The Goat: Chris’s Version

It’s always nice when you come up with a plan and it works out the way you hope it will.  I’m wise enough to know that’s not a realistic expectation 100% of the time.  I knew that 21 years ago when we took Billy home with us.  But having no experience with goats in my 38 years at that point in time, I was completely unprepared for the adventure Billy brought into our lives.

We had just moved to Maryland from Florida, courtesy of the US Navy.  It was August and school was about to start.  Our oldest, Jennifer, was having a difficult time with the move because she was about to start high school.  We had lived in Maryland once before and had just spent three years in Jacksonville, Florida where all three of our children had friends.  This kind of transition can be difficult at any age, but everything is a bigger challenge when you’re a teenager.  I knew this from experience.

Whose Idea Was This?

I don’t know whose idea it was to get a goat.  St. Mary’s County, like much of Maryland, is rural.  Farm animals aren’t a novelty – unless you’re city folk.  We had wanted a family dog for several years but had not felt our living arrangements were suitable up to this point.  We did have a cat – one with an attitude – and she was enough of a challenge when we were moving from state to state.  A goat actually seemed like a good idea considering we were living in house surrounded by more than two acres of grass.  Cutting the grass wasn’t what any of us thought of as fun, and it was a chore even when we only had about half an acre to maintain in Florida. 

After a week or two of making phone calls to feed stores and following other leads, we found Billy.  We had been looking for a pygmy goat, which would be about the size of a small dog, but discovered they were considered a novelty, and we weren’t prepared to spend $70 just then.  Billy was free, so we loaded up in our nearly brand-new minivan and went to see him.  He had been raised with two chocolate labs and seemed to have an agreeable disposition.  The current owners said Billy’s favorite treat was peanut butter dog biscuits.  Sounded like fun.  Little did we know!  Getting him into the van was an adventure for him as much as for us, I’m sure. 

We Are In Over Our Heads

It didn’t take long to realize we were in over our heads.  We tied Billy up with some nylon rope when we got home.  I don’t know what made us think that would hold him.  It didn’t take him long to chew through the rope to freedom.  Obviously, we needed something stronger to keep Billy in our yard where he belonged.  Did I mention that we lived next to a butcher?  What we really needed was a chain-link kennel, but that wasn’t in the budget at the moment, either.  Billy managed to escape from several different restraints that were truthfully meant for dogs. 

The moment that sealed Billy’s fate was most traumatic for one member of the family who literally went head-to-head with him.  Our daughter, Stephanie, the middle of our three children, was out in the back yard and became confronted, literally, with the reality that Billy was loose – AGAIN!  Apparently, Billy was looking for love in the wrong place and, unfortunately for Stephanie, she just happened to be there.  She managed to get Billy off her back – literally – and was standing in the yard holding onto his horns, screaming for help.  This is when I came into the family room and found my husband standing at the window laughing at Stephanie while she did battle with a crazed animal she did nothing to provoke. 

A Knight In Rusty Armour?

You could say I was a little upset!  This was not one of Stephanie’s father’s finest moments.  No shiny armor anywhere in sight!  No time to discuss his epic lack of judgment.  Stephanie needed help.  The way I remember the incident, it was her older sister, Jennifer, who ran outside and to Stephanie’s rescue.  I was hoping Dad was paying attention.  Somehow, Billy was distracted long enough for Stephanie to get away and no one was injured that I can remember.  Stephanie was most definitely traumatized, and it was no longer worth the risk to keep Billy around.

In Billy’s defense, it wasn’t his fault we were so ill-prepared to keep a goat.  He was following his instincts.  It was simply time for us to find him a new home where he could be himself.  We spent the next few weeks stopping in at various farms and asking around to see if anyone would take Billy.  Unfortunately, we met with the response over and over that one male goat was enough or one was not needed.  We had no choice but to keep looking. 

Surprise!

I rolled into the driveway one day with all three kids in the car and was greeted by our next-door neighbor.  The butcher.  I knew immediately that Billy was loose again.  Mr. Connelly was saying something as he approached, and it took me a minute to realize he was apologizing.  It took me another minute to realize that he was apologizing for having to shoot Billy.  He obviously felt terrible and was worried we were going to be angry.  When I finally put together in my mind what he was telling me, I was so relieved and told him, “Thank you,” for solving our problem for us.  In turn, it took Mr. Connelly a few minutes to realize I was not only not angry but that I was grateful for what he’d done. 

Thank You Mr. Connelly!

After he finished explaining that Billy had charged him and butted him in the knee and then went after his two grandsons, I felt awful that they had been terrorized by our pet experimentation.  I was, then, trying to apologize to Mr. Connelly and concerned that we would be paying for his next visit to the doctor.  Thankfully, I convinced Mr. Connelly that he had done us a favor, and he went back home to take care of his sore knee. 

When my husband got home, there was just one thing left to do.  We had to bury Billy.  Whether he is resting peacefully or not is unknown.  All I can say is that we were all resting much more peacefully after that last chore was done. 

I felt bad for Billy’s misfortune in being adopted by humans who were unable to give him a better home for the rest of his days.  Truthfully, I can’t say I missed him because I never really became attached to him.  We learned a few lessons the hard way from that whole experience, and I know I’ve apologized to Stephanie several times.  Thankfully, she doesn’t hold a grudge, and the whole family has a story to tell for our trouble.  There is no moral to this story.  It happened and we survived.  I guess it could have been worse, but I really don’t want to think about that.