Baaaaaah Humbug

Down the street, the winery hired goats to come and eat the grass/weeds/burrs/thistles on the hillside as a "green" way, I suppose, of reducing fire danger. Of course I mean green as in ecological, not as in color, which is not surprising because I'm sure I live in the greenest county in the nation. When I run into the grocery store for a few things, I prefer to balance all the items in my arms rather than use a plastic bag and take the walk of shame to my non-hybrid vehicle.

So anyway, the goats were all congregated near the road (probably for photo ops) and I stopped to watch them. I pulled my camera from my purse and snapped a few images and in the process, shocked myself on the 88 gigawatt agricultural fencing. (Zap! If I'm a goat, I won't be trying to escape anytime soon.)

There were big goats with curly horns, little teeny baby goats with little teeny beards, mama goats, teenage goats, brown goats, white goats, spotted goats. You get it. Lots of goats. Of all goat varieties, with one thing in common: eating. Everything in sight.

Grass, weeds, burrs, thistle, oak trees, MacDonald's cups. All of it was yummy and all of it was being mowed down, no questions asked. I wondered about the goats and I wondered if any of them didn't WANT to eat all that junk. I wondered if any of those goats had any food issues and really preferred to just eat thistles, thank you. Or just whipped cream, or something. What compelled them to just eat everything in their paths?

And I decided that between the 88 gigawatt fencing (it seriously hurt) and the eating, eating, eating . . .

I would make a lousy goat.