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Location: Crescent City, Fl, United States

I am 60, have MS, am an avid cook, love making candles (soy) and watching the endless parade of Nature outside my home. I treat the MS with supplements and LDN, I do not use any of the C.R.A.B. MS meds, we don't get along well. I was married for 13 years, we were together for 15. We are now divorced. Sad, that. I do still love him, but ONLY as the father of my baby. Better to keep it civil, hurts the child(ren) less that way, but is oh-so-hard to do sometimes.

Monday, August 04, 2008

Goats.....and more goats....and more....

We recently became "blessed" with 5 goats. All males. All "intact". All pygmy. While we are intending on sampling goat meat, we're not going to for a while. Meantime, they reside in an enclosed pasture. Well, it is our intention for them to reside there. They, however, have other ideas, especially since Michief is female. So, at least once a day there is a massive jail-break, followed by Mischief running all around the property with the horny pack (ok, so only three have horns) fast on her heels. Since she is bigger, older, and meaner, she usually keeps them running. When Rob goes out to put them back in their pasture, the process is easy. He puts his belt around Mischief's collar, a la' leash...and simply walks her to the pasture, with all 5 following docily behind. Into the pasture, close the gate, find and fix where the breakout point was, and voila', task complete. The funniest thing is watching him walking her, with the brat pack lined up behind. Oops...the brat pack (or as Rob calls them, the G-Force) are out...and Rob's not home...guess Mischief will get her exercise today...
Meanwhile, summer brings the inevitable farm nemesis, flies. Loads of them. I am constantly moving to remove them, like a horse shaking her skin. Legs move, arms move, hands swat. Constant. Sleep? nope, not with them landing on any and every available exposed inch. Not just once, over and over, like a Chinese torture. Sometimes I worry that Rob or Robbin will find me, head lolling, eyes unfocused....power chair going around and around in an aimless, endless circle...
The haircut. I got it cut the day before my birthday. While the cut, itself, is a good, well-done cut, all I can say is Thank God/dess it grows back. It's short! I told her, just the ends, leave it as long as possible. Somehow I seem to have mis-communicated. It's short. At least 6" shorter, and about as long as my index finger all around. And the color? Brown and silver. Lots of silver. Lots and lots of silver. Oh well, it'll grow back. As will Robs. He got one of those flies up his arse and went and had his all cut off!!! The *only* redeeming factor is he donated his thick, long, red braid to Locks of Love. So someone will end up with a magnificent wig! How many times have women stopped him and said "I want your hair!" Well, someone will be getting it. Actually, they'll have enough for 2 or 3. While I'm not so pleased at the cut (either of them), I am delighted beyond words at him donating it. Go Rob!


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