Illumination Writer Bio. Introducing Vee Goldman.
Sheep Whisperer And Chicken Catcher
And what to say about me? Well, I joined Medium in February this year and it’s been a blast. I’ve read and commented on articles and blow me down have even written some. For many years in my non-Medium life, I have written a variety of posts on Facebook which seem to go down pretty well.
And then I had a thought.
I’m going to write more and that’s why I’m here. Soaking it all up like the proverbial sponge. With writing, if you don’t have a go you’ll never know. And I don’t like not knowing.
You may wonder what the subtitle means “sheep whisperer and chicken catcher”. Well in my physical life I do both. I look after a rather errant flock of sheep. I’m a Farmer’s daughter so it’s not unknown territory. Its only a small flock and I can name every one. The Flock is headed up by a rather large Rig Ram called Ron.
Ron likes moving things. His particular thing is garden chairs. Put chairs in their place neatly. Leave field. Return later. Ron has moved chairs to the middle of the field. Upturned. Rinse and repeat. This could go on all day. But it’s been great fitness-wise. Pick up chairs. Walk back with them. Await Ron. Better than any gym with the added frisson of possibly being mown down by him.
And then there’s Barbara, a rather feisty ewe who has tried to assassinate me twice. Barbara likes to have a once-yearly attempt on my life. So far she’s dragged me along a fence and nearly dislocated my neck (driving was a two-man effort after that as I couldn’t turn my head to the right). This year she attempted to give me concussion by slamming me into a wall.
Barbara failed on both counts. She will fail again next year.
I also have the utter pleasure of helping rehome ex-battery and barn hens. These little ladies are collected from farms and rehomed to lovely families to have a nice retirement tearing up their gardens in return for an egg or two. I leap around the stable catching them. Some are easy to catch, some are not. Hens generally are reasonably well behaved but some have delusions of grandeur. They think they are Eagles and flap their way past you with determination. The beak is mighty. But it’s all good stuff and great to see them go to a loving family home.
Even in my own home the four-legged onslaught doesn’t end. I have two cats. One black, one ginger. Mr Ginger rolls his tins towards their combined food dishes, he likes sitting in bins and has attempted to get into the tumble dryer. It would seem that he also likes shopping having walked to the local shop with my daughter. The black cat, a grand old lady in her fifteenth year snoozes through it all. I don’t blame her.
“Wonderful well behaved family pets” what exactly are they? Not on my remit. I’d be bored stiff.
I shall keep watching and keep writing. However, I must now stop typing this very minute.
I can hear a tin rolling.
Vee.