recently that the goat is probably not going to make it to the table.
I mean, they’re farm boys – who else would wear rubber boots over jammies – and they’re used to animals becoming food in a very concrete way. But they sure do love Goatie. I guess we’ll see what happens.
Anyway. Today Paul was mowing the lawn, and he’d put Goatie on a leash (Yes, the goat has a collar. Stop laughing.) and hooked the other end of the leash to a corner of his chain link enclosure, so he could snack on the weeds. Then he went over to the other side of the house.
Apparently Goatie forgot all about him, because when Paul and the mower came roaring back, he freaked out and ran to the end of his leash, did a back flip, broke the leather leash, and disappeared.
I cannot tell you how sad I am that I wasn’t there to see that.
Paul parked the mower on the other side of the house and came in to tell me about it. When we stopped giggling, Paul stepped outside to go look for him, and his head popped out of his little house. So all is well, and the goat is fine. But I really wish Paul had been filming that.
Life at the circus is many things. But almost never boring.