The Grandkids are here again!!!
I paint you this picture. Lush green grass and an empty paddock with beautiful flowers everywhere. Not another goat in sight. The bees are buzzing from one nectar pot to the next. They love this time of the year. So do I. I reckon it is the best season. But! You guessed it right. There is a but. It’s the grandkids.
Just don’t misunderstand me here. Grandkids are great. They are fun and they fill ones life with joy. Now I have seen many grandkids. I probably should call them grand grand grand grandkids. Don’t get cheeky here. I might be older, but I’m still fit. It’s just my fuses are getting shorter. Here I am in my field and enjoy the sun, when I can hear a faint squeak in the far away. It’s the grandkids alright.
Here they are. I can see them jumping for joy and bounce with the enthusiasm only a baby goat can. They are heading straight for me. Me! Not any other goat that is nearby. No, it’s the granny they are after. I already tried to hide. It didn’t work. Before I know I’m surrounded by more than half a dozen of tiny little goats, the grandkids. They know nothing yet. It’s like I have to teach them everything.
There is the grey kid. He comes right up under me and them without any warning he bounces up. Square into the soft parts. I had a tear in my eye. there is no point telling them off either. These grandkids these days just aren’t the same as in my days. They go straight back to their mothers and sulk. Of course I’m the bad one again. Even so, the next day they are back again. Work that one out.
And they aren’t what I would call coordinated either. It makes me giggle sometimes. I have a bit of a mean streak in me. Schadenfreude is something I enjoy. After all my ancestry traces back to the Swiss Toggenburger goats. And it still shows today. Some of my grandkids are brown. But back to those clumsy little things. They seem to fall over everything. Even their own feet. Splat, onto their faces. then they give me the look. It’s as if I had anything to do with it.
These tiny little legs take them to a million miles an hour. The stopping will be mastered as some stage. Until then I stand back and observe. I won’t pack them in cotton balls. As my mother said, no pain, no gain. They do okay. Trust me, they won’t hurt themselves too badly. Soon they have little horns and then they are bouncing off each other. Especially the boys. They are the boofheads in the field. They are strong. Never underestimate the girls either. They can pack a punch. I just can’t sit down for two minutes. They jump all over me. Little ratbags.
It’s every year the same. But don’t tell anyone, I love it!
The end
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