We had goats. Or maybe I should say, we had a goat period in our lives. When the kids (not goat kids, our kids) were small, Stevie Wonder decided we needed goats to clear out the underbrush on our land. So he fenced it in, and began the period in our lives I call The Goat Chronicles.
We started with a couple females. One young, one older, borrowed from a herd that belonged to our brother in law's dad. Stevie being the Wonder he is, came up with some unique names for them. Southerners always name the things most important to them in their lives. Cars, kids (human), dogs, and of course, goats.
So we had Nanny. And Granny. Inventive names huh?
Then the neighbor's billy goat discovered the goat girls. And the trouble started. He would break into the fence, Steve would chase him back out, and repair the fence. He would break in again, and Steve would chase, and repair. This went on for some time.
Until one day Mr. Bill had enough. The day the kids (our kids) and I will never forget.
Mr. Bill arrived in the back yard.
(If you don't know anything about billy goats, let me tell you the most important thing to remember. They stink. To high heaven. To a girl goat, the smell is an aphrodisiac. To a girl human, it is abominable. Worse than a skunk.)
We knew Mr. Bill had arrived because we could smell him before we ever saw him. And we were inside the house.
Steve flipped out. (He has a very sensitive stomach, but that story is for another time.) So he decided to do what any red blooded Southern boy would do. He got his gun. His BB gun to be exact. (He wasn't aiming to kill the neighbor's goat, just convince him to go home.)
Out into the back yard went Steve, BB gun aimed, and started shooting Mr. Bill. In the buttocks. Mr. Bill started moving away. Steve kept shooting. Mr. Bill stopped. He'd had a gut full (translation> he's had enough). Steve stopped. Mr. Bill turned around, stood on his hind legs, cocked his head at Steve and charged. At that point, Steve used the BB gun to push him down.
Mr. Bill stood up. On his hind legs, and cocked his head sideways again. Steve used commando tactics at that point. He whopped Mr. Bill in the head with the barrel of the BB gun (bending said barrel and rendering gun useless at that point).
Mr. Bill stopped, shook his head. Then stood up on his hind legs (again), cocked his head sideways (again), and charged Steve. Steve used survival tactics at that point.
He ran. Right out of his flip flops and down the path to his mother's house. Without a backward glance.
Had he glanced back he would have seen this:
The billy goat standing in the yard watching him run. (Mr. Bill had stopped after about 20 feet.) And the kids (human kids) and I standing on the porch bent over double laughing our heads off.
...end of part one of the goat chronicles...stay tuned...