Kicking the bucket...

We've all heard the term, "kick the bucket," before. A little research shows that it is believed the term, which most agree means to die, has a variety of possible beginnings. One theory is that it has its roots in vernacular related to death by hanging.  Another theory is that in the Catholic religion, a bucket of holy water would be placed at the deceased persons feet. Visitors would dip their fingers in the bucket and sprinkle the body with holy water.  The buckets position at the feet would lend itself to the idea that a "kicked" bucket signified death.

Another theory, and the one that I embrace after experiencing it here on my little farmlette, refers back to the Latin proverb Capra Scyria. Here it is said that a goat kicks the pail after being milked, turning a good start into a bad ending.   Andrea Alciato, in a poem from 1524 writes, "Because you have spoilt your fine beginnings with a shameful end and turned your service into harm, you have done what the she-goat does when she kicks the bucket that holds her milk and with her hoof squanders her own riches." (Wikipedia)

Normally my goats (except Ella, who is a terror!) stand nicely while I milk them.  They get a big pan of grain, which they find delicious, and the relief of a congested udder, as well.  But once in a while, even a good goat will give the bucket a kick. The feeling of one or more quarts of 102 degree milk cascading over ones lap, and down their legs, is quite indescribable.  A wave of white rushes over the milk stand, and over the floor, and everywhere at once. It soaks stickily into clothes.  Invariably it fills the shoes of the person milking, so that the rest of the days chores are spent squishing and squashing about.  It is utterly unpleasant.