So far as the 12th annual Goat Cook-off is concerned, it went well. Perhaps too well. And by that I mean if you find yourself in Goldthwaite, Texas this time next year, with about a thousand pounds of goat meat on ya, you'll stand to make a moderate fortune. After about 11:00-- the shindig started at 10:00-- EVERYONE was outta goat meat. And for the next six hours hours, no less than 5000 people walked around craft and food booths asking if they had any... that's crazy.
Aside from that, we still had a farm to run. One with milk goats that needed addressing twice a day, nannies birthing, kids bottle-feeding, feed buying and distributing and hay-tossing. This particular weekend included rescueing a young one out of a feeding trough they were stuck in overnight, along with its being drenched in a day's worth panic excrement. Gross, yes. Not a real regular part of day-to-day living back in the burbs. Next time I blog about going down to the inlaws to help, someone comment to remind me not to wear my good clogs either. Okay?
At this time, I need to point out: This is no serious complaint. We all come home tired, hungry and incredibly appreciative of menial things. PLUS we've the benefit of the feelgood from helping loved ones. So much so, we're looking for a regular volunteer oportunity around town. Cool, huh? I lean towards the retirement homes and terminal wards. Wifey leans toward services.
Sweet fodder for future blogs, I am sure...