Muskles

I just finished mucking out the goat barn.

And I use the term "I" very loosely, here.

After 45 minutes, 2 1/2 loads, and great drops of sweat, I was getting tired and cranky. And I had a looooong way to go. I yelled at my poor, sweet, innocent, faithful milkers. I think I hurt their feelings. They only wanted to help. Or at least see what I was doing and stand right in front of the wheelbarrow and beg me to scratch their ears. (I tried letting them out to roam while I worked, but they only wanted to eat my raspberries plants.)

So I yelled at them. I immediately regretted it, and contemplated throwing in the towel. I would just have to work on it more tomorrow.

Jonah apparently heard me yell, and went and told Daddy that "Mama needs help!"

Then my knight in shining armor appeared to rescue me.

I protested feebly, but he used his great strength and hoisted the gate off the hinges to make it easier to get the wheelbarrow through, tied up the naughtiest of the two goats and started shoveling. Shovel, haul. Shovel, haul. I lifted a few forkfuls of manure, too, and I told him how sweet it was of him to let me feel useful. But mainly I basked in his brawn and the job was done in 20 minutes.

Just like that.

I just batted my eyelashes at him as he doffed his cap and rode off into the sunset.

Um... maybe that was a bit of a mixed analogy...