Our latest tale of farm adventure began, as is often the case, with a phone call from my father. Pop - who is kind of old-fashioned and still believes that his adult children are merely "young'uns" who need to be put to work constantly - is always barking orders to do something around the farm.
Something always needs to be fed, watered, picked, gathered, caught, doctored, plucked, butchered, and even neutered when you live on a farm.
This time it was a different type of assignment, and I was in town doing some newspaper work so fortunately for me it was the wife who got the call.
"The nanny goat is a about to have that baby, but I think she needs some help," Pop informed the Mrs.