I can’t adequately describe the furnace that was our old rickety house today during sweltering 44C heat. It’s an instant assault as it wraps around your body, immediately constricting your breathing and completely commanding control of all senses. Current predictions for the next week see our region expecting temperatures hovering no lower than 42C, with 47C to look forward to on Saturday.
In addition to being hot and bothered and at the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I only got about four hours sleep last night. Some of it was due to the stifling heat, but most of it is the fault of our stupid bloody goat. Yes, we have a goat, and he’s a gifted escape artist. Our house is surrounded by a verandah on three sides, and my room backs onto our paddock, and the wretched animal seems to delight in waiting until I’m asleep before attempting to scale the fence that separates the verandah outside my room from the paddock. A feat which results in all kinds of sounds and crashes and bumps in the night, none of which make for restful slumber.
The idiotic beast will try anything. Long run ups. Attempts to delicately weave through the wire. A double somersault with pike. His usual method though seems to be the out-and-out crash and bloody bash. And no amount of cuts and scrapes and entanglements will dissuade him from his course. On the odd occasion that he does make it over the fence, he will then proceed to rub himself against the weatherboard walls of the house and since my bed is close to the wall that he chooses for his own little pleasure post, the whole bloody room shudders.
I know that sheep are supposed to be the most idiotic creatures in the world, but our little dolt would give any jumbuck a run for its bloody money. My advice is, if you’re ever thinking of getting a goat, don’t. You’ll never sleep soundly again.
I hope and pray that some day the silly thing realises the error of its ways and figures out that when I’m leaning out the window bellowing at him to step the feck off, it’s a sign that he’s taken things just a little too far. Perhaps he should heed the advice of his fellow goatfolk. They, at least, know a sign when they see one.
Oh, and if you’re concerned about the neckwear that our lovely goat is sporting, don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt him – the wood is light and doesn’t constrict his movement. It’s actually an old trick that’s supposed to stop him from squeezing through and climbing over fences. I think it’s clear just how effective it is.