A Goat Story

         Good Morning,

       Enjoying another easy morning at MRF!  The horses and goats had spring shots yesterday.  Unfortunately, Joshua had a bit of a belly ache or colic last night as a reaction to his.  10 cc's of Banamine and a good night's rest has perked him up this morning and all is well in the barn once again.  

       Today's excerpt from Finding My Way to Moose River Farm is a humorous story about a goat.  Pierre was the resident goat at a barn that I boarded my horse, Promise, in when I was seventeen.  His goatie antics weren't always appreciated by the other boarders, understandably.  My best horsy friend, Lori Alosi, (who just visited us at MRF with her husband Randy, two weekends ago), and I had many great adventures together as kids.  This....however, wasn't necessarily one of them.

Pierre

          In addition to the five horses, there was a large wether, or neutered male goat left behind by the fleeing trainer and his girlfriend.  Pierre became my best friend.  Unfortunately, his goatiness was not appreciated by anyone else at the barn.  Where horses are friendly and follow your lead, waiting to be told what to do, goats are dictators who behave based on their own needs, rarely considering others in the decisions they make.  But they are full of fun and I have always been partial to those characteristics that make a goat, a goat.  Pierre realized that I understood goats.  He followed me frequently out into the cornfields on foot or behind Promise as I rode.  I made an effort everyday to spend quality time with him, allowing him to roam freely around the barn and property while I rode or worked with Promise.  Of course he urinated and dispensed an endless trail of ‘nanny raisins’ all over the barn floor usually just after it had been swept.  He stood on top of tack boxes where the boarders kept their horse supplies, and if the spirit moved him, peed a huge puddle on top. It’s not surprising that he was the least favorite animal on the farm.

One day I convinced Lori, now with her own driver’s license, to take him with us in her car to McDonalds where we planned to pick up lunch.  Reluctantly, she agreed, (her tack box was a frequent victim).  Pierre seemed pleased with her decision to join us for the ride and willingly jumped into the backseat of Lori’s old station wagon.  The minute the window was put down a bit, Pierre, stuck his head out and enjoyed the breeze that blew his ears straight back. 

“Blah, blah, blaaaah,” he bleated to every passing motorist. 

Our plan was to use the McDonald’s drive-thru so we didn’t have to leave Pierre alone in the car.  Of course the reaction from the employee was exactly what we had hoped for.  She called all of her colleagues to come and have a look at the unusual customer in the drive-thru window.  They gave Pierre a complimentary apple pie which he devoured eagerly.  Next he tried to join Lori in the driver’s seat to see if any more apple pies were forthcoming.  She held her temper while she shoved him back into his seat.  Then she gave me the ‘why did we bring him with us’ face. 

Back to the barn we drove, less than two miles away.  Of course just as Lori signaled a right turn into the barn driveway, Pierre felt an urge and began to pee all over the backseat.  If you know anything about goats it is that they urinate and immediately follow this elimination by dispensing fifty little ‘raisins’ as well.  This may have been the first time that Lori was truly mad at me and rightly so.  Thirty years later we laugh about it, but it was no laughing matter each time she pointed out the lingering stench that plagued that old station wagon for the rest of its existence.  

Pierre visiting in my family's kitchen!