Lucy is nothing if not horny.  She is shameless and insatiable.  You think things around here are this idyllic scene of gauzy-gowned girls and frolicking goats.

Most of the gauze around here is used in First Aid applications.  And Lucy the nanny is more interested in fornicating than frolicking.

I know this because she broadcasts her desires the way only a goat can – with that loud, plaintive scream some goats have mastered.

3 days a friggin’ month.  It’s difficult to explain the effect this has on me.  Every time I step outside, the screaming starts (if it’s actually even stopped).  I fantasize of goat stew.  It is as if the food, water, cleaning, milking, fencing, sheltering, playing, deworming, and grooming I do is beyond insufficient for Lucy’s happiness.  I’m incompetent and my efforts are misdirected at best.  What Lucy really needs and wants is a 5-second rocket ride to the moon.

Being raised on a farm, I’m all too familiar with critter reproduction.  It’s usually a brief and uninteresting interaction, barely slowed down by introductions.  Prey animals don’t have time to linger in their vulnerabilities.

In a few short weeks Lucy will be satiated and hopefully silenced at least until June.  Nevermind that last June, in the last few days before kidding, she followed me around whimpering with a belly full of kicking kids.

You made your bed, Lucy.

She’ll never learn.