I love Walt Whitman but have felt the need to take him to task on more than one occasion for the poem he wrote about wanting to go and live with the animals, which were supposed to be placid and all that.
Which animals, Bub? Not the ones around here.
I had a feeling that yesterday was going to be a bad animal day early on as I put on my shorts to walk the dogs and felt a sharp pain in my nether regions. It turns out a wasp thought that was a good place to hang out. That was before coffee...
That night's walk was even worse when Arpad, our 140 pound Great Pyr went after something in the dark and the other dogs joined in pursuit, pulling me down in a pretty nasty fall and twisting my already messed up knee. I wasn't sure what he was going after, but there's no stopping him when he's on the warpath. His prey turned out to be a raccoon, a legitimate prize.
After all that, the goats wouldn't come to the barn and I had to limp up the hill after them.
I should have probably gone back to bed after the wasp. Not sure how Walt would have done.
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One time our guard dogs used to eat out of a self feeder in the milking area.
Problem was everything else did too.
One morning I come in and milk stands and blood everywhere. They had caught this coon in there.
Well it was about time for them to get a rabies booster and El Farmo the Wifo was worried so I go out and here she is chopping the coons head off with one of my machete's at about 8am in the morning to take to the lab.
It was negative.
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