The Saga of the Randy Old Goat

In the hope that it may have been a wealthy customer I used my best Barnes Bay Villa voice in answering it, only to be greeted by an anguished wail from our neighbour Phyllis relating how a neighbours old Billy Goat  had got loose & was demolishing the trees she had just planted. Phyllis mentioned that it had a bad reputation & she was scared to go & sort it out.

As the goats owner was not at home, I bravely volunteered to go over and assist.

I should mention that I am not renown for my skills in animal husbandry.

Arming myself with an old spade I ventured over the road, anticipating that I would shoo the Beast back home, & do something with it in a firm, but quiet and heroic manner.

This casual approach was short lived, as on approaching the house in a nonchalant manner, there was a loud clatter of hooves over Phyllis’ verandah decking, & I was attacked by this hairy long horned beast about the size of a small Shetland pony. This unprovoked frontal charge rapidly dispelled my heroic intentions.

Hoping that the old spade would act as a symbol for warding off evil spirits, I valiantly waved it at the goat while shouting encouraging words to the effect that it should desist and go home.

This did not work.

Phyllis was a great help looking out the window & laughing at my valiant efforts.

The goat persisted in its attack, which took place in the car port, and I was prompted to extend my dissuasion attempts by using my evil spirit wand in a more practical manner - by belting the goat over the head with it.

This did not work either, as the bloody thing redoubled its efforts to get at me.

On the fourth stroke I missed, hit the ground, and broke the handle of the spade. I felt rather foolish, and the goat had a gleam of victory in its eyes.
Phyllis yelled out that her car was unlocked, but the door behind me wasn’t.

The goat and I had a short game of rounders as I dived for sanctuary on the drivers side. I won, as I was narrower than the goat & could fit around the front of the car but it could not. By the time The Beast had doubled around the back of the car, I was securely shut in side clutching the broken spade handle. The Beast showed remarkable persistence by climbing up the doors on both sides and slavering all down the windows, especially when I partly wound one down to discuss matters of state with Phyllis, who was making raucous laughing noises in the safety of her house.

I felt a small twinge of satisfaction when the goat raced over to charge the window she was yelling from, which caused her to beat a hasty retreat accompanied by much slamming of windows.

Stale mate. Phyllis had the house; I had the car, & the goat was in control of Barnes Bay !

We formed a long range Committee & decided to see if Steve Hood was home and had a gun. He wasn’t, but Phyllis yelled out that Roz was coming over. I yelled back that I hoped she was driving a tank to relieve the siege of Barnes Bay, as she is a petite blonde that I was sure the Beast would find most attractive.

By the time Roz arrived, on foot and unarmed other than carrying a bucket of food and a length of rope, The Beast had ambled off to continue its garden demolition activities, & I had bolted into the house (to comfort Phyllis of course).

Roz made depreciatory noises about my efforts, walked up to the goat, grabbed it by its horns & told me to tie it up with the long length of chain it had been dragging around. I did not feel at all heroic at this stage.

She said randy old goats often behaved that way & it was probably only in love with me. There was certain physical evidence that she may have been right, but I had no intentions of carrying animal husbandry to that extent.

As we ambled off leaving the goat to take out its frustrations on the adjoining shrubbery, Phyllis was rehearsing quietly the various matters she was going to discuss with the owners of The Beast (including my broken spade).

Never a dull moment at Barnes Bay.

Dunky.