Tonight I'm logging back into my computer to wrap up some things for work. While the computer fired up, the icons began to appear on the desktop like a turn of the century lamplighter was making the rounds at dusk. I let my mind float away while the workstation came to life. Out the window to the goat barn, across the drive I could see the faint glow of the light behind the glass of the west window where Rebel stands hopeful. I imagine that the sound of the screen door opening from Cecilia means that she's headed out to serve up second helpings of hay tonight. He lets out a couple brays that echo between the buildings. The Westminster chimes faintly bong out their message near the east corner of the house, the dogs lie at my feet with full bellies, making that pasty, sticky sound with their mouth in preparation for their next deep slumber.
This feeling is meloncholy, I guess. Doug has left for his annual fishing trip (Castaways with Disabilities)and his absence changes the mood of the farm. More quiet, still, anticipating what will happen in the void. So, I'm giving thanks for him while I sit here. Some of the comical scenes that have played out around here flit through my mind. They make me smile.
I have to share something that makes me chuckle, even though it's been a couple weeks.

Early Saturday mornings are a time to perform extra tasks, clean barns and stalls, burn trash and anything we couldn't squeeze in during the week nights. Today, we decided we'd trims the goat hooves. According to Google, it's a simple task. We needed nippers and a rasp. Two people were recommended.
Simple dimple.
And it was simple until I thought I had tendonitis. Yes, that's right, tendonitis.
The first goat we trimmed was Jack, our sweetest and most docile. He was great, sweet and when he tried to bite me, it was a meek sort of nibble to the top of my hand. I didn't want to insult him but it didn't hurt at all. To boost Jacks ego, I pulled my hand back now and then so he'd think he was really inflicting some discomfort.
The position for goat trimming that worked best for us was to have Doug standing up and between his knees he secured Jack on his butt (yes, I said butt, this is Rated PG).  With Jack's bottom on the ground, his front hooves were facing me so I could trim them. It was pretty slick to trim the hooves and my confidence was building, thanks to Jack's passivity. Jill was second from the bottom in the herd so we grabbed her after finishing with Jack.
Holding Jill in the same position we began her pedicure. She was a little more squirley than Jack so I leaned my shoulder on the machine shed that connected to their fenced area. This provided more leverage when she squirmed.
Suddenly, I felt a zinging, zipping electric shock feeling up my left arm. I quickly put the tool in my other hand and shook the left hand like a kitten that had just touched it's foot in frigid water for the first time. Since I peridocially experience numbness in my hands while typing at work it seemed rational that this zinging feeling was the next likely step in carpel tunnel or some sort of tendonitis. Hmph, I thought. Of all times this has to happen.
And then...ZZZIP! ZZZING! Sheesh, there it was again. I put the tool in my other hand and shook the left hand like a Tom cat now. I thought again, "I gotta get that looked at...that was kinda bad." "Man, I never knew I had tendonitis."
I didn't say anything to Doug about it but each time I shook it off, he looked a little more annoyed with me taking a break to shake my hand in that manner.
I started using the nippers with my right hand so I could give the left a break and kneeled on the ground, instead of leaning on the building. I thought if that tendonitis zinged again, it wouldn't surprise me so much and would be less taken aback by it again.
We finished Jill's front hooves and then had to reposition again. Doug leaned his back against the shed to steady himself because Jill was even more anxious about her rear hooves being trimmed.
Out of the blue, Doug yells, "EOWWW!!!" He jumped like someone made contact on his rump with a hot coal. I jumped when he hollered.
I looked up at him and asked, "what the heck was that about?"
He said, "I just got shocked!!!!"
"Wow, what a coincidence," I thought.
I asked how that could be happening. He said the electric fence is right next to that machine shed...the steel machine shed. I bet one of the lines is touching it.

I smiled, then I chuckled, then I laughed.
And I laughed.

He looked at me perturbed. And I said, "Well, I gotta tell ya,  the good news is that I thought for a few minutes that I had tendonitis. But I think it's probably gone now and that explains the shocking feeling that I had in my left arm."
I dropped the tool, raised my hands high in the air and said, "I'm totally cured!!!"

We shared a good laugh together as the dirt and sweat rolled off our brows and the goats with their fresh pedicures walked away from the two of us sitting there. 

And those are the memories that I treasure, enjoying the rush of a good belly laugh with someone near.  He always does the heavy lifting, the toughest jobs, the dirtiest jobs and I play along. What a gift he is to our little corner of the world, out here on The Bean Farm.

Wishing Mr. Bean continued safety as he serves our veterans and works toward making a difference in their lives this week in Minnesota.

Blessings from The Bean Farm

So a little kitten falls from the hay loft. Not always a bad thing but a few days ago, when his siblings perished from the fall, this little kitten was left alone. His Pa ran off before he was ever born and once his siblings perished, MaMa kitty didn't care to feed him anymore. With all the cats around here, the last thing we needed was another one to save. Yet, the ritual began...
We brought Chip in the house, began bottle feeding him every couple of hours, a heating pad in the box and pureed tuna fish to give him some strength. Geez, I'm not used to the demands of a little baby anymore around here. With each feeding, I wondered why we were saving another kitten. As I drew up another syringe of milk replacer, I came to the conclusion that saving the animals is instinctive. Not a lot of planning takes place for these little crises out here but nature kicks right in and wiggles into our world. 
By Sunday, and thanks to Facebook, we found a family that could spare the time to feed Chip and keep him forever. My daughters cleaned him up, brushed his fur and tied a bow around his neck (not really a measure I would have taken but it looked pretty adorable when they were done). After a couple days, we had grown attached to the little fella and were going to miss his demanding mewing for his next feeding. 
As the girls waited for the delivery time for Chip to his move to his new home, he was hopping and scampering arund the living room. It was a source of entertainment, especially to see our dogs try to dig into the hard wood floors to get a quick escape from Chips advances. 
He wandered under the sofa and Sammee warned me that he was headed into unchartered waters under there. As usual, I didn't get too excited but responded, "he'll come out when he's done checking it out." 
Sammee exclaimed, "I think he fell down the vent." I glanced over and made the exit out of Outlook to go check out what was happening with our little buddy. We pulled out the sofa and there, in the floor, was a gaping, open vent where no cover had been secured. Turns out, when a sofa is sitting over a square hole like that, the pressure to get it replaced isn't as strong. Although we had good intentions of replacing the cover several months ago we hadn't found the time yet. I guess it seemed harmless at the time. But now, the shoe box sized hole had swallowed up our little fella just before he moved out. The only thing we knew of his current state was a faint mewing heard from the mouth of the vent hole. 
Sammee had already apprehensive about letting Chip walk around without a supervisor. And since I'm the one who keeps calm around here and ever reassuring to let things happen as they will, I didn't want Sammee to be right about the dangers of letting Chip walk around unaccompanied in the living room. I had to get him back! 
With lightning speed reaction, I grabbed a spatula from the ktichen to scoop him out. Sams was on the floor luring him out with a towel and speaking in soothing tones. I didn't want to acknowledge it, but his mewing was getting fainter. I told Cecilia to go get her dad from outside. This was urgent! 
Suddenly I heard Sammee say, I think he's gone. I said, "What?!?"
"Yeah, I think he's in the basement now. I kinda heard him slide down."
Cecilia ran down stairs...thump, trump, trump, trump....
She yelled, "He's in the furnace! I can hear him!" (Relax folks, the Central Air was on, it's 74 degrees in the house right now). 
I clicked the thermostat into the off position (again, lightening speed) and followed the girls to the basement. 
OK, now I was getting scared. Scared for the kitten and scared to admit that my casual attitude toward letting animals/children explore could bite me in the back side. 

Hearing Doug come into the furnace room, the three of us girls parted like the Red Sea and let him in to fix everything. He carefully opened the panel door. 
Silence. 
He pulled back the furnace filter.
I watched the girls faces hoping to read in their eyes that Chip was all right.
Doug reached down and I heard the familiar mewing as he handed Chip over to Sammee again.

OK, so she was right. Perhaps walking uninhibited around the living room is more dangerous than I thought.
Sammee:1 
Mom:0

Final thought: No matter how small or seemingly insignificant, there is value in all living beings...even Chip. Even though we can't plan for it, every now and then, a little bit of sweetness comes into our lives to shake things up a bit. 

Blessings from The Bean Farm