Goat News from Morning Song Farm
Carl the Menace has outdone himself this week and has exceeded
even his usual level of nonsense and bedlam he provides us for our enjoyment. As
the herd’s official “taster”, he takes the first bite of anything suspect and
then the rest of the herd follows after him. I don’t know how he got this job. But there seems to be a
herd consensus. He ate all my Temecula
Valley Pipe and Supply invoices this week (really just half of each—but to the
IRS, half a goat-eaten invoice is the same as no invoice), saving none for the
others. So I guess the flimsy invoice paper stock the invoices are printed on,
is extra tasty. As I was unloading my car yesterday, I put my purse down for a
second to shift the groceries in my arms and Carl pounced on my purse and
bolted. That’s it, down the driveway with change, lipstick and Notes To Self flying in the wind. I
cornered him in the goat barn, as he calmly starred me down with a $20 hanging
out of his mouth. Here’s the thing. Like
the chomped on invoices, anything less than half is the same as nothing. I know
this for a fact; as I’ve brought goat-eaten bills into my bank and that’s the
rule. Trying to negotiate, I offered him a branch from his favorite tree. Carl’s
eaten all the low hanging branches, so he needs someone’s help to get his
favorite tree now, and I thought I had a chance at an exchange. Nope. Realizing
that it must be a very special morsel indeed for me to be making such a fuss over it,
Carl swallowed. Not for nothing, son Frankie
again remarked that goat barbeque is among the most common protein sources per
capita on a world wide basis. I still have the email Frankie angrily sent over a few months ago,
with a dozen goatmeat recipes-- after Carl broke into the house and spent a
morning in my son’s bedroom.
The loss of the twenty bucks pales in comparison to Carl’s
latest offering a couple nights ago, however. As many of you who have visited us know,
Morning Song is a hillside farm. Except for our row crop areas, there’s little
flatland. We travel up and down the roads in little golf carts and when it gets
too steep; we park and use footpaths. I used to make a big deal of always
parking on flat land or finding a big rock to put behind the back tire every
time I stopped. But as I’m shifting water I might stop a dozen times in 15
minutes; going from one valve to the
next, and have gotten a little lazy with the whole parking on flat land /big
rock rule. I parked by the goat barn at
near level, and then hiked down the cliff behind the barn, flipping valves. Ones
that were off get turned off, and vice versa. Behind The Goat Barn Avocado
Grove has one of the most treacherously steep paths; I can’t ever flip lines at
night; not even with a flashlight. Reaching the very bottom, I heard a familiar
sound from way up top that dropped my stomach: the “beep, beep, beep” of a golf
cart going in reverse. Since it was dusk, no one else was out working; which
meant only one thing. The brake release had been knocked off, and my cart was going
somewhere without me. I screamed for Lance; but he’s in the barn happily building
boxes with his headphones on and singing at the top of his lungs. You are just kidding me!!! I made a wild
and absolutely hopeless break to ascend the hillside (while freakishly being
serenaded with Lances’ private karaoke) . I made it to the top of the crest
just as the cart went over the embankment . Luck, if you want to call it that;
provided a large stone that got caught on the undercarriage of the cart and
stopped the vehicle from plummeting further.
Carl stood looking on at all the excitement, stolen cookie
bag from the cart dangling from his mouth, indiscriminately munching on cookies
and packaging. Lance, still plugged into his earphones, still singing, arrived
to bottle feed his baby goat, Boo Boo, and
asked why on earth I drove the cart over the embankment like that. “It’s Carl,” I began….
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