Goat wrangling

FarmWife could have been a neurosurgeon, so skilled is she at removing the small, bad things from amidst a teeming mass of life. Mucking out the paddock is a delicate dance, a to-and-fro of sharp instruments and tender bodies. The goats don't understand human body language: a deflecting elbow is interpreted as "attention, hooray!" and a body-block as "Jiu-Jitsu! My favorite!" They relish the opportunity to eat the labels off of clothing, eat the finish off of tool handles, and strip the edges of the wheelbarrow like tender bark.

I have been called many things in my life, but never pesky. I am very good at reading human signals, whether they indicate "come hither" or "go." The goats, however, have been called "pesky," "obnoxious," and "crazy."

None of this is to say that FarmWife doesn't like her sporting cleanup sessions. I rather think that, had she been born in another culture, she might have been called "Dances with Goats."

The Bent Barrow of Bent Barrow Farm (pre-bending).