Country matters

Venus singing about a man after midnight.

Christmas is a holiday rich in family traditions and rituals. Each household has its own customs of a more or less elevated nature.

I am somewhat chagrined to bring up one such custom that seems to prevail at Goat Rope Farm. It nearly always comes to pass that right around Yuletide the female goats at the farm express a none too subtle desire to spend a bit of time in the company of a Gentleman Companion. It's pretty unmistakable.

I draw from this the conclusion that goats as a group have little reverence for Christian festivals. Indeed, they seem to me to be thoroughly pagan. No wonder they show up so much in Greek mythology.

At such times, we usually pack them in the back of the Spousal Unit's vehicle and visit the nearby farm of some friends.

I don't know if the Gentle Reader has had much experience with caprine Gentlemen Companions, but they are a randy and smelly lot and have somewhat unorthodox ideas of personal hygiene and appropriate cologne.

The courtship is somewhat abbreviated, although less so than that which follows. It's a pretty businesslike transaction.

There are no missed signals or any trace of ambiguity. It occurs to me that if humans were more like goats, there would be no romantic comedies or tragic tales of star-crossed lovers like Romeo and Juliet. Jane Austen would have had to find a different subject to write about and Sigmund Freud could have stuck with dissecting eels or prescribing cocaine. The course of true love would run smooth--or it wouldn't run at all.

The question of whether that would be an improvement is above my pay grade.

STILL SLACKING. Here's one item on procrastination that I meant to link earlier.

SOPRANOS UPDATE. The project to watch both parts of season 6 before the return of the Spousal Unit is in jeopardy. Either the postal service or Netflix messed up and I lost a day.

FALLEN TREE UPDATE. It's kicking my hiney.

GOAT ROPE ADVISORY LEVEL: ELEVATED