Here in the South, we call days like today The Calm Between The Storms. Yes, it's supposed to storm again, starting here in about an hour. Not only that, it's supposed to rain all day tomorrow, and into Sunday morning.
There goes my plans for the weekend. I'd originally thought I'd get out and get this flower bed cleaned up and ready for planting,
but it looks like that won't happen. Not for a while yet.
Since I'm sure you're tired of hearing me blather on about the weather, I thought today would be a good day for a story. Here you go:
Two Goats And A Wedding
Years ago, my uncle used to keep cattle. He didn't have a very big heard, just 10-15 head.
That's my uncle, on the left there. He is married to my dad's oldest sister, who is in the middle. And that's my dad on the right. This picture was taken about 20 years ago.
Back to the cattle...Uncle sold some of his cattle at auction, and one of them tested positive for brucellosis. Or to put it in the local vernacular, the cow banged out. Now, in those days, the only thing you could do when have a bang cow is to brand her jaw with a big B and sell her for slaughter. But then, the Department of Agriculture comes around and tests your cattle for forever, or until the entire herd is clean.
After it was all said and done, when his herd had finally been cleared, Uncle decided just to get out of the cattle business for good. In their place, he bought some goats. I often helped him look after his goats--feeding them, penning them at night, letting them out in the morning--that kind of stuff. The first time I ever saw anything give birth, live and in person, was one of Uncle's goats. Some years later, he told me that he's enjoyed his goats more than he ever enjoyed the cattle. He still has some, though he lost many of them when hurricane Ike came through.
Back before I joined the Navy, I spent most of my time--when I wasn't working--roaming the woods. One morning, Uncle called me and said, "One of my goats didn't come up last night. I think she stayed out to have her baby. If you happen to see her during your wanderings, let me know." That was right up my alley. I got my dog, and we set off to find the goats.
The dog I had then was a Chesapeake/Labrador cross. He was named Cutter John, after a character in the old Bloom County comic strip, and he was the Best. Dog. Ever. Yep, this is him.
Me and Best Dog Ever set out into the woods, and it didn't take us long to find mom and baby. Both were doing just fine. I picked up baby (this is really her)
and carried her back to the goat pen, with a worried mom trotting beside me, never taking her eyes off her baby. I was real proud that I'd found the missing goats.
Uncle only had three babies that year, and the baby I'd found in the woods was the first to be born. Here they are:
Just a few weeks later, wild dogs got into the goat pen and killed about half of Uncle's goats. Some they killed outright, others they left so badly wounded that Uncle had to shoot them. His big billy was badly wounded, and Uncle tried so hard to save him, but he ended up dying during the night. All three babies were also lost.
About a week later, one of my former schoolmates got married. She and I had not been friends in school. She didn't like me, and I knew it. I didn't like her either, and she knew it. She always seemed to think that she was better than me, and didn't bother to hide her opinion.
When my cousin asked me if I was going to Lisa's wedding, I said no, and she exclaimed, "You're not going to Lisa S----'s wedding!!!????" with much the same horror and disbelief as if I'd just told her I'd declined an invitation to Charles and Diana's nuptials. "Didn't you go to school with her?" cousin asked. I replied that I had, but we weren't really friends. She responded, "You have to go to Lisa S----'s wedding. Everybody is going to be at Lisa S----'s wedding."
"Not me," I said. But Cousin was so insistent that I reluctantly agreed to go.
The afternoon of the wedding arrived, and I went out to feed the goats before I began getting ready. Uncle had gone out of town that day, so he didn't turn them out into the pasture, but he did ask me to go give them some feed, which I was glad to do. Best Dog Ever was, as always, with me.
We got out to the goat pen, and who should be there but one baby goats that we thought had been killed! This one:
She was outside the pen, bleating and wanting in. As soon as she saw me, she took off running, and I took off after her. So, here I was, less than an hour before I'm supposed to be at this wedding I didn't really want to go to, running headlong through the woods with Best Dog Ever, trying to catch this baby goat. Best Dog Ever finally trapped the goat in a ditch and held her until I could get there to catch her. I carried her back to the pen, and put her inside. I fed the goats, then went to Aunt and Uncle's house to tell Aunt that I'd found one of the babies. Cousin and Other Cousin were also there. I told Cousin, "Well, I guess I'm not going to Lisa S----'s wedding after all."
"Why not?" cousin asked.
"Just look at me," I said. I was covered from head to toe in mud, and I didn't have time to take a shower.
"You'll be fine," Cousin says. "Just wash your face and hands and put on some makeup, and let's go."
So I did. Reluctantly. I went to Lisa S----'s wedding, and the reception afterwards, though I didn't really want to. Lisa, the one time she did speak to me, was as condescending as I'd expected her to be. I was polite, but it was forced.
At the reception, I sat alone in a corner, because I didn't know anyone else there, listening to the harpist. I felt something in my hair, that I thought was a bug, since it was an outdoor reception. I reached up to brush it off, and ...it was mud. I'd gone to that wedding with mud in my hair. And mud under my fingernails and under my toenails, and, I smelled like a swamp. It was then that I realized
I'd rather be chasing goats through the woods.
But that's just me.
That's my uncle, on the left there. He is married to my dad's oldest sister, who is in the middle. And that's my dad on the right. This picture was taken about 20 years ago.Back to the cattle...Uncle sold some of his cattle at auction, and one of them tested positive for brucellosis. Or to put it in the local vernacular, the cow banged out. Now, in those days, the only thing you could do when have a bang cow is to brand her jaw with a big B and sell her for slaughter. But then, the Department of Agriculture comes around and tests your cattle for forever, or until the entire herd is clean.
After it was all said and done, when his herd had finally been cleared, Uncle decided just to get out of the cattle business for good. In their place, he bought some goats. I often helped him look after his goats--feeding them, penning them at night, letting them out in the morning--that kind of stuff. The first time I ever saw anything give birth, live and in person, was one of Uncle's goats. Some years later, he told me that he's enjoyed his goats more than he ever enjoyed the cattle. He still has some, though he lost many of them when hurricane Ike came through.
Back before I joined the Navy, I spent most of my time--when I wasn't working--roaming the woods. One morning, Uncle called me and said, "One of my goats didn't come up last night. I think she stayed out to have her baby. If you happen to see her during your wanderings, let me know." That was right up my alley. I got my dog, and we set off to find the goats.
The dog I had then was a Chesapeake/Labrador cross. He was named Cutter John, after a character in the old Bloom County comic strip, and he was the Best. Dog. Ever. Yep, this is him.
Me and Best Dog Ever set out into the woods, and it didn't take us long to find mom and baby. Both were doing just fine. I picked up baby (this is really her)
and carried her back to the goat pen, with a worried mom trotting beside me, never taking her eyes off her baby. I was real proud that I'd found the missing goats.Uncle only had three babies that year, and the baby I'd found in the woods was the first to be born. Here they are:
Just a few weeks later, wild dogs got into the goat pen and killed about half of Uncle's goats. Some they killed outright, others they left so badly wounded that Uncle had to shoot them. His big billy was badly wounded, and Uncle tried so hard to save him, but he ended up dying during the night. All three babies were also lost.About a week later, one of my former schoolmates got married. She and I had not been friends in school. She didn't like me, and I knew it. I didn't like her either, and she knew it. She always seemed to think that she was better than me, and didn't bother to hide her opinion.
When my cousin asked me if I was going to Lisa's wedding, I said no, and she exclaimed, "You're not going to Lisa S----'s wedding!!!????" with much the same horror and disbelief as if I'd just told her I'd declined an invitation to Charles and Diana's nuptials. "Didn't you go to school with her?" cousin asked. I replied that I had, but we weren't really friends. She responded, "You have to go to Lisa S----'s wedding. Everybody is going to be at Lisa S----'s wedding."
"Not me," I said. But Cousin was so insistent that I reluctantly agreed to go.
The afternoon of the wedding arrived, and I went out to feed the goats before I began getting ready. Uncle had gone out of town that day, so he didn't turn them out into the pasture, but he did ask me to go give them some feed, which I was glad to do. Best Dog Ever was, as always, with me.
We got out to the goat pen, and who should be there but one baby goats that we thought had been killed! This one:
She was outside the pen, bleating and wanting in. As soon as she saw me, she took off running, and I took off after her. So, here I was, less than an hour before I'm supposed to be at this wedding I didn't really want to go to, running headlong through the woods with Best Dog Ever, trying to catch this baby goat. Best Dog Ever finally trapped the goat in a ditch and held her until I could get there to catch her. I carried her back to the pen, and put her inside. I fed the goats, then went to Aunt and Uncle's house to tell Aunt that I'd found one of the babies. Cousin and Other Cousin were also there. I told Cousin, "Well, I guess I'm not going to Lisa S----'s wedding after all."
"Why not?" cousin asked.
"Just look at me," I said. I was covered from head to toe in mud, and I didn't have time to take a shower.
"You'll be fine," Cousin says. "Just wash your face and hands and put on some makeup, and let's go."
So I did. Reluctantly. I went to Lisa S----'s wedding, and the reception afterwards, though I didn't really want to. Lisa, the one time she did speak to me, was as condescending as I'd expected her to be. I was polite, but it was forced.
At the reception, I sat alone in a corner, because I didn't know anyone else there, listening to the harpist. I felt something in my hair, that I thought was a bug, since it was an outdoor reception. I reached up to brush it off, and ...it was mud. I'd gone to that wedding with mud in my hair. And mud under my fingernails and under my toenails, and, I smelled like a swamp. It was then that I realized
I'd rather be chasing goats through the woods.
But that's just me.
You know, I never did find out why it was so important to her that I go to that wedding. I guess I'll never know.
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