I used to milk a goat as part of my job when I was a nanny during the days of my younger years. The reason for this was that my boss' husband who previously milked the goat did not get along with the goat and had a minor heart attack while chasing the goat around the yard and falling in the mud, when he was trying to get her to her milking stand to milk her. So I took over.
As it turned out, I also did not get along with the goat at first. She ran away from me too and I repeatedly fell down in the mud and, unfortunately I say, shouted rude words at her. (I don't usually do this!)
That night I prayed to God that he would help me have a Christ-like love for the goat as I hated her. I had just been baptized recently before this happened and I did not think it becoming of myself to behave in the above-described manner, rude words and rankling. So I tried singing to her, humming Hungarian folk melodies and suchlike. Well, you should have seen her face. She didn't know what to make of it. She peered round oddly at me while I was milking her, holding firmly onto her kicking leg, so she couldn't kick the milking bowl over.
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