9th Thing Wrong with Me

October 10, 2008

I am intelligently stupid or stupidly intelligent.  When I was in 8th grade, I took shop. The shop teacher, who was also the junior high athletic coach, was actually quite a nice guy. As he observed me blundering about the drafting table, the wood shop, and the machine shop (which were all in the same room), he said to me in some exasperation, “Random, for such a smart kid, I don’t know how you can be so dumb.”

After we got rid of our cow, Stormy, whom I milked before and after school, and who periodically tried to gore me, we got a goat for me to milk. The goat kicked constantly as I tried to milk it.

The shop teacher helped me build a stock to hold the goat’s feet. After about a week of flailing, the goat broke the stock. Although the goat was a nuisance to milk, she had a fun personality. Goats are a lot like cats. Unfortunately, the goat eventually took sick, bloated up, and died. Then I had to bury it.

My youthful farming career was not especially successful or inspirational.

We also had chickens. The chicken yard was poorly designed, and the chickens constantly escaped and hid their eggs. I frequently found rotton eggs.

My wife, who has gardened but not animal husbanded is eagerly awaiting our chickens. I love my wife, so I am trying to feel the love for the coming chickens.


6 Responses to “9th Thing Wrong with Me”

  1. Unfortunately, the goat eventually took sick, bloated up, and died. Then I had to bury it.

    That’s just classic.

  2. Pete Says:

    Do yourself (And the chix-to be) a favor and be sure their pen is enclosed with a wire roof to keep the bad guys out. You can get 4 or 6 years out of a chicken if you keep things from killing it. Unless of course, it gets sick, bloats up and dies…

  3. pandemonic Says:

    I’m sorry, but I can’t feel love for chickens anymore. One, my mother murdered my pet chicken, and two, they’re just too stupid. There’s a good reason why they are at the bottom of the food chain.

  4. Life would be a lot simpler (not to mention more fun)if we (and by “we” I of course mean “they”)quit wasting time expecting people to be like us (them), and embarked on the adventure of trying to figure out right off how they (anybody) were/was different so we (again, anybody)could spend more time enjoying it. Them. Us.

  5. modestypress Says:


    At times I could have used a plain childhood, where the occasional dog was run over, instead of a “classic” childhood with bloating goats.


    The Friendly Neighbors have done pretty well with constructing their chicken house, covering it, and surrounding it with an electric fence. We will follow their guidance. Their only casualty so far is the chicken with the broken or dislocated leg. The other chickens keep trying to peck it to death, so it has to be kept in quarantine for its own protection.


    Chickens are major quiz kids compared to Turkeys. I once helped care for a herd of turkies on my uncle’s ranch. Compared to chickens, turkeys are so stupid there are no words adequate to describe their witlessness.


    Perhaps respect for individuality comes in the next millenium. I am not holding my breath.

  6. Andy Says:

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