Picture this. It is romantic rural living at its finest:
I wake up while the hush of darkness still covers the earth. The robust aroma of coffee brewing fills the farm house.
The sun begins to make a radiant appearance dazzling the horizon penetrating the darkness. To some it is cruelly mundane. To me, the sun’s splendor reminds me of the divine nature of our holy God.
The birds begin their prelude entitled, “O Ye Fowl of the Air, Praise Ye the Lord.”
I take my place on the porch with a cup of coffee in one hand and baby goat in the other. We shift on the bench to a more comfortable position to watch the sun’s grand display in the morning sky. The doeling’s soft fur brushes against my arm while I feel its cool moist nose nuzzle against my neck. We both heave a contented sigh. We soak up this moment of contentment as man and beast.
Then it happens, reality strikes in the form of a snee—rt. This, my friends, is a highly specialized skill of a goat. It is a cross between a projectile sneeze and a snort. The goat is pleased with herself. She smiles at me. She managed to contaminate my cup of coffee while giving me a goat slobber facial mask. It was all complementary, of course. The doeling looks wounded when I set her down. I return to the house to enter personal hygiene mode, part one. She watches me disappear into the house through the glass on the front door whimpering.
I get a new clean cup of coffee and return to my position on the bench. This time the doeling remains at my feet prancing around on the porch. My elderly farm dog ignores the bundle of energy. He remains motionless.
His snoring tells me he is still with me.
The farm cat lays her ears back and swishes her tail impatiently. She is not so impressed with the baby goat. I think I detect a guttural growl. I pop her with my foot. She zips away offended that goats invaded her world. The young farm dog sees her exit as an invitation to tree her.
Barking, hissing, and yowling drown out the bird’s beautiful symphony.
A warm liquid hits my sandaled foot. The baby goat had access to the entire front yard. Yet, she chose to relieve herself in this exact spot, on my freshly cleaned porch and my foot. This is the same porch I scrubbed on my hands and knees the day before. The critter smiles at me smugly before bouncing off to investigate the cat/dog quarrel. I rescue her placing her in solitary confinement and then return to the house for round two of personal hygiene. Yes, this is my idyllic rural life. It is a life I love, one I am hard pressed to give up.