Saturday, December 26, 2015

And the gifts keep coming...

The phone rang at 8:00 AM.  "Daryl, do you want some Christmas trees?"  It was my friend at the local hardware store. He knew my goats liked the taste of tree. He had a pile of un-sold greenery and was happy to share it with me.  "You bet!" I told him. I had just enough time to make myself look somewhat presentable when the truck pulled up. I directed the driver to back up to the pasture fence, and he did, skillfully.

The truck was filled high with beautiful evergreen trees that never got to be the delight of someones holiday.  That made me sad, but I was delighted to think that the fragrant things soon would be goat snacks. 

Two young employees wrestled off the ropes that were holding the trees into the truck bed, then they cut the string holding the branches of each tree together.  Then the guys tossed the heavy, rather awkward things over the 4 foot fence with ease.

The horse and goats were eating some hay about 100 feet from where the tree tossing was happening.  They all looked up, alarmed at the activity.  The horse stared, ears forward, tail up. Then she snorted, pivoted and took off in the opposite direction at a rapid rate of speed, the goats behind her.  After the guys had left, I walked around to the pasture gate, and the goats and horse all joined me.  Clearly I was their "fearless leader," bravely approaching the dark shapes that had just arrived in the pasture.  They followed closely behind me, alert and on guard. 

Luna, the herd queen, took the lead. Neck stretched, taking tentative steps.  Once she realized what those hulking mounds on the ground were, she took a nibble. Then she pressed right in, sniffing the lush greenery and tasting, tasting. Ella and Celeste followed closely, not wanting to miss out on tree treats.

Little Jane Doe was still concerned.

She looked at the pile of trees, the big goats, and then me.  It seemed she asked, "Is this OK?"  I gave her a reassuring kiss on her little worried face, and soon she, too, was sampling the bounty of Christmas. 

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