Guest Blog: The Deaf, the Blind, and the Goats

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 Bringing in the Herd

Summers in Texas are hot. Dreadfully hot. Often times so hot that you're lucky if your sweat can even make it down your face before it evaporates.

Generally I don't mind the heat. Texas born and raised, I'm used to it. It's the cold I detest, to be honest.

Today the goats needed to have their hooves trimmed. Since it was the middle of the day, the entire herd was out - out somewhere on about 38 acres total, stuffing their little faces with whatever green that looked tasty at that moment in time.

Frank motioned me over and pantomimed, (since I have proven to be quite slow at picking up ASL, especially when he signs so quickly my poor vision simply cannot keep up), that I needed to go out and find the goats. He described a fallen down barn on the far end where they liked to congregate.

Okay, I can do that. I went out the small gate and trooped off to look for them. This was the first time I'd gone out on the big pasture. I found their trail quick enough - when eighty or so goats pass a certain way multiple times, it leaves plenty of evidence, even for me to see.

I followed the trail until I found the fallen barn. No goats.

Frowning, I looked around, then walked in a large circle and called the goats, listening for a response.

Nothing.

Even I'm not so blind as to miss an entire herd of goats. Annoyed, I headed out to circle the pasture, feet aching a bit in my work boots.

I eventually came back around to where I began, now seriously ticked off. Not a single goat in sight. Frank appeared, apparently concerned I hadn't appeared at the head of a flood of goats yet. He motioned to me and we walked the entire circuit again. 

Not one goat popped out to say hi to us.

Feet now throbbing and my temper shortened by a considerable deal, we returned to find the goats laying around in front of the barn, chewing their cud.

Sigh.