By Tiber
Well, another one of my nightmares has materialized. Just as Dad promised, he has actually brought home three female goats to join Fletcher, the goat that Iris Nell rescued. I thought maybe I was safe because of their cost but since Dad normally has to hire outside gardeners to help Nestor mow the big grounds here, he says that having goats do the mowing will save him a considerable amount right there.
And then, of course, he has this idea that since I’m unemployed, I can now learn how to make goat cheese and we’ll all save money on food. I can’t even make a good cheese sandwich and now I’m supposed to create the cheese?!? This is like giving someone a car but telling them that first they’ll have to invent the tire.
When I had another job interview today and again soon saw it slipping away, I begged them to hire me. I said flat-out that I wanted the position desperately “or I will have no choice but to go out and milk goats!!!” I meant to sound enthusiastic about their employment but looking back on it, I think I just sounded, I don’t know, bat-barkingly psycho.
Of course, it’s not Fletcher the goat’s fault. I like him. I went down to the pen to see him but clearly, he’d already shared the news about me with the females. There was an unmistakable rolling of their eyes and cocking of their heads in my direction as they brayed to Fletcher, “This is the clown you were talking about?!?”
I think even Fletcher looked at me differently. It’s one thing just to be hiking pals but it’s something else when your buddy is elected, “King of Curds.”
God help me. How could this happen? I was a suit! Suddenly, I’m going to have to completely re-title my future autobiography. Now I’ll have to make it, “From Go-Getter to Goatherd: My Descent into Cheese.”
