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I can’t say – and let’s not because I don’t want the PC Police to come after me – that I know what it feels like to be a little person, but I did get a taste of it today. I will be getting a taste of that for the next ten days while Farmer Ron and his bride are taking the second vacation they’ve ever been on in twelve years! Farmer Ron likes to stick close to home; it’s hard to leave a farm. But, he’s always up for local adventure – there is no question about that! (Again, I refer you back to the “Look Who’s Choking Chickens” post from 2010…yikes).

 Mr. H and I are in charge of several items on Farmer Ron’s farm while he is away: goats, wood burner, mail, cats and Grandma – and not in that order. We have to feed all of those creatures though, even the wood burner.

The wood burner, Grandma, and the cats are the easy ones. Mr. H and I have a different set up to feed our goats, than my dad does. Understandable. We’re all different and have different fences, animals, and routines so that is expected. We went over two days ago to watch Farmer Ron in action, demonstrating the farmyard procedures. His routine is much easier than ours because his goats have access to grass –ours do not yet – and, he doesn’t have a horse to keep out of the goat pen.

He demonstrated the feeding process and how to open the feeder lid and pull it down with a hoe, after distributing grain and hay with the garden implement. He’s thrifty, folks, and ingenuous. This routine looked so easy and so quick.

Well, it is quick-ish, but most of you have met my father and know that I did not inherit his height – my brother did. Luckily, I got some of his good looks though – but that’s totally beside the point. It clearly became apparent to me that I was going to have to jump into the goat pasture in order to spread the grain around in the feeder. No problem; dad has great fences there and they’re short. Easy breezy. Then I looked back and realized the hinged lid on the feeder still needed to be closed again. Looking down at the hoe, I picked it up and tried to imagine how I would catch that lid with the end of the hoe and lift and pull at just the right angle. It quickly occurred to me that I don’t have that kind of leverage because I’m a munchkin compared to Farmer Ron. Darn it.

Back over the fence, but this time straddling the fence in order to put one foot on one of the wheels which the homemade feeder stands on: it’s an axle from something that had wheels. Frankly, it’s brilliant. By now all of the goats have stopped eating to watch this spectacle, I’m looming over them, balanced on one foot on what I hope is an immobile tire, in order to grab the lid.

I’m almost too short still to grab the feeder lid, but it happened without a trip to the emergency room. I jump down and breathlessly walk in to throw some raviolis in a pot for Grandma and me.