More Goat Tales

Nutsrok

goat-balanced-fence-636192Should goats not choose to lounge about with their bony heads in the fence, they walked through fences like ghosts through walls. Our house was enclosed by a wire fence which was inside the long drive leading up to the house. The pasture presented a third line of fence between the goats and the house. Even the blind goat ran up the diagonal corner brace posts and hopped the fences without even thinking, attaining total access to the whole place. Goats are perpetually in love. None of this fencing got between goats and their aim in life, copulating before as many onlookers as possible: ministers, prissy ladies, and small children, in that order. The tiniest of window ledges presented no problem should the company be saintly enough. Goats crashed my six-year-sister’s birthday party, indulging in a lurid love fest on the lawn, giving the kiddies an eye full till we…

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‘I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes..

‘I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes.’  Henry David Thoreau

This is my favorite shirt.   I love it more now than the first time I put it on.  I wish I had a meter to tell me which things will turn out like this shirt.  When it was new, it was a nice medium-weight denim, several shades darker.  It was probably laundered six or seven times before it revealed its beauty to me.  It faded and softened, calling out to me every time I open my closet.  Buttons have been replaced a few times, buttonholes repaired, tucks restitched, and today, an iron-on patch applied to the right side just below the yoke.  The lace on the yoke has a small, well, maybe good-sized snag.  I don’t think anyone will ever know.

                      

I fear it will wear out one day, as my favorites have done before, before too much longer. Sadly, it’s like trying plug a hole in a dam, when you plug one leak, another starts.  I guess I will just love it as long as it lasts.

Goats Pop the Top

Nutsrok

imageThe visiting preacher came home with us for Sunday dinner. He had a just gotten a new car and spent most of Sunday dinner talking about it. His wife had a bad heart and lay down for a nap after lunch. He whispered “She could go anytime.” This did nothing to lighten the mood. It was clear the new car was the only bright spot in his life. It would look nice at her funeral. They were from out of town so we were stuck with them until time for the evening service. The afternoon looked long and hopeless. The kids escaped outdoors as soon as possible. Our house was on the edge of the farm, sitting inside a larger fenced area where Daddy raised hay and grazed cattle, horses, goats.  The driveway was several hundred yards long and fenced separately, enclosing several pecan and fruit trees, and space for…

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Goats in Love

Nutsrok

Goats are always in love. They are also great fence breakers.  This is a bad combination.  I don’t know why Daddy kept goats. In theory, they’d eat brush and he’d have one to barbecue on Memorial Day, Fourth of July, or Labor Day.   The fact is, goats are not stupid.  They are born knowing flowers, grass, garden vegetables, and almost anything

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Triggers

Storyshucker

We remain stunned by the unbelievably brutal attack on innocent high school students in Parkland, Florida. Who knows why the individual, obviously disturbed, felt compelled to do such a violent thing thereby ending seventeen lives and damaging so many more. Hindsight cannot help too much now.

The trigger has been pulled and there is no going back.

In the wake of the horror, debate rekindled over gun control and the meaning of twenty-seven little words. They have been dissected countless times but the conclusion has remained largely the same. Gun advocates cling to that decision because parts of the Second Amendment provide quite a sturdy position from which to take a stand.

But so do parts of the First. Enter the students.

Regardless of one’s political leanings, the organization and determination of the kids at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School must be admired. Their collective response in speaking out was…

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Don’t Bother Reaching for Your Umbrella, It’s Probably Broken!

Nutsrok

Broken umbrella

The baby was tiny. I hadn’t seen anything but tonsils, poop, and Sesame Street in three weeks. My three-year-old-jabbered non-stop. My ears were sore. Naturally, with the clear-thinking of a woman with near terminal post-partum depression, I took full responsibility everything that went wrong. I don’t know if my husband was a good father or not, since he

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Goats Doing What Goats Do Best

Nutsrok

Goat in fence I don’t know why Daddy kept goats. In theory, they’d eat brush and he’d have one to barbecue on Memorial Day, Fourth of July, or Labor Day. The fact is, our goats didn’t ascribe to the brush eating theory and were born knowing their life’s purpose was to get their heads stuck in fences, climb on everything and make passionate love. It was clear to the dumbest of them that flowers, grass, garden vegetables, laundry on the line, and almost anything else was better than brush. Only a starving goat would eat poison ivy or bitter weed if anything else is available. I had plenty of experience with goats. Our fences were intended to keep cows and horses in. Goats easily slipped their heads through the wire since they were the philosophical type who believed “the grass is greener on the other side. The problem arose when they tried to…

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Smorgasbord Laughter Lines – Delusion, paternity issues and a right earful

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

 Time for a smile or two… or more if you are so inclined……

Psychiatry

A young man laboured under the delusion that he was a Yorkshire terrier. His friends persuaded him to seek professional help and he went to a psychiatrist for a course of treatment. Some weeks later, he met one of his friends in the street. ‘And how are things now?’ asked his friend. ‘Did the psychiatrist cure you?’

‘Oh yes,’ said the young man. ‘I’m quite okay now. Fit as a fiddle – here, feel my nose.’

Psychiatry part two.

A woman walked into a psychiatrist’s office carrying a duck under her arm. ‘What seems to be the problem?’ asked the psychiatrist. ‘Well, it’s not me, actually,’ said the woman. ‘It’s my husband. He thinks he’s a duck.’

A Moral story.

It was a freezing cold day in the snow-covered steppes of Siberia… A young boy was…

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