Attack Goat

Several weeks ago, my cousin asked if I would watch after her horses while she was out of town. No problem.

"The goat eats with one of the horses and the water is by the chickens," she instructed.

*squeal* Chickens! I thought.

I instantly started plotting on how to become besties with my future feathered-friends. I have wanted chickens for a good 3 years- and Santa has totally failed on adding them to my menagerie of animals. 

Day 1. Horses totally ignored me. Chickens hid. Goat was sweet and lovable.

I emailed my cousin that evening asking the goat's name. I felt insensitive just calling him goat. 

"LOL...his name is Christmas," she replied.

I wondered why she LOL'd...maybe it was because I had just told her he used my butt as a scratching post.

Day 3. Fed horses after work. Chickens hid. Goat used me as a scratching post. It was warm and I decided against blanketing the horses until later in the evening.

Huge fail. Horse 1, agreed to blanketing. Horse 2, gave me a middle hoof and took off. I attempted to follow, but somewhere in between hour 1 and 2, I lost a boot in the mud and had a minor tourette's meltdown. {Unless it's a spa treatment, I do not want mud in between my toes.} Christmas, lovingly nicknamed The Asshole decided we were playing a fun little game and his part in the fun little game? Butting me directly in the stomach anytime I got near Horse 2. #notfunnychristmas

Day 5. Finally blanketed Horse 2. #hugevictory Threw feed at The Asshole so he would leave me alone so I could look for the chickens which were no where to be found. 

Day 7-10. CHICKENS!! I squealed as I greeted them and they promptly darted away from me like I was wearing a KFC shirt. #dangit I continued to ignore the goat as much as possible. Horse 1 now recognizes my car and greets me with nickers and sweetness.

Day 11. Horses are in the barn waiting for food. The Asshole, I presume, is with them. Chickens are in the pen clucking around and I.am.thrilled. They didn't run. Today is the day, my little friends!!

I went in the feed room and got the horses fed and took a handful of feed out to attempt to feed one of the chicken's that had followed me to the door. I knelt down in my work clothes and hot pink muck boots {fashion statement, I know} and the chicken began to eat out of my hand. I was hoping that Little Miss was watching from the car because I was beyond excited to have FINALLY made friends with one of five chickens. Chicken ate patiently, turning her head from side to side, as I grinned from ear to ear. 

That's when it happened.

The Asshole came out of nowhere and butted me in the neck, knocking me completely off my feet. I somehow managed to still hold onto the little bit of feed that was in my hand as I laid sprawled out in the mud. {Chicken appreciated this gesture, as she continued to eat out of my hand as the goat butted the Christ right out of my Mas.}

Now, just take a moment and try to picture this. Hot pink boots, legs and arms flailing. Obscenities flying. Goat butting me. Chicken? Calmly still eating out of my hand. 

I get up and wipe the mud and blood off my face {because when The Asshole hit my nose it started bleeding like a faucet} to the best of my ability. I get back in the car and what does Little Miss say?

"How were the horses? Did you see Christmas?!" Little Miss asked.

"We do not speak of the goat."

"Mama, you kinda smell," she replied.

Thanks, honey. I appreciate your concern.