Sweeping out goat manure

I have an odd job. It includes many different things. One duty (I will hasten to point out that this is an occasional duty) involves clambering up onto the climbing shelter in the goat pen and sweeping their manure off the roof. It’s a humbling sort of thing, particularly when the goats are standing on the ground, staring up at me with their evil little eyes, and, no doubt, saying to themselves “we have this foolish human in the palm of our hooves.” However, regardless of the disdain of goats, I tell myself that humility is good for the soul, right? At least, that’s the theory.

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