So, I’m milking a kicky first freshener and Jameson throws open the barn door and runs in, causing me to nearly end up on my butt. I calmly threaten him and send him out, get the goat calmed down, and I hear my childrens voices by the buck pen.
~ Noooo! Full Throttle, you can’t beeee out here!!! Get back in! Rascal, no, no, no! Oh, noooo!!!! JJ, you can’t go in there!, Get out! Full Throttle! Don’t eat that, it’s bad for you!!!!”
JJ ~ “I didn’t mean to let them out! Get back in goats, back! Mommy will find out! Don’t tell, Jameson!”
I calmly (at least on the surface) finish milking the doe and put her back with the herd, and go collect bucks from various parts of the yard. I, very calmly, tell the boys if one of those goats is hurt they had better run. Very calmly. I’m fuming… Meanwhile, the barn door didn’t shut tight, and my milking parlor filled up with chickens, gladly investigating feed bins and pooping on everything. It’s Saturday…