The goat story.

My husband has never liked mowing the lawn. It’s just one of those things that he procrastinates about.
So after nearly getting a divorce over the state of the lawn and him not wanting to spend any money getting the mower fixed (yet again) or paying someone else to come cut the grass, my husband in his infinite wisdom came up with another one of his great ideas.

“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed beaming with excitement.
“We’ll get a goat!”

So off he whisked us to a local animal park where they had a selection of young goats for sale.
After having carefully chosen one, a female (as the males pee over themselves we discovered)and a very pretty brown goat she was too, extremely affectionate also as they were used to people feeding and petting them at the park, he bundled her into the back of the station wagon amidst my protests of “I really don’t think this is such a good idea darling.”

“It’ll be fine, you watch !” said he, chuffed with his wonderful plan.

The whole way home, the goat, who was not very happy about being thrown in this moving metal box, bleated constantly and popped pellets from her behind at machine gun speed.
I sat in the front seat and said nothing.

Upon arriving home my husband led the goat straight out to the backyard where he immediately began plucking up huge handfuls of lush green grass, waving it enthusiastically in front of the goats nose.

“See…nice green grass especially for you…go ahead, eat ALL you want!” he crooned.
But the goat just stood there looking up at her new master, nuzzling his hand and rubbing up against his knees in adoration.

The two dogs, curious about this strange looking creature in their territory began sniffing around her with interest,barking in excitement when she turned to face them.
Suddenly the goat, perhaps feeling threatened, proceeded to back up a little ways and then went flying at the dogs, her head bent low in an attempt to head butt them over the fence.
She would have succeeded ( they were only little dogs) had I not intercepted the attack!

“Maybe we should lock the dogs up…put them in the bathroom for now, until she settles in a bit.” suggested my husband after the goats third attempt to send them sailing into the neighbours backyard.

“Let’s go inside and let her explore the new environment” he said.

The minute the laundry door closed a most horrific sound began.
The goat, discovering her beloved master was out of sight began bleating hysterically,pounding her hooves on the back door in desperate panic.
“Let me in, let me in, by the hair of my chinny chin chin!”

My husband rushed back to the door in alarm and went out to comfort her.

This was repeated seventeen times.

Eventually he managed to quiet her by sitting on the laundry floor, with the door slightly ajar, petting her head…but that was as far as she would allow him to “leave” her.

“Are you going to sit there all night dear? I asked after an hour of watching him try to shut the door only to have the hysterical bleating resume.
(By this stage all the neighbourhood dogs were howling and barking each time the goat started up, and I was very worried that the neighbours would start complaining.)

“Well, maybe JUST for tonight she can sleep in the kitchen.” he said eventually.
“We can’t have her bleating all night like this now can we?”

A bed was made for the goat in the corner of the kitchen and a makeshift barricade erected between the kitchen and the lounge room to keep her off the carpet.

“I promise, I’ll clean up the mess in the morning” he said.

The goat bleated quietly from the kitchen a few times but after a few minutes seemed to settle down.
We sat down to watch a little TV.

Next minute this THING came flying into the lounge room!

“Jesus! Did you see that…It jumped over the barricade!” Said my husband struggling to push the goat off his lap, where it was trying to snuggle in.

For the next hour we built the barricade higher and higher, even using the erected ironing board, but each time the nimble footed mountain goat backed up as far as she could go and simply catapulted herself over the objects.
Well I’d had enough. This was ludicrous!

“You’ll have to damn well sleep in the kitchen WITH the goat if any of us are going to get any sleep tonight!” I said angrily.
“I’m going to bed !”

The last thing I heard before I fell asleep was the spare mattress being dragged into the kitchen.
I didn’t envy him. It was the middle of Winter, bitterly cold and the lino floor would not be a pleasant place to bunk down.

Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke to a quiet little noise coming from the other side of my bedroom.
It sounded like something was in my wardrobe scratching around.
Alarmed I fumbled for the light switch on my bedside table lamp but to my relief I saw it was my husband hunched over, half in, half out the wardrobe.

“What on earth are you doing !”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” he said rummaging around in the drawers.

“But what are you doing!” I asked again.

And with that he sheepishly stood up shivering slightly pointing to what I realized then were his soaking wet clothes, and said…

“I woke up and the bloody goat was in bed with me…and it’s pissed and shit all OVER me!”

Well, needless to say the goat was returned to the animal park the next morning, my husband explaining awkwardly that he’d had to sleep with her to keep her quiet, …and that the neigbours would not approve… Much to the confusion I’m sure of the goat farmer who was much too polite to ask any further questions.

And now?
Now we PAY someone to come and mow the lawns and my husband doesn’t complain one bit about this arrangement.

Advertisements

About Tracy Lundgren

I am a people watcher,life observer, nature lover, spiritual seeker loving this crazy wild ride that life is taking me on. I am still a blank piece of paper waiting to be filled and that is good.
This entry was posted in Humour and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s