Down Home Electrified

As you know, the Old McHomer's are getting ready to populate their farm with a couple of Miniature horses and a goat. Yes, we are finally bringing Beatrice the Amish goat home with us, as the other goats at ScapeGoat Farm pick on her way too much.

My best gal, Seneca, and I brought Bea home in May while up here on vacation, not knowing Mr. H and I would soon be returning permanently to the Land of Cheese. One of Farmer Ron's Amish friends had this 9-day old goat to give to him, and for the rest of our vacation she got completely smothered with attention. Beatrice is sort of a runt now, considering she is a French Alpine mix but, as you know, my affection for "miniature" animals runs deep. (Let's pretend I still like the Chihuahuas for the sake of this argument...).

Little Bea is a fluffy, half-pint full of energy, and she is as playful as a puppy. The sad thing is that none of the other goats will even play with her: they even block her from eating when they do! Can you believe that?

Anyway, we are anxiously awaiting the arrival of Beatrice and continuing to prepare for Shaq and Assel-- "The Minis."  In order to be ready for The Minis, Bill had to buy a voltage meter of sorts and test the electric fence: it hasn't been turned on since before we lived here, and we needed to check for "jolt factor,"  as well as move some of it around (with it turned off, of course) in order to turn a couple of large horse pastures into several Mini-sized ones.

The Minis belong to my Aunt Tonda (as mentioned before), one of my mom's sisters who fawns all over Mr. H and the Chihuahuas--well, some of the dogs, but definitely Mr. H. I'm getting the distinct impression that both sides of my family are not quite as happy to see me unless accompanied by my spousal unit, Mr. H.  C'mon people. Aren't I charming enough by myself? I guess not as illustrated by the following email exchange from Tonda to Bill and I--incidentally, she rarely calls me by my name: she always calls me "Angel." I know, doesn't quite fit, but it's sweet, eh? Here's the email:

Tonda: "Hi Angel, and Kimi..."
(Seriously, that is what she wrote...but it gets better).

Kimi: "Tonda, I will have Bill check the fencing to make sure that it is working properly. We have never used the electric fence and don't know if it works..."

Tonda (to Bill): "Have Kimi lick the fence to make sure that it has enough juice to keep the Miniature horses in, and predators out."

I'm sorry, did my aunt--by blood--just tell my husband to have me LICK an electric fence?
Try this one on:
A few days ago Mr. H came in and said he'd tested the electric fence. I told him that I already knew he'd checked it because he said so last week. "No," he said, "I just put my hands on it to make sure it was appropriately set."

Go ahead--touch it.

Nice. I don't care what he does as long as he makes a speedy and full recovery; or, that life insurance covers his idiocy 100%. Well, he's fine--for now. Then he launches into an explanation of why he feels I should put MY hands on the electric fence: so that I don't "freak out" if I have to chase one of the animals and accidentally bump into the fence. "Accidentally." (P.S. I have more life insurance on myself than he does and I want you all to be witnesses at this moment).