Smokey Mountain Breakdown

The Goat Yoda and I took a journey into K-town today with Daughter Dorie. Betsy was delivering a handsome little Nigerian Dwarf she had sold to a fellow and his family. We also had a little doe kid who was being delivered to a Mennonite family. And I was going to get two Shetland sheep from the same Mennonite family.

I'm telling you...you don't know what fun is until you are heading down the interstate in a mini-van with three chicks and a couple of goats.

We met up at Tyson Park where an SCA tourney was taking place.

The Society for Creative Anachronism is the group where people get together to study and re-enact skills from pre-17th century Europe. It's what the nerds were doing before computers.

I used to be in the SCA...like 25 years ago. Back then, I was much slimmer and fitter...not to mention lupus and scary clotting disorder-free...so I really enjoyed donning my fighting gear and wailing the hell out of other people with a rattan broadsword and lugging around that big shield. I thought myself quite the badass. The SCA was where I first learned to make armor. A skill I parlayed later in life in the theater.

We sat on the grass with the baby goat who drew the expected crowd of sweet faced children. One little boy was really excited and going on about "Kitty! Kitty!"

He got within three feet of little Lizzy and ran screaming in terror. Musta been the eyes. Goat eyes. They'll get you every time.

We took a detour by Betsy's Greek Orthodox Church. It's a homeless ministry but was really wonderful. They had some very cool relics and stuff. I want Betsy to take me back there for a service.

I mentioned that we were on our way to pick up sheep. One of the older homeless men's face lit up at the mention of sheep. He used to herd them back in Utah. Big herds of them. It was a happy memory. He liked sheep.

I stopped myself from asking, "Like in Brokeback Mountain?"

But that was what went through my mind. Because I'd seen the movie, I sort of knew the kind of job he had once had. Probably without the romantic interest, but still.

So, I'm back home with two woolly buggers on the back porch. I'll keep them there until they get a bit more used to me. I promptly forgot the names the Mennonite family had given them. I don't think they know their names anyway.

I've been calling them "Mutton" and "Chops".