He was right. Space Aliens had invaded. And they had horns.

It took ten hours to put up that field fencing. I took the whole week off work to get ranch work done and these Walking Weed-eaters are an important part of helping me get things under control. With the rain we've had, the horses simply cannot mow and weed-eat this much property. I don't see the problem going away on its own, so I need some help. I need .... weed-eaters on the hoof.

My four Weed-eaters arrived and they immediately began serving themselves from the buffet line of Tallow trees along the fence. YES! YES! YES! I pumped my fist in the air victoriously! I did the Happy Snoopy Dance when they started munching the briars. YESIRREE, I keep this place for the animals and dog-gone-it, the animals are gonna help me keep it up!

Before I went to bed, I checked them. Their happy little goat eyes reflected in my flashlight and I'm certain they burped as I highlighted their fat little tummies.

So this morning, I Snoopy Danced my way to the barn to check on goats and feed the horses. No horses. Where were the horses? Hmmmmm..... Called them. Noticed that Stallion wouldn't come in.

So I asked him, "What's the deal?"

He informed me that Space Aliens with Horns invaded the pasture beside him and thus he cannot come into the barn for breakfast.

"Do what?" I asked.

"SPACE ALIENS WITH HORNS!!" he insisted.

I turned to see that he was staring at four terrified goats, the size of big Labradors, that were huddled in a group because the dogs were barking at them. "You're scared of the goats?"

He informed me again that Space Aliens with Horns now occupy the pasture adjacent to him. So I walked through the ankle-deep water to go get him. I thanked God and Tractor Supply for rubber boots. He was quite relieved that the Space Aliens didn't get me while I was enroute. Since I was now there to walk with him, he was brave enough to walk back to the barn with me, but he kept a wary eye on the Space Aliens with Horns lest he have to beat a hasty retreat and leave me to the mercy of the Horned Demons. As soon as he finished breakfast, he blasted back outside to stand in the corner beside Montoya and they both studied the Space Aliens.

Montoya was a bit braver. He made occasional rushes toward them. They didn't move. This really frightened both Montoya and Sultan. Sonny (who doesn't particularly care much for goats) looked at the goats and informed the boys that she has better things to do than play peek-a-boo with a herd of goats and so she wandered back through the mud to the pasture. Montoya followed. Poor Sultan was then left alone to stare at the aliens. They continued to stare at him.

Eventually the goats got back to work on the tallow trees by the fence line. I did the Happy Snoopy Dance back to the house. And then the storm came. Hmmm... the goats didn't know where the stall is because they've been so happy on the fence lines. Got a bucket of feed to call the goats. They were slightly interested. I leaned over to show them the feed. A bolt of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder reminded me that the goats were only $40 each. So I scurried back into the barn.

Then I noticed that the Stallion was standing out in the pouring rain (and the other idiots were standing out there beside him). Everyone was just begging the lightning to strike them. Since they cost a great deal more than goats, I slopped out in the rain and Sultan walked back in with me. Apparently my presence gives him courage he wouldn't otherwise possess. The other two followed us. The horses ate Nicker Makers and stared at the Space Aliens who were standing under the overhanging tallow tree branches. The horses reminded me of kids watching a horror movie while they munch on popcorn.

It's going to be a long week for Sultan and the goats.

Life on a farm for a single girl trying to go it alone can be tough, and each chore accomplished is a major victory. This evening I decided to tackle a stall door. The barn has shifted and the door wasn't closing properly. It just needed to have the latch hole drilled a little bigger. That presented a problem since I wasn't sure if Wuzband (he 'wuz' my husband) left a drill. So I started to poke around his old workroom in the barn. Found a drill! Now I needed drill bits. Poked around some more. Nope. Poked around in the house. Found 'em! I was on a roll! Drilled the hole bigger. Door worked great! Woo hooo! I AM WOMAN! HEAR ME ROAR! I happily patted myself on the back. "Yeah! I'm gonna be just fine. I can do this! A woman can handle a farm by herself!" ........ And that's when the rat fell out of the ceiling.

Suddenly I was no longer Xena Warrior Princess - Master Of My Domain. I was a screaming woman doing the Rat Dance. This is where you dance in place, point, and scream, "Ah! Ah! Ah! Get! Get it! Get it!"

Now this is like a 911 call to dogs. And ever vigilant, my faithful Belgian Shepherds (and 1 Bloodhound) raced to my aid. The rat landed on a 2x4 wall brace (near my shoulder!) and ran along the back of the workroom. He climbed jars filled with screws, old tools, and pvc pipes with remarkable speed. (Rat's have 4-wheel drive, ya know!) Anyway, I continued to scream and point while the dogs fell over each other in their efforts to snatch the rat off the wall.

It finally hid behind some old plastic jugs and there was a lull in the action. Standing on their back legs, the dogs looked to me. I stared back at them. "I'm not gonna pick up those jugs!"

They turned to the rat behind the jugs and then back to me. Clearly, I was the tallest one in the room, and I had the thumbs. They elected me to move the jugs. I was outvoted. So jug by jug, I lifted each away from the shelf. .... And the rat fell down.

I screamed and commenced the Rat Dance again. The dogs did their very best Three Stooges imitation as they crashed into each other in a wild attempt to snag the suspect. The rat scurried through a hole in the base of the wall and the four of us were left panting and gasping for air. (I'm sure the rat was doing a bit of gasping himself.)

The dogs had great fun. They searched for the rat for several minutes while I tried to gain my composure and waited for my heart rate to return to normal. My pack finished up their rat hunt and returned to reassure me that I was safe from rats as long as they were on duty. I was reminded, yet again, that you can run a farm without a man, but you can't run a farm without a good dog... or two or three. We all have different talents that balance out to get the work done. They're not afraid of rats; I'm not afraid of vacuum cleaners, so it all evens out.