Flashlight Farmers
Getting My Goat
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    I would love to be considered the (s)hero of the universe.  Unfortunately, I have an information disclosure problem.  I give too much of it and effectively perform my own character assassination on a regular basis. Oh well, human fallacy makes a much better story than a litany of triumph.
   My remaining baby goat was languid and lonely after the death of her companion.  I called the goat man and asked if he had another nanny baby for sale.  I admit that I lied to him before he lied to me.  I didn't tell him I was taking nanny-baby to the home of a murderous dog, even if I do have a fence worthy of Fort Knox now.  I claimed I'd found you can't split two goats between three grandchildren, so I needed another pet.  He promised to bring the nanny baby to the flea market.
   Goat man sent his daughter, goat girl, to the flea market.  I told her I was there to pick up another nanny baby.  She said, "I got a nanny pygmy, but she's full grown.  Then I got me some Arpachee's back there."  I told her I didn't even know what an Arpachee was (might have been that I couldn't understand the Tennessee twang).  She explained, "They got no ears".  I wasn't sure I wanted a defective goat with no ears, nanny baby or not, but I was curious to see one.  Two little goat babies with elfin ears were lying in the cage.  She swore they'd grow up to be "pretty good sized goats" and I wasn't interested in the adult pygmy.  So I chose the brown one.
     As she was loading the goat into a crate, I made a disturbing discovery.  The goat seemed to be endowed with something that's not standard equipment on a nanny.  "Uh….did I just buy a billy goat?" I asked like the city-slickin' fool I am.
     "Yeah, he's a billy.  Real nice little fella.  He won't give you no trouble," she assured me as she closed the door on the crate.  I didn't want a billy; they get stinky and sometimes mean as they get older.  (Hmmm…kind of like some men I've known.)  But this was a goat emergency.  I had to have a goat and I had to have it right fast.  Oops.  Spent too much time with goat girl.  I'm starting to sound like her.  So that's how I ended up driving home   with a billy goat in the back of my truck.
    His name is Goober; 'cause that's how I felt, shopping for a nanny and coming home with a billy goat.

Monday August 21, 2006


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