W.W.H.D.

   

 What Would Hefner Do?

     I'm not even kidding when I say it was a night of tossing and turning. On top of this (I kid you not) my one brief encounter with sleep involved a dream where I found my little lost goat, Hefner.  I woke up early Sunday morning guilt-ridden and depressed so I decided to retrace Hef's possible footsteps... (make that "hoof steps") from the day before... when Hef went out...on the lamb... (So to speak. . . Ok. Not sure a goat can go on the lamb, but you get the gist.)

     Rationalizing that he might, just might come back to the scene of the crime (read yesterday's blog), I was, (I'd like to think) being very realistic in knowing what those odds really were. In other words, I mostly just needed to drive. I needed to do something. It was one of those moments when you know you have absolutely no control over anything in life, but you feel you should just "do" something ....Anything. Even if futile. Just busy yourself. Don't just sit there--Do something!
      So I crawled out of bed and fed the rest of the lot (we're down to just females now, save for one little guy named Charlie-goat, who thinks Rosey (dog) is his mama, so I've basically screwed up his little buck head as well)...I packed up the Jeep with anything and everything that might entice Hef, should I run into him. (Odds being a million to 1. Did I mention I just needed to do something? Yeah. Ok. This was me doing something. )
      Since the rest of the goat-raising world doesn't stress by making kids of their kids, I was majorly stressed, and it wasn't about to end anytime soon. So with every fiber of my being I committed myself to try and "think like Hef" ...starting from Jeep loading and ending with every possible stop along the way from Lebanon to Carthage and back to Lebanon again.
      As for packing, I tossed in: harnesses, food bowls, collars and blankets --basically anything I could come up with that smelled like girl goats. (For the record,  I nearly packed a girl goat, but had to think through the heat of the matter. Best to go with his second love ---Food. Second to girls, Hef likes food; but not just food. In these instances, goat chow alone is not enough; plastic-ware in which to "shake" said chow is more vital yet, as nothing brings a goat to your side like the sound of chow or crunchy things being shaken in a red solo cup.  A goat can hear you shake food for miles away, so keen are those little goat ears.) But to be safe,  I tossed in guinea pig feed, alfalfa hay, black feeder bowls and water (i.e. goat paraphernalia). As for human paraphernalia, I tossed in pre-printed flyers, staple guns, business cards and my camera. As ambassador between the two worlds, and for good luck, I tossed Minsky into the co-pilot seat. (She smells more goat than human here of late, but she is, sensitively speaking,  more human than goat. Mostly I just needed her for moral support.)
      We arrived in Carthage shortly before noon...(Carthage being home of one really neat bridge, a couple of water towers and a weekly livestock auction, long before the big green "Welcome to Carthage" sign dubbed it home to Al Gore.) Goal was to get to the barns before church let out, in case someone knew someone who saw something since yesterday.
      Having only been to the auction a time or two before (and then, on sale day, which is Saturday), I wasn't quite sure what to expect on a Sunday, but it turns out, some really nice folk hang around the place long after the sales are done.  Some come to pick up checks. Some come to fetch their cows. I did see one very lonely pig (once you smelled him, you didn't feel real sorry). Mostly I saw people who were wrapping up the last of the business that got done the day before. Folks hanging at the offices could not have been more supportive (i.e. they seemed genuinely sympathetic for a dumb blonde who let her kid go in a truck full of meat goats; if they laughed at me, they did it after I left. I know selling critters is big business in these parts...But they were kind to let me post my flyers as an afterthought all the same.)
      Having traipsed up and down all four sides of the sale lot...stapling fliers and walking as far as I could until searches gave way to trespassing on private property, I spoke his name, I shook my cup, but mostly I just watched and listened...Hunting for Hef was the consummate  needle in a haystack, but again (did I mention?) I had to be doing something, after all, it was my fault Hef was in this mess in the first place (assuming to him it was a mess; heck to Hef, this may've been the big break he'd been waiting for all his life...who can say?)
      While I was remiss to resolve anything, what I did become rather adept at, was thinking as Hef would think...Spotting those things, that ...were Hef by my side... I knew he too would race to explore. The thought of these things giving ever so slight comfort to a girl who might never forgive herself for sending her oldest male child into the wild.
       And while I came home empty hooved  and empty handed, the experience left me feeling closer than ever to the little guy whose offspring will continue to live on at my place via the girls he fathered and the girls he'd impregnated before heading off into the vast unknown.
       What follows are shots of those things I, as his mother, know once brought Hef joy... And things he might still head toward, should he ever think of home....
       These things include:

Stacky stairs on which to climb...

Clover fields (green all the time)

Hef really loves where ivy grows...

But most of all, Hef loves the does!

Here's to you Hef...I'm sending prayers still for your safety and your fun adventure.