Being home during the day for Christmas vacation, I’m being entertained by all the animals in the neighborhood. Here’s a sample viewing … I watched my neighbors’ pair of pet goats sneak over to my backyard this morning, and the scene went like this.
“George, I don’t think you should … really, that horse looks rather cross … George!”
“Oh Ethel don’t be such a chicken. Come on. The electric isn’t on.”
“Well … OK … where did you go through? Right HERE EEEEEEEEE!!!!”
“I thought you said it WASN’T ON!”
“Sorry. I didn’t get shocked, guess you have to just duck a little faster.”
“GEORGE.”
“Sorry.”
“Uh oh, here comes that horse! Oh my! He’s wearing a TENT. Do you see that? He doesn’t look anything like our horses! He’s WAAAAY bigger. But his hay sure smells good. Come on, Ethel, smell that nice hay over there. Let’s go eat it!”
“George, that horse is awfully big. I’m staying out here and watching in case the Jack Russell Terrorist comes out of the house. You know they come out of no where and are very fast.”
“Ethel, you’re afraid of everything. MMMMmmmm. Just taste that hay. I think it’s timothy. Good stuff. (munch, munch)”
“George, I’m heading back. I think I see the Jack Russell Terrorist now.”
“George. GEORGE!”
“Mmmm. Mmmmm. Really good. Mmmm.”
“GEORGE!!!!!”
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…” I think you can sort of put the rest in your head – one bad Standardbred bay gelding, with a “tent” flapping (blanket) goes after the male goat, who heads quickly to the part of the fence he has slid under to get in.
Yes, the electric is indeed on, and yes, he gets shocked, bawls, jumps, runs and heads back. His mate looking on has already dived for the cover of their pen with the Jack Russell hot on her heels, and they nearly collide with each other trying to jump back into their pen. They hit the wire, tangle, and about 60 feet rip with a zing out of the insulators. The Jack Russell is delighted with the chaos. The barking wakes the dead.
Back on my side, the horse wheels, does a 180 and squirts off bucking in the opposite direction upon hearing the fence ripping, comes down on his front heel and rips off a shoe which goes careening 50 feet in the air, pinging against the side of the tin-sided barn sounding like a gunshot. The Jack Russell yelps, tucks tail, runs for the porch. The goats make for the safety of the home base. The horse now running full tilt kettles all other horses on the property and now we have a pasture-tearing fest as the draft cross lumbers about after the 17-hand Thoroughbred skimming the corners, throwing clods.
The neighbors on the other side have two sedentary and ancient Arabians who can barely move; they watch with lazy interest until one of the draft crosses’ turns on the circuit around the field throws some mud clods over to their fenceline. Off they hobble with as much gusto as they can manage, but fling up their heads and tails to show their disgust.
The red-breasted hawk perched on the tallest fence post watches all with aplomb. Although she did swoop down and check out a dark mud clod…thinking it was a rat or mole, I assume. In the barn, the cats dove for cover when the shoe hit the side and it’s my bet they won’t be out for dinner.
All of this happened within a ten minute span of time and I didn’t even get my second boot on before the uproar was done, and all that was left was:
12 muddy dirt clods, 11 holes in the pasture, 10 yards of fence wire, 9 broken insulators, eight minutes of screaming, seven cats a hiding, six feet of skid marks, five broken boards — four huffing pasture puffs, three hooves with shoes, two defiant goats and a Jack Russell Terrorist on the porch!
Bad goats!
