Goats are a problem in my yard from time to time. Neighbors have goats. They come into my yard looking for food. My flowers are food. So I run after goats from time to time. Most often, they get away. If I am able to catch one, I'll tape its horns or legs with duck tape so that the owner knows he was at my place.
Yesterday I was rehearsing the band. I stepped outside, score in hand, to get something from my house. I saw a goat wandering deeper and deeper into my yard. I walked slowly behind him. He didn't run, so I kept closing in. He headed right where I wanted him to head...into the most secure isolated corner of the yard. I had him!
As he ran up against the fence, I grabbed back leg number one. He leapt up, but went nowhere. I grabbed back leg number two. Then I got a front leg. My music score was still in hand as well.
As I lifted him upside down and began carrying him, something seemed wrong. He was easy to catch. And there was a smell. I looked down at my upside down goat. He was looking up at me. Goats are not dogs. Their faces are...almost demonic. Horns. Weird eyes. This goat had a bloody mouth. He had apparently had a battle with some cactus days earlier. There was blood. There was stench of rotting flesh. And there was no bleating. The thing just looked at me...bloody and grotesque. A horror movie in my hands.
The smell and the sight make me wince as I type this right now. I may have bad dreams about this goat. That face. That smell.
He bled on my music score. I had to trash that.
Next time I run after a goat, I plan on getting a good look first. I don't want any more scary goat stories. I'd prefer the tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago instead....to quote a song.
I'm gonna go wash my hands again right now.
Missionary in Haiti.