One of the more entertaining activities here at No Snivilin’ Farm is quelling goat riots. Goats are, well, they’re like progressives. If they see a little gap between the fence and the gate with something they want on the other side look out, ‘cause you’ll get mowed down if you’re in the way. They’re much more clever than the sheeple, who are my usual charges in the evening, and rather than moving in one mass some will engage in doing the fence a disservice, while others go prancing off to distract the dogs, and a third group will focus on the prize, say grain intended for baby goats or the donkeys.
It all happened this evening, as they say, when farmerterri was feeding the young goats outside so farmerchuck could clean their pen ...
"Hey, did you give those guys grain this morning?" "No, I thought you did ..." Ut oh. The babies were out of the creamery that is their temporary quarters since the nursery roof collapsed, and there were all of the adults, unfed but for hay from the morning, and getting very antsy about their rations.
See the larger one with the blue collar mixed in with the babies? This is Zsa Zsa, so named for her frequent newspaper appearances, and the collar indicates she is an adult that is being milked nightly. No one saw how she got out but we suspect the vaulted the water tank to join the babies ...
Situations like this are actually dangerous – a press of animals against the fence mean little legs and ribs can get broken, and if they all start vaulting fences can be damaged and the possibility of injury goes way, way up. I hustled one bag of grain up the hill by hand and they all met me at the gate, squashing a few of the babies who are still in with their mothers, and in general warming up for mischief.
I got them out and started eating but I could only carry one fifty pound bag and they eat two, so as soon as farmerterri appeared to check the donkeys they were off and running. There was much bounding around, taunting of the donkeys (who simply don’t care and are glad to be away from the goats), and then the dogs were on the scene. Farmerterri yelled "Get ‘em in!" and the dogs promptly went to work, barking, snapping, chasing, and occasionally roughing up a goat that got out of line.
The dogs crowded everyone back down to the food bowls, which I’d managed to fill with another fifty pound bag while the disturbance was underway. I thought the sheeple were a hassle but they’ve got nothing on these guys – at one point I gave in, sat back and got "passed up" by the crush of goats eager to get at the 16% protein pellets ... no photos of that, I was being careful not to end up on the ground, or I’d be the one with broken ribs.
Lillian and Jasper seemed very relieved to have the goats out of their hair. They were locked up with them for five months and during a previous riot they took up residence in the pasture and just plain refused to go back, braving wind, rain, and cold for the peace and quiet of their own space.
When farmerterri and I got back to the other side we found the juveniles getting up to what unsupervised teens do in all societies:
Everyone is safely tucked in now, night has fallen, and I'm inside nursing horn point sized bruises all over my legs and backside. When not faced with the immediate need to distract the herd the correct way to handle this is to get the bowls out with two bags of food handy, rapidly distribute them, and then set the crew loose before they get too antsy. I broke every rule in the book, but nobody got hurt, and we had one broken leg on the sheep side of the farm already this week, which was quite enough.
I think the Republican leadership is currently experience the same cognitive dissonance I got when I stepped out of my role of Icelandic sheep herder and made my way to the other end of the farm to face the Saanen goats. Instead of a fluffy, soft flock that remains inside their pen even when I forget to latch the gate they now face a restive base that has been taking lessons from their goatish progressive brethren, not willing to accept promises of action but instead demanding results ... and punishing failure. Part of that punishment came down in MS-01 this week, with an R+10 district handing a Democrat an eight point victory.
There just isn't any way to be diplomatic with a rampaging goat herd. You can trick them with a partially full bag of grain, or get them moving by encouraging the trio of canine assistants to put the fear of dog in them, but there is no way to talk them down from that pasture ... at least I can't.
We're going to need a smooth talking (and acting) uniter come November, and I really think we've got that in Barack Obama. This guy is a class act, just like Edwards, and I couldn't give a shit less about the melanin in his skin; I'm voting for him because I believe he'll offer the leadership we so desperately need after eight years of George Waterboard Bush's malignant incompetence.
We get him elected and sworn in on 1/20/2009 and I'll be as happy as Itty Bitty here ...
When she slips out to nibble the wildflowers ...