I had one job: Stay home and take care of the small livestock.

John and the kids took cattle down to the county fair. I was home to feed the goats, barn cats, rabbits and dogs, then work, then head to the fair.

So I got up, headed to the back door, and there they were: one heifer and three calves, running around in the driveway. Clearly, they’d gotten the memo that the farmer had left the farm. Frankly, I’m surprised it took as long as it did.

The heifer had a skittish look in her eyes and the calves were running circles, so without really thinking, I stepped out the back door. As soon as it clicked behind me, I knew I had a problem. It was locked. And so was every other door. And no one else was inside.

There I stood, in my flip-flops, with cattle loose and on the run, locked out of my house.

Did I mention it’s fair week?

For whatever strange reason, I had my phone in my hand (yes, I had a phone but not real shoes), so I called John. As I dialed, the calves all ran off toward the pasture and back through the electric fence I’m assuming they used to escape in the first place, and the heifer followed. Check. One problem solved.

Still, I was locked out. I could get in the garage but not the house, and while you’d think I’d have a house key in my car, you’d be wrong because that’s apparently a very adult thing to do. John finally remembered a potential hiding place and hallelujah, there was a key, and it actually worked. Check. Two problems solved.

Off to the barn. Fed the dogs. Fed the cats. Fed the rabbits. Fed the fainting goats, Thelma and Louise. Admired what ridiculously cute eaters they are. Let them nibble on my hand. Relaxed. Pondered their undeniable qualities as emotional support goats.

The moral of the story? Even one job can get complicated when it’s fair week. But two goats might help.

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