Thursday, May 2, 2013
Guess who got stuck under the barn again yesterday?
Went out to the barn for mid morning livestock check. Pickles yelling. From underneath the barn.
Go to the far side of the barn to try and coax her out. Toss some grain on the ground & the chickens just end up mobbing it, freaking Pickles out and making her go the other way of course.
Pickles still yelling. I yell back at Pickles. Using language usually only heard at scary truck stops. I contemplate "encouraging" her to scoot her stupid caprine butt out the other way by spraying her with the garden hose. (Yes, I'm mean, call PETA on me, see if I give a shit) Garden hose will not reach that far. Probably good thing as it would just make my inevitable time spent under the barn a muddy mess.
Have nice "going to town" clothes on. I am NOT going under there and pulling her sorry backside out of there. It's cool under the barn, she can just sit there and yell her bloody lungs out until I get back home.
Fast forward three (maybe four) hours later. All is quiet. Until I open the goat pen gate. Pickles yelling. From, you guessed it, underneath the barn.
I put on another crummy shirt, lay down the tarp and wiggle my way under the barn. Again. Except I'm not "fitting" under there as easily as the day before. She's farther back. I close my eyes and have a nightmare about being stuck in a cave underground (I think I'm subconsciously claustrophobic; I often have dreams where I'm stuck in some tiny room or cave or hallway and can't get back out). Being well endowed in the upper half of my body is not working to my advantage. I actually have to squish a little in order to reach Pickles. Who is just as uncooperative as yesterday. Then I realize - a little late - that there is nobody here (with the exception of Rhiannon who is inside the house watching The Three Stooges) to help ME out if I get stuck.
I calm myself down, close my eyes and chant soothingly in a sing-song like manner; "Oh Pickles, I'm going to bash your furry little skull in if we get out of here." It's the tone of the chant, not the words themselves you know.
Well, we both eventually make it out. And good thing she runs across the goat yard because if she were any closer to me I'd have kicked her.
I don't get it. Why does she suddenly find it necessary to cram her body all the way under the low part of the barn? Is it because the weather has been warmer lately and she used to be able to fit there last summer, but now is much more plump and unable to fit where she once did? Is she just frekking stupid? Is she just trying (and succeeding) to piss me off?
Whatever the reason, I am not going to pull her out again. If she gets stuck she can stay there until she shimmies her way out on her own, convinces the chickens to dig her a tunnel out or starves to death. But then I'd have to pull her rotted, decomposing body out of there anyhow. So maybe that's not such a good idea.
Pickles was supposed to be the matriarch of our meat goat herd. She keeps this up and the only domain she will rule over is the inside of our chest freezer.
I'm telling you SciFiChick, heed my goatposts.