I was trying to be helpful, carrying a small goat out of the kid pen so that we could weigh her and give her some medicine. I lifted my foot to step over the knee-high grate meant to keep the goats from escaping when the door is open, and clipped my toe. Before I knew how it was happening, and well after the point that I could do anything to stop it, I was tipping backwards. I landed flat on my back, knees bent against the superbly effective grate. I don’t know what became of the goat I was holding – I assume she floated to the ground and landed on all hooves, wondering why I seemed consumed by an extreme gravity, and quickly escaping lest it prove contagious. My head landed safely, equally far from the feeder (ouch) and a grenade of goat shit (blech). Stunned, I looked up at the now curious goats that had fled my expanding shadow, and having assessed my figured it w to stand. Sherwin said only, “we’ve all done it” and it was truly the only thing I could have heard at that moment.
Oh my goodness! Glad you weren’t hurt. (You weren’t hurt, were you?)
No, I’m fine. The hay was pretty plushy and deep from the spring. The goat manure heats the hay as it decomposes, so everyday we go in and add another little bit to keep things largely tidy while things fester. I mean, I still had goat poop on my bak when I stood up, which was embarrassing, but not painful. C and the boys cleaned out those pens on Friday, so it is now much less cushy. I will be more careful when tumbling now!