|
 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?” [to top of second
column] |
“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.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
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