Close Call, where Close Call means Oh Sh*t

Y'all remember I'm in charge of the farm for a few weeks, right? Where in charge means does driving by the farm reeeally slowly equal doing chores?

And y'all remember there's a mama cow on the farm that's about to die, where die means dragging a carcass by tractor and cash in coffee cans and a really bizarro twist on the whole roadkill thing, right? Oh and piscesgrrl doesn't know how to drive a tractor.

Well, if that isn't enough to worry about, my mom's dog Boomer is also staying with us, where staying with us means dragging his wet mangy dog-*ss all over my carpet. Boomer has no use of his right front leg and therefore hobbles around while occasionally moaning, where moaning equals Laura speed-texting her mom as to the overdose level of aspirin in dogs.

Two lame animals to care for is plenty. So imagine my horror when Rob and I did chores drove reeeally slowly past the farm the other day and saw one of the goats lying in a very unnatural position, slumped over a bale of hay. "OH MY G*D the goat is dead!" I shrieked, where shrieked means Rob swerves off the road.

"What?" he asked, calm as a cucumber, where calm as a cucumber isn't really a phrase, as I continued hyper-ventilating about goats and death and ohmyg*dnotonmywatch.

He turned around at the next driveway, where next driveway equals sometime today would be nice, and we high-tailed it, where high-tailed means took his sweet d*mn time, back to the farm.

As we passed the goat/horse/chicken pasture, there was the goat, laying only slightly-unnaturally now, still slumped over the bale of hay but looking right at me, where looking right at me means you stooopid, stooopid goat!

Let's just say Sunday can't come soon enough, where Sunday means the farmers return and Laura returns to her regularly scheduled life of leisure.