When You’re Wrong, You’re *WRONG*….How I Was Nearly Killed Today.

The morning after I brought Calypso home, I noticed that she’s lame; her rear right leg is heavily favoured. We’ll never know if this happened whilst she was on the lam (<giggles> I amuse myself…), or if she injured herself destroying Nancy’s garage/prison, but one way or another, I’ve got to baby her until it heals. Which is why what I did today was just stupid beyond imagining. Like, STOOpid stupid. After doing my best leaving her alone to settle in and calm down this past week, I threw her down and pinned her yesterday to take care of her hooves, check her teeth out, spray her down for lice, and feel her up for broken bones or dislocations, and she let me do it all without too much of a fight. All is well. So, today seemed like a perfectly good day – being that it was warm enough to sit out in the orchard for longer than an hour without wanting to cry – to let Butch get close enough to do more than sniff out the new nanny. Oh, dear GOD in Heaven, was I mistaken.

See, I’m twelve. I don’t give a flying rat’s ass how many bullshit mailings the AARP sends me, saying that I’m now allegedly ancient enough to qualify for Old People’s Insurance plans, I’m *twelve*. Get it? End of story. But there are days when my fat, overheated, perpetually injured body swears otherwise, and a day like today, when the ground is slick and soggy from snowmelt, and I’m on an inclined patch of pasture that’s been chewed down to nubbins, just happens to be one of those days. Seems like an ideal offortunity [sic] to try and get myself killed. And I didn’t make it up to the orchard to do it, either. Actually, I didn’t even get more than twenty feet from the damned barn.

So, there I am, thinking I’m being so freaking smart about this; I clipped a grazing line around my waist, and hooked the other end of it to Calypso’s collar so that she couldn’t bolt whilst my hands were free, and then I started dragging her slowly up the hill (I’ve become convinced that she might be half mule; she does such a great impression of one) and, just as I’m thinking I’ve got this shit under control, Butch busts clean off his line up above and comes screaming, googly-eyed down the hillside like his hair is on fire. Of course, this startles the still-skittish nanny goat, who takes off behind me and heads back in the general direction of the barn, yanking me off my feet and onto my back head first, whilst being simultaneously trampled by a sex-starved billie goat who seems to have forgotten who has thumbs and primary access to the big steel can filled with his coveted treats. Chickens scattered, dogs yelped and ran for cover. From there, it was just a noisy, screaming flurry of stabby horns and sharp, pointy hooves….I think I know now why Jesus likened the devil to a goat. I’ve met him, and he is pure hedonist evil.

So, then, holding on for dear life, trying – and not succeeding – to right myself and get the hell out of the way whilst Butch loses his everloving mind trying to mount the only woman standing [read: rolling in the mud] betwixt him and his future baby mama. Oh, dear GOD, put that back inside! I mean it! And stop kicking me, you dumbass!

Calypso, being the intelligent one in this three-way wrestling match, had the good sense to lie down, be still and play dead and I decided that this might be my only chance to avoid losing an eye, so I did the same. Butch turned away from me, and started pawing at what he hoped would be a match made in purgation, bleating and bawling at her limp carcass like a drunken, enraged linebacker trying to get it on with a coked-up stripper, then finally got bored, calmed down, and wandered off to graze. I decided that this was our chance to get the hell away from him…I thought wrong.

I’m covered in mud. My hair is plastered in mud, the right side of my face is caked in it, My clothes are heavy and wet. There’s even mud inside my barn boots. I’m going to have to hose myself and this stuff down before I put anything in the washer. So, I finally get my feet under me, and I’m so sore; I feel like I’ve been beaten with a shovel. That’s when I realised I was bleeding, as a hot, heavy stream trickled down the back of my head and down my neck, and I reached up to touch…that’s not blood. Oh, for fuck’s sake! I just got dumped on by a horny goat…AND HERE HE COMES AGAIN!

I heard the pounding hooves before I saw him and sat down hard just in time to miss being bowled over by the charging psycho maniac, who aggressively mounted the poor mewling Calypso, who stood up trembling, then cowered beside me, and then it happened….

Remember how I said I hate the smell of bucks? Yeah, well, this is why. That damned goat stood right beside me and sprayed me down like a overgrown tomcat. In the face. Repeatedly. >: (

So, there I am in the mud, rolled over on my belly, one goat hitched to my waist, one grasped by his broken tether in one hand, covered in mud, semen, blood and fresh, potent goat stench, gagging, nose pouring, hurling and dry-heaving on my hands and knees – Baby whining at a safe distance after I yelled at him to stay away – stinging onion tears rolling down my icky face where I’d been caught by one particularly nasty stream of naughty. Asphyxiation. Oh, my Lord, it reeks! The humanity! Have you been saving this up??? What the everloving hell??? Your treats are gone for a month, Mister! No more molasses balls or gumdrops for you! Damned billie goat….

I layed in the mud for what felt like eternity, gulping in deep hoarse gobs of damp air, trying to catch my breath to not be sick, and snapped a couple of photos (Nancy asked for them) before I tied that bastard to a nearby branch and limped down behind the house with Calypso in tow. I stripped out of my clothes and tethered her to the T-post I drove in last Spring so that I can find the septic vent in tall grass, before pulling the cover off and jumping into the clean, cold cistern above…I’ll bleed and flush it out tomorrow; it shouldn’t be this full anyway, with snow on the way…. I’ve never been so grossed out in my life.

I’ve decided that I’m going to keep the nanny here for a few days, right outside my back bedroom window where I can keep an easy close eye on her whilst we both recover from our shared trauma; the grass is tall and lush here over the leach field, and will keep her busy, happy and quiet whilst the weather holds. I’ve been supplementing her pasture with alfalfa pellets and sweet feed spiked with rolled oats, sea salt and extra molasses to boost her minerals and put some fast fatty weight on her before it gets really cold. I’m just dumbfounded that a beast who can’t possibly weigh more than forty pounds managed to knock me clean off my feet. I’m going to have to work more on my strength and balance, because I want her to weigh in at a solid 70 – 80 pounds by Spring, and I’m not keen on getting dragged around. No one needs to be sickly, here; I can’t afford the vet bill, or an emergency room visit, for that matter. Not only that, but I intend on making buddy-buddy with this willful thing over the Winter, and the next time she gets charged by an oversexed buck, I expect her to kick his fool ass, preferably before I get used as a boot-scraped doormat. Damned smelly goat….

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