Yet Another Goat Story...(and you thought there were no more!)

(See illustration above)

Besides the two little boy goats (that just had their first birthday!) we also have two Angora goats. They have long curly hair (wool, actually, I guess) that has to be trimmed twice a year. Someone from the local 4H has to come with the special POWER clippers to shear them, and since the local fair only just ended, they haven't come yet.

The result? Both Rosie and Bill (Roseblossom and Bill Whickers) look like giant dustmops right now.

So earlier this afternoon Katie's down in the studio working on a project and I run down to tell her that there's a phone call for her, and our neighbor says "Hey!" over the fence at me. I turn around, and he says "I think you better go check on that goat in the pasture! She's been laying down for a real long time." (Did I mention that his favorite Christmas present EVER was a pair of super-high-powered binoculars two years ago? ahem.)

So Katie and I go out to the pasture. We can see Rosie lying like a collapsed dust mop in the shade on one side of the barn. Katie says, "Do you think she's dead?" and I say, "Probably, since that's what seems to happen at the Smithey house."

But--hooray!--Rosie's not dead, just tipped over. It's like that commercial from a long time ago--you know, "Help! I've fallen and I caaaaaan't gehhhhhht uhhhhhp."

Apparently she got into a stand of thistles behind the barn, which wound themselves into her fur/hair/wool/whatever, and the thistle seed heads were so big that the pair of legs that weren't on the ground, were sticking straight up in the air (well, almost. See lovely illustration above). She had no leverage.

Neighbor's wife and Katie and Jenny and I end up standing out there in the pasture for an hour and a half, clipping Rosie with scissors. And that's a mighty s-l-o-w way to clip a big goat. I went out today and finished her up. I tried to work on Bill, but his horns are over a foot long, and he didn't want me messing with him. He has other parts that are more than a foot long, and he didn't want me messing with them, either.

Someone big and strong and unafraid of Bill's various assorted large parts will come with the clippers, hopefully tomorrow. If not, Richard and I can always do it ourselves with scissors. Yeah. Right.