Reading · Children of Job: Where Faith & Hubris Meet

I never dreamed that the hardest part of building a barn for our goats would be getting them to move in there.

I completed the goat barn on the night of the eclipse. The roofing was delayed and arrived the night before, and I had to work the whole next day to get it done in the proverbial nick of time.

The timing wasn’t exactly planned, but in Castaneda-speak, it was intended.

The goat barn is part of the 24-year Lucifer working 2.0: getting the old devil to move into new digs to make room for Jesus. I’d rather not be so explicit about it; but the following won’t make much sense without context.

Since completion, for the last week or so, it’s been an ongoing battle to get all of the goats into the shed before dark.

Goats are uncooperative creatures. This is probably why they are associated with the devil, and with the “unsaved” in the gospels. Yet, if Jesus was a carpenter, born (symbolically) on Christmas Day, then surely he, too, was a goat?

We have eight goats. About half went into the barn easily enough, lured by a little corn. The other half were not having it. There is a butting order, and the weaker, smaller goats are afraid to go in because they will get rammed by the bigger goats, especially when there’s corn around.

We were luring the recalcitrant goats with food, grabbing them, putting ropes on them, and so on. When none of this worked, I ended up chasing them. Never chase a goat. Forget about it. It’s ridiculous. I chase goats because I like the exercise and because I’m a stubborn-headed Aries and I get so furious I can’t just leave it alone.

I am their alpha ram; but strategically speaking, it’s ridiculous. The more I chase el Gordo, for example, the angrier I get, the less he’s going to cooperate. But there is the sliver of a chance it will work, if I can chase him into the smaller shed (their previous home) so he can’t get away from me. Then I can put a rope on him and drag him, if need be, into the barn.

The trouble is, el Gordo is smart enough to learn. He quickly learned not to be lured by the corn, and by the next night he learned not to run into the little shed. Because he’s smart, el Gordo spent the whole night sitting wistfully outside to barn.

He became the Lucifer-goat, the one who rebelled and was left out in the cold.

The next night, el Gordo’s rebellion was joined by Tufty, the alpha. After a fruitless time chasing them, there was only a few minutes before the men’s meeting.

They were standing outside the barn, with the rest of the herd inside. I said to them, “All you want now is to get inside the barn with your herd. All I want is to get you in the barn. Surely there’s some possibility of cooperation here?”

They just looked warily at me. They can’t get in without me, but if I try to give them what they want, they will run way. Catch-22.

I finally hit upon a plan. I approached slowly so as not to scare them and went inside the barn. Tufty is wily, but pretty much fearless, and he stayed close to the entrance. I opened the door, making sure the other goats couldn’t get out. After a moment’s hesitation, Tufty went in.

El Gordo kept his distance.

It was time to call for back-up. I called Mrs. Horsley and explained the situation. Once she had been briefed, I went into the barn and she herded el Gordo around the barn (we had to get him on the right side of the door, which opens outwards).

The three windows and gaps in the wood made it easy to track Gordo’s progress. I watched expectantly as he trundled all the way around the barn, and back to the front.

As he approached the entrance, I opened the door and stood as far out of sight as I could.

El Gordo hesitated, as Pepper, the mother alpha, headed for the exit. It was touch and go. El Gordo, caught between fear and desire, finally took the plunge. I darted out and closed the door.

Like a reverse Elvis, Lucifer has entered the building.