Fencing
Sunny, 70/38, Fair to Fair. Pretty laid back here today. Cows behaving, goats behaving, machinery just as broke or fixed as it was last week. Time to quit foolin around with these animals and start sharpening and greasing up the things that feed these animals. I did pick up a culvert for a driveway the county's putting in for me. It'll make it easier for the ol truck to get out of the pasture. Especially with the rainy season coming up. Since nothing much is happening here I thought I'd tell you about something that happened in January
Another day, another goat leak……. I’ve about got these things slowed down to a trickle and I pretty much know where they are going to be now. It’s become a lot easier since I’ve tried the kinder and gentler approach of trying to make these guys and gals my friends. All except Billy of course, I don’t think he’ll ever trust me, and if he did, I’d start to think he was on the road to an alternative lifestyle or something and probably have to sell him. Besides, I do need the wrasslin’ practice in case another one comes along that’s as ornery and stubborn as he is.
Anyway, the goat leaks always seem to take place in a narrow creek bank on the south edge of our property. When it storms here, the creek gets pretty full, and tree branches and other debris seem to knock the fence loose to let the goats out. Now, I use the word fence lightly, because what I did was throw our rolled extra fence down into the creek and wired it to the bottom of the fence. Looks tacky, but works fine unless it storms. Well a couple of weeks ago, it stormed pretty good.
So here I go with my fencing pliers and some wire to the creek edge. I get there and look around. Its about a 4 foot drop into the creek. In my younger days, I’d have taken a flying leap off the bank and onto a small island in the middle of the creek. Now I look around to make sure no one’s looking, sit on the side of the creek bank, and slide down the mud until I get to the creek bottom. This is really embarrassing when I go home now, because where my wife used to patch the knees and the thighs of my ol jeans or overalls, shes now always sewing up the seat of my britches. I know she thinks I just come out to the land, sit under a tree and sip apple cider or something.
Back to work though, and after some fence wrangling and some wire cutting and twisting, the fence is as good as it was, and ever will be as long as I’m there, so its time to crawl out.
Now, I’ve been battling this fence leak for three years now. There are certain landmarks that are indistinguishable around this spot. The first is my mud slide down area. The next is the root of an at least 60 year old oak tree I use as a step. The last mark is the 10 year old sweet gum tree I use as a hand hold. Each has a specific job to do and over the last three years they have served me faithfully.
Today though, I don’t know if was too much Christmas pie or what, but the sweet gum decided it had had enough at the worst possible time. With the grace of a well trained gymnast, I managed to avoid landing on my feet and fell on my side about half way down the creek bank. I knew to successfully get off the bank I was going to need to perform a half twisting dismount which I did. I stuck the landing like only a 44 year old crippled man could…. Landing on both knees……. And both hands……. In the middle of a six inch section of water…. And the pain was tremendous…..Oh you should have heard the applause from my caprine audience as they asked me to do it again.
Instead, I slogged down the creek to a spot where I wouldn’t have to crawl out. Stepped out, took my broken butt to the barn and looked myself over. Then the most amazing thing happened. All the goats came around. They looked at me with a wondering eye; almost a look of concern. I was finally figuring out why people like these durn things so much. I mean they really do care…. Here they were, all of them (even Billy) staring at me through the gate and baaaing softly, probably hoping I was going to be alright. I got up slowly and walked towards them, reaching out to let them know I was OK, but there eyes never left where I was sitting, and there baaing got louder and more desperate. My mood quickly changed when I realized they didn’t care about me at all. All they cared about was what I was sitting on; the corn bin.
Its probably a good thing though in the end. These stories would get pretty boring if the goats and I actually did like each other.
Another day, another goat leak……. I’ve about got these things slowed down to a trickle and I pretty much know where they are going to be now. It’s become a lot easier since I’ve tried the kinder and gentler approach of trying to make these guys and gals my friends. All except Billy of course, I don’t think he’ll ever trust me, and if he did, I’d start to think he was on the road to an alternative lifestyle or something and probably have to sell him. Besides, I do need the wrasslin’ practice in case another one comes along that’s as ornery and stubborn as he is.
Anyway, the goat leaks always seem to take place in a narrow creek bank on the south edge of our property. When it storms here, the creek gets pretty full, and tree branches and other debris seem to knock the fence loose to let the goats out. Now, I use the word fence lightly, because what I did was throw our rolled extra fence down into the creek and wired it to the bottom of the fence. Looks tacky, but works fine unless it storms. Well a couple of weeks ago, it stormed pretty good.
So here I go with my fencing pliers and some wire to the creek edge. I get there and look around. Its about a 4 foot drop into the creek. In my younger days, I’d have taken a flying leap off the bank and onto a small island in the middle of the creek. Now I look around to make sure no one’s looking, sit on the side of the creek bank, and slide down the mud until I get to the creek bottom. This is really embarrassing when I go home now, because where my wife used to patch the knees and the thighs of my ol jeans or overalls, shes now always sewing up the seat of my britches. I know she thinks I just come out to the land, sit under a tree and sip apple cider or something.
Back to work though, and after some fence wrangling and some wire cutting and twisting, the fence is as good as it was, and ever will be as long as I’m there, so its time to crawl out.
Now, I’ve been battling this fence leak for three years now. There are certain landmarks that are indistinguishable around this spot. The first is my mud slide down area. The next is the root of an at least 60 year old oak tree I use as a step. The last mark is the 10 year old sweet gum tree I use as a hand hold. Each has a specific job to do and over the last three years they have served me faithfully.
Today though, I don’t know if was too much Christmas pie or what, but the sweet gum decided it had had enough at the worst possible time. With the grace of a well trained gymnast, I managed to avoid landing on my feet and fell on my side about half way down the creek bank. I knew to successfully get off the bank I was going to need to perform a half twisting dismount which I did. I stuck the landing like only a 44 year old crippled man could…. Landing on both knees……. And both hands……. In the middle of a six inch section of water…. And the pain was tremendous…..Oh you should have heard the applause from my caprine audience as they asked me to do it again.
Instead, I slogged down the creek to a spot where I wouldn’t have to crawl out. Stepped out, took my broken butt to the barn and looked myself over. Then the most amazing thing happened. All the goats came around. They looked at me with a wondering eye; almost a look of concern. I was finally figuring out why people like these durn things so much. I mean they really do care…. Here they were, all of them (even Billy) staring at me through the gate and baaaing softly, probably hoping I was going to be alright. I got up slowly and walked towards them, reaching out to let them know I was OK, but there eyes never left where I was sitting, and there baaing got louder and more desperate. My mood quickly changed when I realized they didn’t care about me at all. All they cared about was what I was sitting on; the corn bin.
Its probably a good thing though in the end. These stories would get pretty boring if the goats and I actually did like each other.
posted by Brad Bachelor at 6:15 AM
1 Comments:
Brad, this bunch of series is not complete. Where's the rest of them?
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