Many times in these posts, I wax rhapsodic about the joys of this life I live. I talk about green and growing things; I talk about solitude and peace; I talk about simplicity and the satisfaction of doing things by hand. Today's post is not going to be like that. Today's post stems from a seething feeling of annoyance I have right now.
Today's post is about noisy goats.
The goat area is right beside the kitchen. I can look out the window above the sink and see them. They are about thirty feet from the house. Now, that seems nice, right? To be able to gaze out my window at my goats, idly munching away, doing all the things goats do seems like a nice way to spend time devoted to sink tasks, right? The only problem? They can see me through the window as well.
When I wake up in the morning, which by farm standards may be kinda late, and walk into my kitchen for my first cup of coffee, they see me through the window. They call to me. They scream my name. The bellow their discontent at the fact that I have not yet come to feed them. They have no regard for the fact that the sun has just barely cracked the horizon. They care not that within the sound of their voluminous voices there are people sleeping. And they don't stop.
They continue their attack upon my ear drums until they get their all important bucket o' feed. They are relentless. And woe unto me if I should desire to walk around the garden with my morning libation before seeing to their gluttony. As soon as I set foot upon the ground, they besiege me with noise.
I'm not sure how many of you have ever heard a malcontent, spoiled goat, but they remind me of a whining toddler...only about 100 decibels louder. And there are six of them. And when I say they're persistent, I mean quite literally, they go on until I feed them. And it's not like they're hungry. They have plenty of hay and forage. They are, quite simply, very, very spoiled.
Add the rooster and his morning salutation to the ruminants' attack on the senses, and it makes for very noisy mornings here. And to make matters worse, we leave the windows open, so there's literally no escaping the noise. Now, I could, I realize, close the windows. Common sense dictates that I probably SHOULD close the windows. But then I'd have to turn on the air conditioner (with would further dampen the noise...but still). I really don't want to turn on the AC. I haven't had to yet. Crazy, huh? Mid-June in the south and I haven't had a day over 85 degrees. Earth bermed houses are awesome like that. It stays nice and breezy cool indoors with open windows and ceiling fans! But, I digress...
It's stupid noisy. I want them to wait patiently for me to arrive with their feed. I want them to graciously accept my gift, eat, then demurely go back to eating what Nature provided. I want them to be quiet. I absolutely don't want them to eat their feed then an hour later start screaming for the alfalfa cubes I mistakenly started giving them as treats.
They are divas. Pure and simple.
But on the other hand, at least it's not sirens and horns and car alarms. I'd trade those for noisy goats any day.
Now I'm off to feed my divas and attend to their every need. Next thing you know, they're going to start demanding that I separate out certain parts of the feed. And only drink water from the spring. And insist upon clover flavored dewormer. And complain that they must have only the softest straw upon which to lay their weary heads.