Soooo... three hours after my last entry, there's a knock on my door. It's Jessica, back from her ride, with a billy goat on the end of her lead roap. It followed her home from a mile away.
"I don't know what to do with him," she whined.
"Well, you can't leave him here, Cliff hates goats!"
It seems she saw this cute little goat in a pen at the old Yackley place and figured she'd let 'Tude get acquainted with him by touching noses with him. The goat, having no companions except chickens and ducks, decided to go with his new-found friend, so he jumped the fence and followed. All goats are adept at jumping fences, killing fruit trees by eating the bark, and climbing on new cars to put dents in them.
Jessica and I, together, got him in the back of her very high-off-the-ground four-wheel-drive pickup, and I sat there and held onto his stinking horns while she drove us to the goat's home. Why do his horns stink? Because he pees on them all day, hoping to smell attractive to some nanny goat.
Just another episide of my country life.
Excuse me, I have to take a shower. I smell like a goat.