I was the best dressed person at the Livestock Sale Barn yesterday. Yep, nobody looked better than I did. There I was, amidst the goats and sheep, and the poop in my nice dress shoes, and work clothes. At the Sale Barn.
Why was I there--on a work day--in my Monday best?
Well, since we didn't breed our goat last fall, we needed to get a couple of bucks for 4-H. Andy needs them to show, and so we had to buy some. We tried last fall to buy a new Doe and a Buck to breed and build our own herd, but, like most of my plans, this one fell through. So, we decided last week to go to the Sale Barn.
My plan was that I'd only be gone from work a couple of hours, so I went in my good clothes. And we all know how good I am at planning...
We were there from 10 a.m. until 3. Of course the goats that Andy picked out were in the very last batch sold. Naturally. And, being the control freak that I am, I wouldn't leave my 15 year old son alone at the sale barn. It was his money, but who knew if the bidding fever would hit and he'd wind up bidding against himself and paying way to much! So, I sat there with my nice shoes and clothes, which now reeked of goats and sheep and poop.
It was interesting though. We saw some really nice goats and some really poor ones that hadn't been taken care of. One pretty doe looked really good at a distance, except she had a nasty udder and her hooves have never been trimmed. Her feet looked like those elf shoes that Santa's elves wear. You know those shoes, they curl up at the toes? That is exactly what her feet looked like. I don't know how she walked. One young pregnant doe's water broke as she went into the sale ring. She delivered shortly thereafter. Andy said she didn't look good, with all the stress. I probably wouldn't look good--or feel good either, giving birth in a strange barn, with lots and lots of commotion. Poor baby.
Being the best dressed person at the sale barn sure makes you stand out. I'm sure there were many old farmers wondering just what the heck I was doing there. I stood out like a flower in a manure pile. Which is how I felt. But I'm sure those old farmers were muttering about "city slickers" being in their turf. I'm sure someone laughed about me not wanting to get dirty or getting poop on my shoes. But, I know that I really didn't care about manure on my shoes--they washed. And I didn't care about my clothes getting dirty--they wash too. What bugged me most of all was that I couldn't crawl into the pens with the animals. That I had to pay attention to where I was going. And, I know that I'm not a city slicker. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I'd have been much more comfortable in my jeans and old shoes. Then, I'd have fit right in.
Nevertheless, I'll take great pride in being the Best Dressed person at the Sale Barn. I kinda enjoy being the "flower in the manure," if only for a day.