Years ago - I think the boys were 3 and 5 years old. We were out walking - got to train 'em young you see! Our foot path was meandering lazily along through farm lands as we happily strolled in early summer sunshine. We were almost finished our walk with only a few fields to go. We followed the path as it entered a little farm house huddled by winter blown trees and as we drew closer we could see a goat grazing on the toy strewn back lawn. The stone stile dropped us directly into the back garden where we were instantly spotted by the goat.
Hello bleated cute little goat (CLG) resplendent in shiny red collar.
.....Nice to see you, you look good enough to gently head butt
We all decided, that yes CLG was indeed cute and little and a goat.
We had lessons - "boys - this is a goat, only a little one and definitely cute, now say hello, then say good bye and lets carry on with our walk".
Lesson over, boys happy, sun shining, pathway beckoning, we carried on over the farm's lawn, carefully stepping over toys and balls. CLG trotted ahead of us bleating....
this way, this way, this is the pa-a-a-aa-aaath you need, come along now, c'mon
We dutifully followed for indeed CLG was leading us out of his garden. And yes he was correct, there in front of us was the stile into the fields. We were of course impressed with his manners and his courtesy. CLG hopped on the stile (the first warning tingle appeared) and tipped toed through and turned around baa-ing encouragement....
thaaa-aaa-a-a-t's it, this wa-a-a-ay..... this waaa-a-a-a-a-ay......
The boys squealed with delight at this but Himself and I both had simultaneous thoughts,
*hope this cute goat doesn't come any further*
(further warning tingles were coming good and fast)
Moments later, CLG dropped down, on-the-other-side, and clipperty-clopperty trotted through the field bleating a constant stream of instructions and encouragement. We looked ahead of him and saw the path lead directly to a gate. Phew..... this was obviously his field and could pop into his owners garden. Things were looking up. Himself, ever the man and taking the situation by the horns (erm sorry about the pun) stood firm as I ushered the boys through the gate. Himself drawing up looking tall and fiercesome stared firmly at CLG and told him to go home.
CLG cocked his head sideways, gave Himself a funny little goat look, and....
Excuse me, he bleated, move alo-o-o-o-ong, move along
Himself was still standing firm, began to back away, not losing eye contact with said CLG (rapidly losing cute status), and reversed through the gate, which was duly slammed shut with a triumphant gleam in his eye. He almost slapped his hands together in a satisfied way but......
How ru-u-u-uuuu-uuuude grumbled CLG......
.....as he 'klip-springed' up onto the wall, and gave Himself a severe looking at - at eye level. With a firm 'ignore him boys' we set off, through the field, our lazy stroll becoming a bit of a yomp. The boys thought this was excellent fun and giggled and clapped hands each and every time we hurtled over a stile or through a gate only to be raced and beaten by CLG. We were not so much as being followed as we were following him!!
By the time we had reached the farm edge, Himself had had enough and bodily picked up CLG (definitely not cute at all now) and put him back over the final wall issuing instructions for us to get moving up the lane and get to the car. However, we were beaten to it............by a rather completely-not-cute-any-more little goat.
We had been outwitted. Himself decided that we would return the sodding goat (his words) to the farm by car. This was the pinnacle of excitement to the boys who clambered in and were helped by a horrible little goat to eat their sandwiches. It's bovidae little face grinning triumphantly at our puny human efforts to out manoeuvre this cloven hoofed creature.
Himself with white knuckle clenched hands gripped the steering wheel as we drove up the farm's lane, that !/**|> goat happily sitting in the boot with it's head leaning between the boys, all three of them chewing......
We reached the farm (for the second time) and we turfed the goat out, marched up to the door and knocked on it. After a moment or two a rather harassed woman appeared.
"Sorry to bother you," I started, "but we were followed by your goat, right down to the bottom of the lane, we have returned it in our car.................."
She looked over our shoulders to that infernal creature, still bleating happily, still chewing the last remenants of the boys sandwiches, and said.............
"Do you want it?"
I don't think we could get off the farm quick enough...................... suffice to say, we've not walked on that path since.
