Don’t tell…

     It is pretty common that somebody starts to tell a story around the Kelln Kompound and it goes like this…”Now don’t put this story in your blog.”  Or, I hear, “Please don’t tell Kelln that we ran out of gas 10 miles north of OKC ( a city with a thousand plus gas stations) on I-35 within walking distance of a truck stop.”  I like these kind of stories and I am actually fairly good about not repeating stuff until given the OK.  But, I’m not putting that crap in tonight’s episode. Instead…

     I love the fact that some showmen and breeders are willing to load their goats up and drive to get an opinion.  Even though there is a chance that they won’t like the opinion.  Had one here tonight.  This cat had a prospect that he wasn’t sure to cut or show.  I’m glad he brought him.  It was an honor. The goat wasn’t perfect, but he needs his nuts left in him. I am SURE that this goat will probably make another mile or two for another opininion, but I offered cash to leave him.  On the right genetics, this one will be fun to see what happens.  If I had 100 does, then I would offer a pile of cash.  Names like Pfeiffer, Mock, Helms, Gallagher, Hutto, Hummel, even a low rent bastard like myself could use a buck like this.  Why? structural integrity, soundness, hip, true muscle and rib shape.  Plus, a cleaner than most, but not all pedigree.  What I really want to know is, what about the wethers bred like this one?  Where are they?  I bet they show up at some time.  

     21 years.  Yes, 21 years that I have been married. That is half of my life that I have now spent married.  Good decision.  Best decision of my life.  Yes, Kela is 23.  Do the math.  If I would have gotten married at the time of “Oh, snap, are you serious?”  I wouldn’t be married today.  Sometimes, things need to mature.  Myself included.  Has it been easy?  Nope.  Nothing dealing with me is easy.  Has it been worthwhile?  Obviously the answer is yes or I would have done something different.  And the fact that Tammy hasn’t kicked me to the curb means it was worthwhile on her end.  The weird thing is that in the past year, we have discovered our best marital toy–a gator.  We just get on it and go look at stuff, gather goats, check fence, pop a top, etc.  We seem to enjoy it.  We might have a kid or two and normally a Corgi on it.  I didn’t want to buy a gator at the time, but looking back, it is pretty cheap device for marital bliss.  I don’t have any good stories involving the gator, but I can tell you for a fact that the Kelln’s like cruising around together on it. Don’t tell anybody, but we might actually kind of like each other.  21 more years.  I don’t know about that.  I didn’t think that I would make it this far. 

    Now back to the goats.  I liked the band the Traveling Wilbury’s.  Look them up.  They are a bunch of no-name SOBs without any music industry credentials.  In comparison, if it was a band of goat jocks, it would be Glen, Izzy, Bryan, Mikey, and Poe.  I would be waiting in the wings with Big I, to see if they needed a harmonica or bagpipe player.  If you haven’t heard of the Traveling Wilbury’s before, you will need a diaper when you see the actual talent that was in that band.  Off the charts.  

     Don’t tell anybody, but life could be worse.  Of course, if it was any better, people would call me BOB.  Spell it forwards and is the same.  BOB.  It would be a cheap tattoo on your butt. A “B” on both butt cheecks, bend over and it spells BOB.   


     Don’t tell anybody, but I still don’t like does; I still like good show animals;  I love a good song. I love a smoking hot chick that I have been tied to for half of my life.  Don’t tell her that I am the lucky one.