These images are from a hobby farm we drive by every time we come back from town. They have forty or so itty bitty goats, at which we have to stop and awww. It’s the law. I hadn’t brought my camera out in a long time, but this last weekend I decided I wanted to grab it, so I did. The pictures are terrible. Every single one was awful. I can’t go back in time right now, so they’ll have to do. Maybe I should play with the camera more than once a year.
This tiny guy was out on his own, not far from the road. I figured I’d snap a few pictures of him to be forgotten on my hard-drive for a few years.
Then the photo-bombing blackbird swooped in, followed by that fluff of pheasant feathers in the lower right, who ruined the whole peaceful moment.
So the little fella ran back to his tribe, and we continued on, our new goat pen rattling in the back of the truck. In just over a month we’ll be bringing our own tiny herd of goats (3) home and won’t need to stalk the hobby farm kids.
The Long Way Home
by Catherine MacLellan