I smelled like a wet goat today. This will surprise those of you who
guessed that I might smell like a wet goat at all times. I don't,
really . . . well, not too much anyway.
The events of the morning.
Awakened at 6:30 on a Saturday morning by children. Mumbled "happy birthday, Sparky," and went back to sleep for 75 years.
Pulled on shorts and a tank top and started the coffee. Got out
buttermilk and eggs to make Sparky's birthday pancakes. Then the phone
rang.
"Hi, this is your dad." Uh-oh. Nothing good has ever come from a phone call that started this way. "There's a baby goat on our driveway, and I thought the girls might like to see it."
"Yeah, I'm sure they would . . . whose goat is it?" I asked.
"I don't know . . . it's just here, and all of my cows are upset. Why
don't you have the girls come look at it, and then they can bring it
home with them?"
"WAIT a minute. What am I gonna do with a baby goat? Especially one that's not mine? And why do you think I want one?"
"Well, I don't want it, and . . ."
"Dad, let's try to find out whose goat it is, okay? Will you help? Because I have a LOT of stuff going on this weekend and --"
"Just send the girls down, and they can take the goat home for a while."
My blood pressure has never been checked, other than during
pregnancies. I don't want to break what is likely an expensive machine
by burying its needle in the red zone.
So the girls and I slipped on old shoes and walked down the road. The
cows in the east pasture were pressed against the fence, bawling to the
west. The cows in the west pasture were pressed against their fence,
bawling to the east. And in the middle, on the road, stood a tiny brown
goat, looking lost.
He looked a lot like this little one. (Photo stolen from this site)
But as cute as he was, he was not interested in human contact, and he
squeezed through a wide spot in the fence, into the east pasture. The
cows were NOT happy. They went after the little guy like he was made of
hay, probably acting upon instinct to attack anything the size of a
dog. And they attacked. The poor baby goat ran away, and then, also
acting upon instinct, sought shelter in a herd, and ran right into the
crowd of obnoxious cows, who abused him all over again. Nothing good has ever come from a phone call from my dad in the morning.
Sighing heavily, I crossed the fence with two chattering little girls
in tow. Try as I might I could not convince them to stay on the fence
or go home. To add insult to injury, Dad had just irrigated the
pasture, and there was standing water amongst the cow pies. *sigh*
The goat would not be caught, the cows would not relent, and it was
hopeless. And then the goat disappeared, totally. I combed the grass
for him for 15 minutes without finding him. Okay, my work here is done,
I thought. Home to wash our feet and shoes and make breakfast, and
finally get some of that coffee that's turning to sludge.
After breakfast my maternal instinct kicked in and I had to try to find
that goat. The girls insisted upon coming too, so out we went.
It wasn't hard to locate where the little guy was; he was the speck
moving east through the pasture with a clot of crabby bovines hot on
his heels. By the time we caught up with the herd they had reached the
end of the pasture and were snugged up against the east fence. I made
the girls stand way back, by the fence, and moved in alone, wading
through brown water more than a foot deep and swearing under my breath
at my father. One cow was in heat and the bull was not interested in
anybody but her; they were canoodling there between the baby goat and
me, and they weren't moving for nobody.
The goat saw me and bolted into the herd, still believing he was safe among the cows.
Have you ever seen a mother cow with a bug up her bad attitude? It's
not something you want to see play out, especially if there are
children present. Several of the old bags were pretty aggressive toward
the tiny little goat, but one in particular was brutal. She charged at
him, ran him over -- and I mean trampled him on purpose -- then turned
around and did it again. Then she ground him into the grass with her
head. My daughters were screaming in horror behind me, and I was
carefully moving toward the fray, not sure what I would do if the cow
went for me, but positive I was mad enough that she would regret it at
least a little.
I was sure the little goat would be dead.
But up he jumped, staggering, and raced for the fence, where he
collapsed. In amazement I watched several of the cows move in as if to
finish him off. I charged, roaring like a lion, and I'm not kidding.
ROAR. It took a very long time and a lot of roaring, but I was finally
able to back the herd up, then I ran at them, which spooked them and
they turned tail and ran, at least until their tiny brains stopped
them. "Oh look, grass . . . munch munch munch . . ." Stupid cows.
I still had to catch the goat, which was surprisingly difficult. I
finally pinned him against the fence and some berry vines, picked him
up, and carried him all the way back across the pasture. He was
surprisingly heavy; not unlike a hairy smelly toddler with hooves and
horns. More than once he tried to suckle on my neck, poor baby.
"What are you gonna do with him, Mama?" asked the girls.
"I'm gonna make Grandpa drive me and the goat around the neighborhood
until we find his owner," I answered. And that's what we did. Grandpa
was just getting into his pickup to go to lunch with friends, but I
walked up with a dripping wet, stinky goat and made him chauffeur us
around first. Goaty sat on my lap, fairly calm, considering, as we
looked for his home. We left him in a neighbor's pasture, and a phone
call later confirmed that we'd picked the right one. The little guy may
die, though, if he sustained internal injuries, which wouldn't surprise
me. My respect for the size and power of a cow has been renewed.
What I Learned
- Goats are stupid. They will keep running for the herd that's trying to kill them, over and over and over.
- Cows are stupid. They forget that there's a goat in the pasture and it's not a dog and didn't we just check that? and Oh look, a dog-shaped thing! Let's GIT IT! over and over and over.
- People who answer the phone on Saturday mornings are stupid. It's probably your dad and nothing good has ever come from a phone call from your dad in the morning.
- Those blood pressure machines need to be built stronger, because I'm certain I'd ruin one on contact.
- Girls who really really need to pee while out in the pasture can pee just like boys only with poorer aim. Who knew?
- Smelling like a wet goat is every bit as bad as you think it is.



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