One of the reasons I scratched places like Colorado, Montana, and
Wyoming off of my list of potential relocation spots was the fact that
they typically got cold in the winter.
Personally, I prefer my
temperatures to remain above 50, and ice and snow are things I only find
charming on TV Christmas specials. The fact that Texas generally means
extremely hot summers and mild winters is the primary reason I love this
state. My 20+ years living here have done nothing to convince me
otherwise, therefore I reasoned that as long as I stayed in Texas, I'd
be fine in the winter time. Of course, I also once reasoned that a
washing machine would make a great substitute for a dishwasher, and that
irons would work well when making grilled cheese sandwiches, so it would
seem my reasoning capabilities are seriously limited. The plates broke,
the iron still smells like burnt cheese, and this morning I awoke to
sleet, a wind chill below 0, and water troughs that were frozen solid.
Perhaps I should stop making "rational" decisions from now on.
My goats are much like myself, in that they disapprove of any
temperature below 45, and they were quick to remind me of this fact this
morning when I came out to let them out into the pasture. Normally I can
hardly make it to the gate thanks to the snarl of horns and hooves
threating to trample me, but this time I had no problem crossing the pen
to reach the gate. Flinging open the gate and quickly getting out of the
way, I waited for the goats to surge past me. The only beasties that
escaped to freedom were the dogs. Confused, I looked around for the
goats who would have normally been in the next pasture by now, and
spotted them in the barn, peering out at me in total shock. How could
she possibly think we'd WANT to go outside in this??? they asked each
other in disbelief. One of the more trusting kids ventured out of the
barn and headed for the gate, but froze in horror as the north wind
broadsided her. She angrily accused me of tricking her out of a nice
warm bed, and then fled to the comfort of the barn. The remainder of the
group pretended I didn't have the gall to invite them outdoors, although
one stuck her head out long enough to request that I serve dinner
indoors for the remainder of the week.
The response from my buck pen was even less enthusiastic. Normally the
boys clamour to be let out, but not today. One cursed me for bringing
him to this godforsaken place where the wind whipped his testicles so
cruelly, while the rest settled for glaring at me in disgust. Why on
earth did she decide against moving to Cancun?? one grumbled, wishing
I'd shut the door before all the heat left the barn. Another reminded me
that it had been MUCH warmer in Austin and if he'd been given any choice
in the matter, he would have stayed there. The younger ones didn't make
much sense, but I suspect their mothers would have swatted them for the
names they called me. I finally gave up and threw them enough hay to
keep them munching for the rest of the day since it was obvious they had
no intentions of getting their own breakfasts.
Even the geese and ducks were angry with me this morning. As all of the
water troughs were frozen solid, they were forced to wait for me to make
19 trips from the house to the goat pens carrying hot water to dump in
the buckets before they could get a drink. When I dared to slip on the
ice and nearly dislocate my hip, their rage increased, as the bucket of
water I dumped all over myself was surely the one they wished to drink
out of. One gave me a bite on the butt to encourage me to hurry up,
while the rest were content to scold me the entire time I stayed
outside.
The only happy goats in the bunch are my expectant mothers, who managed
to snag the best seats in the house. These prima donnas are happily
ensconced in my garage-turned-nursery in private stalls, with warm
water, deeply bedded stalls, and even a heater to keep them warm. So
much for letting them live "like goats". I don't dare let them out with
the general population, as I'm sure they'll be quick to rub it in.
Mutiny among the under priviledged classes would soon follow and my life
would not be worth a handful of feed the next time I went into their
pen. The worst part, however, is the reaction from others when they
discover my garage houses not cars, but caprines. I sheepishly (or would
that be goatishly?) tell family and friends that I did it for my own
benefit, as it allows me to care for my soon to be new mothers without
freezing my hindquarters off, but I don't think anyone is buying it.
After seeing me try to wash dishes in the clothes washer, and make
grilled cheese sandwiches with my iron, they suspect it's more of my
convoluted reasoning at work.
Outlaw Boers