180: Goat Wrangling

We have an issue in the barn . . . the kittens contracted conjunctivitis, which jumped to the pygmy goat. He doesn’t much care to be wrestled to have the terramycin added to his eye twice a day, so we’ve taken to having to chase him. Yesterday morning, he ran around the barn to avoid me, circling me twice before trying to crawl under the hayloft. (Dude–you’re the only one around here with a shorter inseam than mine — I think I’m going to win this one). Last night, Michael held him while I administered.

Farmerteen is loathe to wrangle the goat. She wants to be the “nice” goatherd, if fine with her dad being “Big Scary Michael,” and is fine if I’m scary, too. She just doesn’t want to be the “bad guy.”

So this morning, armed with a sleigh load of weeds and grass my mom cut this morning and a halter/lead, I wrangled the poor pygmy goat myself. This little guy is pretty put out on a lead to begin with, I think I added insult to injury when I used it to hold him so I could administer the terramycin.

But his eye is clearing up, and he’s still trying to outrun me . . . so I think it’s all good.

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