Celeste was on the far end of the feeder,with her head through the bars, as it often is. It did occur to me, for one brief instant, that she might be stuck. However, she was standing quietly, eating, and I reminded myself that she and her sister goats had eaten from that rack thousands of times, uneventfully. Besides, if she were stuck she'd be hollering her fool head off. I went inside, cooked and ate supper, and launched into a peaceful evening of surfing the net, watching a little TV, and hanging out with my sweetie.
5 hours or so later I went out with the dogs for "last call." I admired the starry sky domed overhead, listened to the silence, and for the billionth time, thought about how lucky I am to live here. Then I decided that even though there was plenty of hay in the rack, I'd be nice and toss a couple flakes of the second cut, special hay on top of the pedestrian hay that was lining the thing. The critters approved, and dived into the my offering with gusto. Though it was very, very dark, I stood near the fence and listened to the animals munch. The goats love the second cut hay so much they make "Mmmm" yummy noises when they eat. It's fun to listen to.
In the dim light, I noticed that Celeste was still standing exactly where she was when I was out last. "Could she possibly be stuck?" I wondered. She seemed unconcerned, eating and humming happily. I couldn't go to bed without checking, so I walked across the yard and through the gate. Bravo flew past me to smell all the smells in the pasture. I walked gingerly, because in the dark I couldn't see if there were hidden patches of ice. The animals were surprised to see me there, and all came to greet me, except Celeste. I stepped carefully to the end of the rack where she stood and gently pulled her neck to make sure it could slip through the bars. She resisted, reaching in to get more hay. I reached up and over the top and pushed her head, and she pushed back. "MORE HAY!" she insisted. I pulled and pushed, she did the same. I deduced that indeed, she was held fast. I was pretty sure that if I could lift her head up towards the top of the opening, and push her backwards at the same time, she'd be free. But she was fighting me at every turn. There was just one thing to do.
Back across the pasture, through the gate, up onto the deck, into the house. "Chris?" I called up stairs. "Be right there," he said, that patient man. I heard his feet hit the floor. I heard him put clothes on. He'd already been in bed, possibly asleep. He kindly trundled down, willing to help at a moments notice. "We have a stuck goat," I said. "OK," he replied, putting on his big boots. He never questioned.
I brought a flash light this time, so it was a little safer making our way out there. Chris and I work well together, and he immediately sized up the situation. Without speaking he took one side and I took the other. I reached over the bars and lifted the goats stubborn, bony, head. Chris got behind her and pulled. I twisted her head a little, squished her ears in and POP, she was free. She looked unconcerned by the entire situation, and merely moved a little to one side and resumed eating.
Now this is a very pregnant goat. See how round her belly is on the right side? If you place your hand just there you'd feel kicks and squirms. Imagine if she'd spent the whole night out there, stuck and standing there. She pointed out a flaw in the design of our feeder. Now we need to find a way to fix it. Unexpected things happen on a farmlette. But Chris' reaction is never a surprise. He is always there to uncomplainingly back me up when things go wrong.
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