Steve
was out in the Mule Barn
parking lot the other day, tightening something with his
wrenches under the
hood of his pickup truck. The rest of us stood around,
looking wise, and
sipping coffee.
“You sure it ain’t the solenoid?” said Bert.
“I don’t think they make them anymore,” said Doc.
“It’s usually the solenoid,” Bert said, with
finality.
Out of self defense, Steve emerged from his cavern
of wires and metal
long enough to say, “Didn’t I see you have a goat now,
Bert?”
Bert nodded. “That’s why I hate allergies.”
We waited. We stared.
“Well you see, Maizie’s allergic to cow’s milk, so
we bought Ernestine
for her.”
“And Ernestine is ….?”
“The goat … right. So what happens is somehow I
have to milk Ernestine.
Twice a day. We wanted to go overnight to the city last
week. Ever try to find
someone who will babysit and milk a goat?”
“I won’t do it,” said Dud.
“Neither will anyone else,” said Bert, sadly. “So
we either stay home,
or take the goat with us. Ever try to find a motel that
takes goats?”
“Not recently,” Doc said.
“So we stayed home. Oh, it wouldn’t be so bad if
she liked me…”
“Maizie?”
“Ernestine. See, she waits until I have her almost
milked out, then
she’ll stick her foot in the bucket and kick it all over
me. The other day, I
was standing in her pen and talking with Mrs. Gonzales
next door, and Ernestine
came running up behind me and ran right between my legs.”
“Did you fall?”
“Of course. And Mrs. Gonzales tried not to laugh,
but it didn’t work.”
“Bert,” said Doc, “why don’t you just buy goat’s
milk at the store?”
“Maizie says she needs it fresh, because it’s
better. You guys ever
notice how a goat has horns and cloven hooves?”
We nodded.
“I don’t think I need to add anything to that,”
said Bert.
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