I was trying to be helpful, carrying a small goat out of the kid pen so that we could weigh her and give her some medicine. I lifted my foot to step over the knee-high grate meant to keep the goats from escaping when the door is open, and clipped my toe. Before I knew how it was happening, and well after the point that I could do anything to stop it, I was tipping backwards. I landed flat on my back, knees bent against the superbly effective grate. I don’t know what became of the goat I was holding – I assume she floated to the ground and landed on all hooves, wondering why I seemed consumed by an extreme gravity, and quickly escaping lest it prove contagious. My head landed safely, equally far from the feeder (ouch) and a grenade of goat shit (blech). Stunned, I looked up at the now curious goats that had fled my expanding shadow, and having assessed my figured it w to stand. Sherwin said only, “we’ve all done it” and it was truly the only thing I could have heard at that moment.