Farm fitness fail

You all may remember my adventures in goat babysitting last year, as I volunteered to chore for my brother and sister in law while they went out of town for the weekend? Well, that "weekend" is an annual event that just so happened to wrap up today and this dumbass just so happened to agree to chore, once again.

Luckily, the chores were fairly simple. I was even able to take a helper or three with on Sunday to get the tasks done more quickly. However, that's not to say I didn't run across a few challenges, like this morning's effort, which made me feel as though I had run a half marathon. After all, who needs a gym membership when you can simply feed animals by hand? I bring you the Farm Fitness plan, an exercise program that will surely kick your ass, if you follow it to the letter....

First off you will need your exercise/chore attire...keep in mind at chore time, the air temperature is seven below zero, so layering is a must. I would recommend at least two layers. Be sure to include your gloves, stocking hat, insulated rubber boots (a size or two too large because you don't own your own) and your husbands carhartt coat that is a size 4Xtall because you don't want to ruin your good coat. Once you have your proper attire, you can begin your workout..I mean chores.

Your first task is to go to the hydrant and fill a five gallon bucket of water and carry it approximately 50 yards to the garage. Be sure not to spill any of it as you carry it, your gloves will freeze to your hands and your pants will freeze to your legs. As you are carrying it, watch for the two overly friendly farm cats who are weaving their way around your legs in an effort to try to trip you because, well, they are cats. Also, keep an eye out for the morbidly obese Corgi who will get winded and stop right in front of you with no notice and the farm dog Chester, who will dart back and forth running circles around you, just because. Once you've gotten to the garage, carefully pour the water into the heated water dishes. Take notice that the this is the only time the animals will not be trying to trip you. They will all stop and stare, wondering what in the fuck you are doing. Be careful not to spill any of the water on the cats, as explaining the frozen farm cat stuck to the garage floor to your four year old nephew would be a bitch. On your way to take the bucket back to the hydrant, go down the basement steps and grab the defrosted chicken waterer. Head back up the steps and proceed to the chicken coop. Once there, open the top half of the door. Set the new waterer down inside and then leap over the bottom half of the door. There are two reasons for this...the bottom half is froze shut and the curious cats who are still trying to trip you will get in through the bottom door and torment the chickens. Switch waterers, leap back out, grab a scoop of feed, fill the feeder, shut the door. Check the water and feed for the billy goats and take your frozen waterer back to the basement. 

Now the fun begins. Prepare the milk replacer for the bottle calf and bottle goat. Head across the road to the barn (about 250 yards) and start your next exercise...the bottle calf will be bitching at you, so hop the fence, wrestle him into a headlock between your thighs- so he will stand still- and feed him. While you are feeding the calf, you will notice that the bottle goat is doing the kicking chicken in the corner and appears to be on his last breath. Release your headlock, jump the fence, grab the nearly dead kid, shove it down the front of your coat to start warming it back up and sprint back across the road, down the basement steps and frantically search for the supplies you need to raise the dead.

Once you have the kid layered in blankets and heating pads, start bargaining with Jesus that it doesn't die on your watch and haul your happy ass back across the road. Finish feeding the calf and pray that the vodka bottle at home is full because after this cluster fuck, you're going to want some. 

At this point you will remember that the big goats are out of hay. Hay is located "up the ladder in the hay loft." Begin your search inside the barn for the ladder and hole to the hay mound. Abandon your search when after 10 minutes you can't find the son of a bitch and even though you are inside a barn, you can no longer feel your toes. 

Head out of the barn to collect your thoughts. At this point, you will notice an old wooden ladder, propped up against the barn, wired to the door of the hay mound. Give yourself a pep talk. Go halfway up the ladder, then head back down to give yourself a better pep talk. Head up the ladder and attempt to open the door. Realize that the ladder is blocking the door and head back down the ladder. Move the ladder a tad and head back up. Realize that you haven't moved it far enough. Head back down the ladder and say, "Fuck it all." Try not to kick the cats that are still plotting your death by fall.

Go around the corner, fill a five gallon bucket with feed, climb another fence and throw the feed to the third pen of goats who will act like they have never seen food and appear as though they will jump over the top of the gate and eat you. Do not make eye contact with the bucktoothed llama, nothing good can come of it.

At this point, you will start to feel guilty about abandoning the trip up the ladder, and you recall the billy goats have an extra bale of hay by their pen and their hay feeder is still full. Head back across the road, grab the hay bale. Immediately put it back down. Alfalfa hay bales are a lot heavier than you remember them being. Give yourself another pep talk and will your frostbitten feet to not fail you. Lift the hay bale (with your knees, not your back) and begin your 250 yard trek carrying the 70 pound hay bale in negative seven degree weather, back across the fucking yard, hoping not to drop it too often. You can hope that when you DO drop it that it lands on that fucking demon cat that is still trying to wrap itself around your legs.

Once you've made it to the barn with your hay bale give it to the fucking whore mama goats that you never hope to see again in your life and try to quit coughing, you don't want to lose a lung in the goat barn.

IF you have made it to this point, your work out has been completed. Pray that your toes get their feeling back and that your breathing regulates sometime in the next week, since the negative seven degree temperature has frozen your lungs, nose hairs and soul. 

Finally, remember to thank the farmers who do this shit every day. The average age of a farmer is 55. Go ahead and suck it up at this point when the realization that 55-65 year old men can work circles around the average bear, even in the worst conditions.

That my friends, is the Farm Fitness Plan.