08/06/2026
This morning has been an absolute shambles.
Luckily Medi slept through the whole thing.
Fed the boys, went to grab the Goatlings’ feed, and as I’m walking back Nigel decides he needs a cuddle RIGHT NOW. Not in five minutes. Not when I’ve put the bucket down. Immediately.
His chosen method of obtaining said cuddle was to belly flop over the gate.
This went about as well as you’d expect.
He got a back leg stuck, so I legged it across the pen to stop him turning himself into an expensive vet bill. Unfortunately, in my haste, I tripped over the feed bucket I’d left on the floor and ended up underneath Nigel, who was still dangling from the gate like the world’s least graceful gymnast.
While trying to untangle this situation I smacked the top of my head on the gate.
Then, as I stood up, Nigel kicked me directly in the forehead.
Because apparently the first head injury wasn’t enough.
For anyone concerned, Nigel is completely fine. Not a scratch on him. He got himself free and immediately carried on with life as though he’d not just caused a full-scale farming incident.
I’m also fine. Just bruised and questioning my life choices.
Rhys says I’d make an excellent workplace accident investigator because I can apparently discover health and safety hazards nobody else would even think of. He also says I’m exactly like a sheep. If there’s a way to injure yourself, no matter how obscure, I’ll find it.
The goats remain committed to proving that farming would be much easier without farmers.
