What's a Goat Judge to Do?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If you're just joining us for the first time, howdy! This blog is dedicated to all the gods and goddesses out there who have come to work one day and found their stuff in a box and their cubicle occupied by missionaries from some other religion.

It's no easier for gods and goddesses to face this life-altering moment than it is for people, so we invite them to air their concerns here. It can get lively.

Today's topic is more personal, however. And I will try not to whine, because self pity just doesn't make anything better.

My goat-judging days are over.

Have you ever heard of a Web cam? I'll bet a good many of my wide and faithful readership know how to run one.

Works like this: Someone films something, zippo it goes into the Internet, and someone in, say, Morocco can watch the action as it unfolds.

Bet you can guess where this is leading. The international conglomerate that bought the corporation that bought out my original employer, Goats R Us, has figured out how to beam Web cam footage to goat judges in Morocco. The Moroccan goat judges are not only some of the world's most knowledgeable goat people, they'll also work for less than a third what American goat judges are paid.

The conglomerate, Amalgamated Goat, Inc., just instituted their new policy at the Missouri State Fair. They Web-cammed the goat judging to Morocco, where the judges evaluated the entries and made their decisions, ripped them into an email with a built-in translator, and bingo.

Two days later, pink slips got mailed to every goat judge east of the Mississippi. The goat judges in the West are running scared too.

We goat judges are already known for our high suicide rate and the many other stress-related syndromes associated with our profession. This will be tough on a lot of tough people.

So now I have to find a whole new line of work. Don't tell me to go to vet school. I've already inquired, and despite my stellar record from Billy Bob Agricultural University (BBAU, home of the Fighting Buzzards), I would have to shell out about $100,000 to get a vet license. Even for farm animals. Imagine!

Readers, this is hard for me. I love goats. I mean, I really love the little cloven-hooved milk-makers. I love watching earnest little farm girls drag stubborn goats around a ring, trembling lest their recalcitrant nanny refuses to move. I love eating all the pies entered in contests. I love watching young rednecks in love ride ferris wheels. I love cotton candy, dart games, honeybee displays, baby chicks hatching in incubators, and prize rabbits.

Goat judging is my life and my livelihood. Worse than that, I've got two kids to feed, and the husband's salary as a wrecking ball operator will only stretch so far.

Anyone have any ideas, work-wise? I've already prayed to the Thunderbirds and offered them a sacrifice. I've also taken my issues to the Celtic deities, especially Queen Brighid the Bright.

There must be some line of work a goat judge can do that'll keep her around dusty barns and polite 4-H youngsters. It's too soon to give up hope.

ANNE, THE UNEMPLOYED MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

PS - The Thunderbird sacrifice did not involve killing any animal, as the sacraments used had already been killed for human consumption. I could have pulled in a road kill, but I drive an economy car and so must be concerned about nasty odors from the trunk.