Happy Anniversary Heffner!

     When studying journalism at the University of Tennessee, I took a course called the Psychology of Humor, in which we studied the physiology of humor on the human brain by breaking it down to its finest components. In a nutshell, humor is not only a coping mechanism, it's a pressure valve for the brain, without which we would go insane or die or both.
     Mark Twain once wrote, "There is no humor in heaven," pointing out that "the secret source of humor is not joy, but sorrow." Break down a joke, you'll find it's what goes wrong that makes it funny... not something gone right. Punchlines come at the peak of the buildup..They take what is flowing towards a bad ending and break it to smithereens before you have time to absorb the shock of the sorrow. Without a punchline, you simply have a sad story of human frailty, error and imperfection.
     I recalled this as I popped open my laptop this morning and happened upon (quite unintentionally) some pictures from last year (one year ago today to be exact) when my little goat, Heffner embarked on an adventure...a hilarious story now...a stresser of magnanimous proportion for me when living it then.
     Looking back I now laugh, but at the time, it was sheer torture over a decision I'd made while feeling the pressure to do things more professionally when it came to raising goats.
     For the full story, you can check last year's blog entry, but the pictures tell it much quicker.
                        http://karlensgarden.blogspot.com/2014/06/awe-and-amazed.html
    For the record, serious goat herders (i.e. those who make money) do not name their goats. Like good retailers, they do not fall in love with the merchandise. It's a savvy business of buying, breeding and selling-- the girls, for milk and babies; the boys, for meat. (Even writing this makes me squeamish, but these are the facts. I could sell you on the virtues of goat meat over other protein sources, but that's not the point of this blog.)
     Point of this blog is I stay stressed. A lot. Mostly because I empathize to the point of neuroses. Yes, I roll, and laughter is my greatest ally, and the good far outweighs the bad, but the reality is, for every precious face I post, I feel a load of responsibility that often comes as guilt, which would make for bland reading as no one cares to hear your woes, given everyone's got stresses of their own, and after all I picked it. Personally, I think we're all taking on more than we can process and much as I love it, I believe social media is largely to blame. I'm convinced it has placed a chip in our brains that falsely persuades us into thinking we can a) live up to all our happy pictures and b) respond to, visit with, spend time with 3,000 friends when logistically it is just not humanly possible to do so as there aren't that many hours in a day. (Again, another blog for another day. What would we do without Facebook. I can spot it, but I'm just as addicted as the next person.)
     That said, it was 1 year ago today that I let Heffner go to auction. As a business move, it was wise. As a genetics move, it was time. Heffer has fathered more than half the goats on my farm and not to separate him out could make for sickly goats or malformations (or a nice herd of one-eyed unicorns, as I laughingly say). Selling him off would provide gain for others' business and a few more bags of chow for the girls, plus selling one goat is cheaper than building another fence. (Today we have another fence.)
     So after much turmoil and inner debate, I allow Thurman (whom I respect greatly and who knows selling goats like the back of his hand) take my boy to market. I know what will happen. I try not to think about it. Heff stinks. He's not pet-able. I have other males to take over his duties. I need to deal in reality. Thurman comes at dawn, doing all the work for me, after which he'll bring me a check. It's a no- brainer, but it WAS an all-hearter...And despite the fact that Heff was now out of sight, he was far from out of mind. In the days to follow (4 of them to be exact) I lost sleep. I lost weight. I lost heart. I lost tears.
     I share this as a matter of fair and balanced reporting. What you see in the slide show was not what was going on inside of me at the time, but given the ending, I have to agree, it's funny as heck now.
     Tis not for the faint of heart, this caring stuff. That said, it is what it is, I am who I am. As a girl who loves to learn and digs for meaning at every turn, I am never at a loss for lessons (even when they come the hard way).