February ’10-My husband Tom and our son Hawken were feeding the Billie Goat. On our lower farm, the milkhouse serves as a hotel over the chilly winter months. A long haired Sammy cat and 1 pristine  white 17 year old goat reside together within the walls of a vacated milkhouse.

I offered to Tom that I’d be happy to feed hay and finish chores so he could get Hawken back to the warm house.  Tom agreed that with the impending darkness that would be  fine.  It’s only 5 PM and the slow yawn of evening has exhaled dutifully a full day of winter. My gaze is downward and I’m filled with deep gratitude. I’ve splurged and purchased a brand new pair of LaCrosse tall camoflouge 1500 gram boots.  I’m amazed @ how lightweight the new footwear is and the grip on the snow etches size 10 bootmarks when I stare backwards.

Skinny Kitty has followed me and has left the confines of the aged barn. Cat is hopeful that he can trail after me on an adventure to Big Bend. Why would a short haired cat happily travel to the frozen backwaters? Then I’m laughing @ my question and am amazed @ the cat’s stamina and mine.

First I want to finish chores and grab a 3 tine pitch fork to loosen the wound tight round bale that’s draped in the cattle’s wagon like a wig that’s falling off an un-suspecting head.  I notice there’s a fork already propped against the panel gate. I backtrack and return the other fork to it’s home.

I’m feeling so lightfooted and eagerly aniticipate the trip to Big Bend. I next eye up the rusty feeder wagon which is on the other side of the fence. The cattle panels are so nicely affixed to the railroad tie posts. I hoist my light boots up and crawl to the top of the fence. All that seperates me from the other side of the fence is a single strand of smooth hot wire. I smirk and mentally wave off the notion that we’d actually have a hotwire that’s hot. Blinking and clicking fencer certainly can’t be accurate in the dead of winter when cattle lazily let fences alone because there’s no lush grass to reach for.

I’m suddenly teetering @ the top of the world. I’m on a mountain of doubt and I watch myself tumble 6 feet down into a bale of moldy hay. I feel the shock exiting my left hand and my fingertips are pulsing. Now I’m just a puddle of laughter. Just hebephrenic laughter escapes my lips as I am in the bottom  of a rusty wagon with inquisitive cattle breathing hay breaths on me with un-certainty. I’m just laughing and the farm echoes laughter with me. I can’t move. I’m reeling from the electrical current that has literally dropped me and rendered me laughing. I attempt to get up and my toes are numb. The toes that were numb from yesterday’s too early morning walk are numb from a fencer charged with energy.

I’ve howled my way to being a spectacle. Patches the 20 year old pet cow is mooing in my ear. My word-sign me up for a TV Reality Show right now-We are a cross between The Red Green Show and James Herriot the Vet from England.

Tom has shuffled his way over and is grinning. I try to say that Ican’t get up but I can laugh. He naively asks how I got in the wagon. My word can’t he see?? I’m shocked! Then I sober up-”Where’s Hawken??” “He’s with Billie.” I relax and ask for a knife to cut open the strings.

To be continued..

Sue Roskos