She Must Love Me . . .

My wife must really love me. How do I know this? Well, this morning I got a phone call from her shortly after I left for work. All of the goats were getting out, eating our trees, and being all-round naughty.


My mom up in Canada has dubbed all goat as "ill-behaved", but as a term of endearment. I have to agree. Their naughtiness is part of what makes them interesting and fun. However, it is not fun for your wife at 8:30 in the morning to be running around in her robe wrangling goats back into the pen.


Jenn isn't necessarily a farm animal gal, but she's working on it and definately being won over by the naughtiness, interesting-nature, and productivity of the animals we have.


One animal though may have regressed those sentiments. As she was getting the goats back in, a big nasty goose hissed at her (very common), and bit her on the back of the calf (not so common). Yes, my wife was bitten by a goose this morning in her bathrobe. The bite even left a big purple mark. So, yes, my wife loves me . . . enough to be my goatherd and goose chow.