Monday, February 13, 2017

Maybe Now Farmer H Can Understand That Goats Are A Pain In The A55

Let the record show that our days of having 11 goats are gone. They were fun while they lasted, I guess. It all started with a lone goat that Farmer H brought home from the auction. That's back when the auction could still sell live animals, and his lady Chinese buddy bought ducks for consumption. Then somebody dropped a dime on them, and no more animals, due to it being unregulated, and somebody could have been mistreating the animals, and then I guess the next step would be Sarah McLachlan showing up to sing about them. Nobody wanted that.

I will admit that there's not much cuter than a baby goat, just born, the size of a rabbit, carried into the Mansion in the crook of Farmer H's elbow. Gotta be quick, though, because when it starts bleating, the momma might just ram through the front door. And those triplet babies were the cutest thing ever.

Still, Farmer H traded off some of the goats, two of them for the mini pony, sold some more, and kept only the first one and old Longhorn and Nellie, the special favorite.


Let's just say that MOST of them died a peaceful natural death, from old age.

Farmer H brought home a new goat when we got Puppy Jack. It came with a leash, and had been walked around as a pet. Farmer H did that a couple of times, but Billy (original, eh?) lives in the goat pen now with Barry the mini pony.

When Farmer H is gone on his spy missions, I feed the animals. That goat grew up quite a bit between my feeding sessions. The last time I went over to feed, because Farmer H would be getting home from work after dark, Billy stood up and put his hooves on the top of the fence. He's pretty friendly. He's a white goat, but not long-haired like the one in the picture, our old Nellie, who kept getting her head stuck in the fence. (I put her picture here for blog buddy Sioux, a serious fan of goats and their mesmerizing rectangular pupils.)

Anyhoo...I reached over to pet Billy, as I've done in the past, and he tried to BITE me! Huh. I guess somebody is growing up and feeling his sweet feed. It happened again when I was digging fallen leaves out of their water tub with a stick. No need to go inside the pen when I can reach through from the chicken pen side. Billy came over to see what I was doing, and I reached my fingers through to pet him, and he tried to BITE me! Again! He looks so innocent and soft...

Today on the front porch pew after half a day of unscheduled work, and coming home early, and sitting on the Gator behind the garage to watch me walk my last driveway lap (I KNOW!)...Farmer H told me a story about what happened to him yesterday.

"I was in the goat pen, stacking wood. I'd trimmed up a bunch of them limbs that fell, and I was making a stack. Billy came over and reared up on his hind legs. He does that to play. HOS hunches his shoulders at him, and they play-fight. Billy butts at him like he does when Jack plays with him. But I don't do that with him. I told him to go on, and he walked off. I bent down to pick up some more wood, and next thing I know, Billy's buttin' me from behind. He stuck a horn up my butt!"

Okay. That's funny as Not-Heaven! I laughed out loud. I still chuckle when I think about it. Serves Farmer H right for keeping these animals and not letting them have companions to work out their animalness with.

"Don't laugh! It HURT! I turned around, and he stood up on his hind legs again, and I grabbed a stick and whacked him on the side of the head! He left me alone then."

I guess it's not polite to laugh at something like that. But it reminds me of the little banty rooster who HATED Farmer H, and took a flying leap at him every night he went to feed the chickens. A flying leap, leading with his gnarly rooster feet and spurs, aimed right at Farmer H's bulbous soft belly. Until the day Farmer H swung a blue plastic snow shovel at him, and almost hit a home run.

The more Farmer H is around the Mansion...the more stories like this I hope to hear.

5 comments:

Sioux said...

Oh, be sure to tell Farmer H that I too laughed at the idea of a goat horn up his anal sphincter. (You can always text it. It sounds like your phone's auto correct loves to get onto that subject. The subject of sphincter, not goats.)

The second-to-last paragraph also got a snort out of me. The "home run" bit was hilarious.

Yes. Don't forget to tell Farmer H he was the butt of our jokes...

fishducky said...

Looking forward to his retirement, when he'll be around full time?

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
That WAS quite a coincidence! Farmer H brought up his own rear violation.

That little rooster was speckled black-and-white, and had a matching hen. They pretty much kept to themselves, except when Farmer H went near the chicken pen. That rooster was out to get him. I saw it myself many times, but missed batting practice. That rooster with little-man-syndrome kinda had it coming to him. He was unharmed, but wary.

***
fishducky,
Oh. Does it show in my writing? I wear my heart on my fingertips.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

A good belly laugh is good for your health! I am feeling quite healthy! Thank Farmer H.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Kathy,
I guess Billy showed Farmer H the true meaning of a headBUTT.