A tale of Death, cleaning, and bad parenting skills.

Well sorry guys, my Internet kicked the bucked for the past few days, (it was like living in the fifty's...*shudder*),and so I could not post any sooner then this, but it turns out that this is the best day to post anyway.

Now, if you would please let me rant for a few seconds.

My father is the biggest idiot in the entire planet. not in a stupid kind of way, but because he is NOT good at all at being a caring, loving person in any way whatsoever.
and so after I turned about seven, he has been working me every weekend all day long until Sunday night.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one too shy away from a good bit of work, (hell, if I didn't do anything around here it wouldn't get done at all).
but working with him is what work must be like in hell, or at least very close to it.
He's mean, bossy, uncaring for your safety, and doesn't give a hoot if you can't do something, he'll make you do it anyway and berate you when you can't.
so after seven long years of this every weekend and most week nights, I have slowly adapted to it. I have memorized every stupid name he gives all his tools, (he calls everything by it's factory name), every term he uses, and every speck of body language he gives off.
and so most of the time it go's smoothly, until you throw anyone else into the mix.

we're going to build a new house on the farm we bought last year, so that we can live there as apposed to my Grandma's house were we live now. and today he finalized the bank loan.
now when ever he gets excited, angry, or his nerves act up, he takes it out on us kids by making us clean.
and his version of clean is NOT the same as most normal humans.
He's sixty something and apparently things were a hell of a lot cleaner back then opposed to now, even the earth must have been less dusty.

so like I said, the house was finalized and he was extremely excited because the house..builder...guys were coming over to see the old pile of lumber that stood there now. (the old house had been standing for eighty years, and time had not been good to it).
so to pass the time he had us clean the barn.

usually the barn's pretty clean, not much activity in the summer, as all the dairy goats have baby's and can't be milked.
but the guard dogs had got in over the past few day and trashed the place,
insulation was ripped out of the wall, dirt was all over the floor and the cat's had..spiced up the place.
I was given the job of sweeping the entire floor and picking up anything that dared get in the way. witch was much better then the job that he had my brother do, cleaning up all the old straw outside the stall doors.

I say worst not because it's gross, the straw outside the stalls is dry and clean, mostly it's the stuff that falls down whenever we place down new bedding.
but it had gone unchecked for so long that it was almost up to the top of my sandals, (Yes I farm in sandals). and he had to scoop it all out, sweep the floor, and scrape it clean with the shovel to catch any spots were we had spilled water and made a crusty spot.

'Not so bad' you say?, no, it's not.
but you have to understand that my brother Gabe is the only truly lazy person in my family, (my younger brothers are seven and two, so they kinda help, but he's twelve, and still makes me do everything?, not ok).
anyway, we were working along when mom came in and announced to us that Sunny was down in the back of the shelter and unable to stand back up.

Sunny was our very first goat. she had lived with us for almost eight years of her life and had mothered two of out dairy goats, (and Mary the cripple goat, but that's another story).
a bad cold had been passing around the goats for the last few weeks and one other goat was in the bare recovering from a almost deadly bout of it.
Goats aren't like cows or sheep, they love to die from anything. simply because that get sick and lack the will to live. they will lay down in a nice quiet spot and starve to death if you don't find them.
and so when mom said that Sunny couldn't get up, I know that it was bad.

I dropped my broom and grabbed my trusty rope from behind the fringe we keep milk in. (I keep all my tools back there, mostly weapons and some nice hefty sticks for keeping the evil geese off with).
we tracked up to the shelter and I tried to coax her up, no dice.
she seem completely content with the fact that she was too weak to stand, in fact she was laying in her sleeping spot in the back like she always did when she took a nap.

Mom raced back and grabbed the wheelbarrow before I could stop her, (I keep reminding her not to race around when she's seven months pregnant) and told me to lift her into it.
it too both of us to get her in and down to the barn, were we put her in the stall and she died, that's it, she toutched the straw and died in our arms.

it sucked....

mom left crying as I finished and helped dad haul her out into the pasture and place her under a nice tree.
A tree surrounded by cactus warriors. (ow..)

mom has just called my down for dinner, so I end my tale here.
but I have many more to tell, blah, blah.

good night!.

Pizza!, yes!.