Isn’t it funny, how life ends up?

I’ve spent the last week or so texting a woman I didn’t know about a goat rendezvous.

We have female goats. She has a male.

Yada, yada, yada ... her husband dropped off Hotrod this past Saturday morning. Penny and Piper were not pleased.

When you own some land, it seems only right that you grow a few tomatoes and eventually buy a chicken or two.

But let’s be honest, tomatoes can be grown in a pot on a back porch, and now, even city folk are allowed to raise chickens in their back yard. So I had to step up my game.

Last year, I convinced my husband to buy goats. I researched and researched and settled on Nigerian Dwarf goats, for their sweet milk quality. Like all things, I bought the books, joined the Facebook groups and went slightly overboard. As in, I also bought a milking stand.

The consensus of those I lived with was that there was no way I’d ever milk these goats.

To prove them wrong, I Googled it.

First, you’d be surprised how many You Tube videos there are on milking goats.

Second, it looked quite easy.

Until you are actually standing there, goat on the milking stand, your husband screaming at you “to just do it” and all a sudden this feels like a lesson in good touch vs. bad touch. So much so, neither they nor I could do it!

After reconsideration, I determined goat milk is overrated. Let’s be honest, if it was as spectacular as all those hipsters touted on their “small farm” blogs, Starbucks would be showcasing goat milk Creme Brulee this holiday season.

I’ve checked. They’re not. So it can’t be all that!

Moving on ... tomatoes are too easy, chickens are passe and goat milking was just wrong.

But goat breeding, now how could that not be right?

Well, to be honest, now that the deed is done, I’m a slightly mortified.

Hotrod definitely has outstayed his welcome. Penny and Piper (and yours truly!) are forever scarred with the atrocities that took place behind my sweet little farm fence. And our children wonder why I can’t just take up hot yoga or spin class like all the other mothers they know.

Like it or not, come April, the Kane household will be birthing baby goats.

Thankfully, there’s YouTube, my trusty husband and nature on my side.

Or better yet ... I’m hoping these goats can just figure it out.

Telling Tales is written by Wilson County’s Angel Kane and Becky Andrews. This column is Angel’s.

Telling Tales is written by Wilson County's Angel Kane and Becky Andrews. This column is Angel's.

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