A Day In My Life

I have this image of myself as being the “all together, level headed, I can do this by myself and never get stressed out” kind of person. And some days I think I maybe, kinda, pull it off. Today was not one of those days.

 I have been dreading this day for awhile. While having baby goats is fun and cute, there is one part that is necessary, but just hard, and that is de-budding. De-budding is the process of burning, and thus cauterizing, the horn bud so that it will not grow into a horn.

The necessary part is that if baby goats are not de-budded they will grow horns. If goats are allowed to grow horns, they have the ability to use their horns and often learn to use them to their advantage. Unfortunately, we have seen exactly what kind of damage a horn to an udder will do and have decided that there will not be any horns on our property.

The hard part is that, while no where near as painful as dehorning a full grown goat, de-budding is a traumatic experience. Probably the worst these guys will ever face. It is traumatic for me, as their owner and caretaker, as well.

So saying all that, I had been dreading today because I had a 9:30 appt to take 5 of our babies in to the veterinary office to have their de-budding done.

I love our vet. They always do a fantastic job. This is why I am OK with driving 45 minutes to get to them. But that didn’t take any stress out of my day.

I was up at the crack of dawn, as usual, got dressed, had my coffee, and went out to do chores.

It pays to stop here and note that while I was milking, I thought my jeans felt a little funny, but then I dismissed it to be my phone in my back pocket.

OK, un-pause.

When I came in I found two out of three children still in bed…seriously? It was 8:00 a.m. I don’t know what they were thinking, or not thinking, since they were snoring! It was at this point that my voice went up a little louder than any “all together, level headed, I can do this by myself and never get stressed out” kind of person’s voice ever should. But it worked. All three children were out of bed, slowly they got dressed, and began fixing their breakfast.

I drove the truck up to the barn, piled into the cab the 5 goat kids, drove back to the house, ran three children, who were gulping down the last of their breakfasts and still tying shoes, into the truck. We all buckled up, (well, not the goats, they were on their own), and we were off.

First stop: vet office. Drop off baby goats, give them each kisses and a final “It’s all going to be over soon” pet.

Then back in the truck. Run to the grocery store, because dog food and cat food are critical things, and the kids talk me in to Newman’s Own Pizza for lunch. 

Run through the check out and back to the truck.

Unload the cart into the back of the truck, which, I will ad, takes a lot of climbing and bending over…just to note for later…and then load the kids back in the truck and off we go back to the vet.

Get to the vet, spend some time loading goat kids with their newly shaved heads and smelling slightly burnt, talk to the vet awhile, go in the vet’s office, pay, talk some more, hop in the truck and drive off.

Now we are at the feed store. Gotta buy hay and feed, which, thanks to last years horrid drought, seems to be something I do almost everyday of my life…well, maybe not everyday, but it seems that way. I say “Hi” to the guy who wonderfully loads up my truck almost everyday with feed, shake hands with the new guy, go in and talk to one of the “Old Geezers”, (this is what they call themselves, not what I call them. Just so you know), pay him more money and then purposefully walk out to the truck.

It’s on this walk that it hits me that something still feels weird about my jeans. I ignore this sensation, however, and check the load of feed in the back of my truck. Everything looks good, so I jump in the drivers seat, break up a fight between siblings, and turn the key, cranking up the ignition. Suddenly, I again feel that sensation that something is indeed weird about the back of my jeans. I take a second to feel what’s going on, and to my horror, I don’t feel anything. Literally. Nothing. There are no jeans on the left side of my behind.

In a matter of mere seconds, I go through a series of emotions: unbelief, embarrassment, anger that no one told me, and then, resignation.

Yes, I just spend the morning running all over Travis County without the back of my jeans.

No, I do not know when or where this happened.

Yes, I will be red next time I have to talk to my vet.

No, I will not ever pass over the feeling that something is not right back there again.

 Does this have anything to do with homesteading? Maybe, kinda. But it’s my life, people. It’s real. Sometimes it’s not so pretty. But at the end of the day, or at least one day, I can laugh at it and be proud of all that I got done in the last day of the life of those hard working jeans!

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3 thoughts on “A Day In My Life

  1. I’m sorry that you’ve had a bad day… but.. seriously, I just have to laugh! I hope your day gets better! I enjoy your posts and am living vicariously through them.. I hope to have a homestead someday before I’m too old to work it..LOL!
    I love, love,LOVE your white bread recipe by the way… Of the several ones that I use, it has become my favorite because it is easy and relatively fast, and GOOD!!!

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