The Day I Became a Farm Seal

Rule number one when moving out to a farm: Don't move to a farm.  If you obey that rule then there is no need for anymore rules.  I know it's trendy to live on a farm, grow your own food and raise your own animals. But so is living in the city, drinking lattes and going to yoga.  You know what else is trendy?  Sleeping on a super expensive mattress and learning how to live the Blue Zone life.

Thank you Emoji World for finally releasing an emoji that represents me living my best life.

People, if you ever find yourself thinking, "Man, I wished we lived on land", "I wish we could have animals and gardens", stop right there and grab a latte, go to Yoga and buy a mattress.  The Blue Zone is way better than the Manure Zone. TRUST ME! Why?  I'll tell you why!  Because have you ever held a goat, ripped open on one side, scream at you for an hour? Have you seen the unfathomable scattered in a pasture while praying you don't get struck by lightening? I didn't think so.

Lies.  All lies.  Joy. Of. Simple. Living.
Lies you guys! Just lies. 

The perfect storm rolled in one Saturday morning.  Big Dog was out of town but that goes without saying.  I went out to do my glorious farm chores.  First I checked on Baby Blu, our adopted and bottle fed goat.  She's PRESH and OMG I could go on and on about her.  She sucked her bottle, peed for an hour and hopped around.  On to the horses... flakes of hay and feed.  Done.  Then to the goat pasture.  Aaaaaand that's when the record skipped and the music stopped.  I saw one goat, not four.  Clearly they got out.  So I hopped on the EZ GO and went a searchin' and a Baaaa'n my head off out the window.  No luck.  I drove another fence line in my car and there it was.  I don't have a word for "it" because "it" was so horrific Webster hasn't come up with a word for "it".  So we will start with carnage.  Carnage spread all over the pasture.  Rated R carnage.  Then wind, then rain.  And me poorly dressed.  I got out of the car and ran to the one living goat.  I had to get him to safety so he wouldn't become carnage come night fall.  I knelt down, rain pelting my face like huge gauge needles, and he turned.  He turned and revealed is own carnage.  His side was ripped open.

And this is where I threw my hands in the air and channeled my best Scarlett O'Hara.  I called Big Dog.  I screamed, shouted and through my chattering teeth stated strong and colorful words.  He couldn't understand me.  I threw my phone down in the mud and screamed some more.  I was shivering because I was cold and shaking because I was mad.  Really, really mad. BUT there was a goat to save.  AND that's when I entered Farm Seal Training.  No goat left behind.  The Rocky soundtrack cranked up.  The wind all but knocked me over as I chased the injured goat.  My $.99 poncho blew off.  I miraculously caught him.  I lifted him up and he screamed so loud my ears are still ringing.  He tried to bite me.  I held on knowing his gaping wound was rubbing my shirt.  I headed towards the barn.  Dagger rain and 310mph wind zeroed in on the cinematic shot.  Where were my comrades?  I'll tell you where they were.  They were inside playing video games with headphones on.  I clenched my fists under the goat.  I was living my own Fortnite and no one was there to parachute in and help.  Not wanting to give up and ring the bell, I fought the storm and two steps later found myself on the ground sinking in mud.  I had a death grip on the goat.  My muscles stiffened and my body shivered more.  I got up and fell again.  Mud. The storm was defeating me.  But I still had this goat.  I got up once more and reached the gate.  I finally made it to the stall and put the goat down.  I don't remember much after that.  I was freezing.  Apparently, I called people.  Anyone that might be able to help.  A warrior named Kevin showed up.  He was calm and looked completely ready to do his job.  He works in GR.  AKA: Goat Remains.  He drove out and around the pasture and picked up "it", the carnage.  I hunkered down with the wounded goat and sent out more SOS calls.  A goat vet responded and headed my way.

Y'all.  What am I doing?  What am I doing out here?  Someone please tell me.  

Anyway, the goat vet showed up but wasn't equipped with necessary supplies.  He told me to hold the goat down and "together" and he would be back.  Stop.  Go back and read aloud, "together".  

K. No problem.  Or something like that.  Really?  Right back huh.  Yeah, no big.  I got it. 

Again.  What am I doing?  

The vet returned an eternity later.  It took both of us to hold that goat, administer injections, clean the wound, staple the wound and call it good.  I am since 45% deaf and 110% traumatized.  

Buddy after his pain medication sedation.  Standing firm, staples and all. 

Fast forward a few weeks and Buddy the goat is doing just fine.  In fact, Buddy has a new home.  He lives on a SAFE/DANGER FREE goat farm over yonder.  He will join a herd and frolic in the fields.  As for me, I am proud to be a Farm Seal.  A traumatized and deaf Farm Seal. 

This picture is not here by mistake.  You see, I have been taking testosterone.  I'll leave the reason why to your imagination.  Anyway, I was so stressed out after the Farm Seal combat situation that I applied my testosterone cream as if it were my deodorant during my post-shower routine.  Yes, I'm trying to whiten my smile and yes, that is my bottle of Prozac behind my Motrin.  #HOTMESS