Different Cultures,

The Attack Goat, Part II

Billy the attack goat is really starting to make me mad. Please know, those aren't my exact thoughts, but that's what I'm writing because this blog is rated G.
To fully understand this entry, you must read my previous note.
Billy (i have no idea why this is now bold print) is safe, secure and very comfortable tonight. Meantime, I'm barely back at the ranch.
We're getting some much needed rain today. In fact, it's been raining since sunrise. It's the slow, steady type. I can almost hear the plant life sighing with relief.
But back to Billy.. I went to feed & water him today. Keep in mind, I won't go near him without weapons of mass destruction.
I told the previous blog story to my friend, the goat's owner. He said, "just give him some hay @ the front of the trailer. He'll leave you alone."
Great advice. Good stuff. It could work.. if it weren't raining like the Amazon rain forest out here today. If you've ever lived in a region with loose soil I bet you know where I'm going.
I got the hay. No problem. Then, I drove my truck to Billy's trailer. I had no worries til' zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. That's the sound of my tires spinning in west Texas mud.
"Okay, no big deal. I have four wheel drive," I thought. Not so. I put my truck in 4x drive and nothing. I mean nothing! Mud was going everywhere. My rpm's were up around one million and I was sitting still.
Forward, reverse, forward, reverse... NOTHING!!! Dang goat, I yelled. Then, I remembered; I have thumbs--he's a goat.
I tried another gear. That worked a little. I tried more forward, reverse, forward, reverse... finally, I felt some movement. I think I backed up 50-yards. Then, I drove out to the highway.
The "Readers' Digest" version is, I got free. I walked about 100-yds through mud while wearing flip flops to Billy's trailer.
Do you know that this goat, rared up @ me inside his trailer. I think he was saying, "you're late!!!"
Ah ha! I have hay! So, I slipped the hay through the slots @ the front of the trailer, thinking this will keep you dinner on four legs busy for a few minutes.
Well, not so! He ate for as long as it took me to open the trailer to reach his water pale and food bucket. That's when he made a dash for the exit sign.
Fortunately for me, I grabbed the water pale and food bucket and slammed the gate. Kaboooom! Billy hit the gate full force.
By this time, I'm cussin' in a foreign language. It's raining. I'm soaked. My feet are covered in mud. And like salt on a wound, I have this maniac Billy that's really upset that I'm late with supper.
Long story short is, I shooed him away from the gate long enough to slip in his
water and food buckets.
I left him eating and drinking like a single guy at happy hour. Meantime, I tredged back through the mud, in my flip flops, to my truck on the highway.
Again, Billy doesn't speak spanish. Can you say cabrito!!
Bill Robertson
Mgr., Windmill Ranch Preserve
325.573.1200

Billy, The Attack Goat

I got attacked by a billy goat and escaped by the skin of my teeth. That's not exactly true, but it is a great lead sentence. Afterall, I was a broadcast journalist for 16 years.
Here's the story. A good friend of mine asked me to take care of his billy goat for a short time. We have an old pen, full of weeds. This friend and I thought it would work perfectly for a big billy. And, it did for a few days.
Billy, as I call him between cuss words, ate every weed in sight. He cleaned his plate like I had to at military school in San Antonio many, many years ago.
Unfortunately, Billy wasn't satistified with just weeds. I took him water the other morning and he head butted the metal mesh gate. I noticed it was loose, but didn't really give it a second thought, until later morning while driving into town.
I left the ranch via our south gate over the cattle guard, rattle-bump-thump-rattle-rattle, and turned east toward town. All was good, until I got to the corner that we call Randals' Corner.
There was Billy, trotting alongside the highway toward town. He was even in the correct lane, just 'cruising' toward town. I passed him doin' 70 mph, hit the brakes and made a U-turn.
I'll be if that Billy didn't stop, turn, look both ways, cross the road and trot over to my truck--now parked west on the shoulder.
"Good boy" I said to myself. "Hey, you're kind of ugly cute," I remember saying out loud. Slowly, but surely he began to lope toward me. "Okay, this might be easier than I think. Granted, I needed to be in town 15-minutes ago, but Billy's cooperating," I thought.
Well sure enough, Billy followed me like my dog Lola. I mean he even heeled like a good hunting dog. "Geez, this is Monday and this goat's following me like I'm the most important thing in his world. This is EASY!" I almost shouted.. really.
It's a this moment that Billy showed his true colors. It was then, I made a mistake that really could of cost me a scrape or two. It was then, Billy proved why I have thumbs and he's a goat.
I made the mistake of thinking, "good goat, you're a good boy, I kind of like you." I made the mistake of reaching down and giving him a 'good boy' pat on the head.
He didn't like that one bit. He first swung his head to his left, then to his right and BAM! He hit me mid thigh with his big, ole head. I flew about five feet. Thank goodness I'm fleet of foot. Otherwise, I would have landed on my fanny instead of my feet.
Then, he rared up on his hind legs, threw his head back and tried to charge me. He did charge me. But, I dodged him like a matador dodges a charging bull. He missed me by a hair.. a goat hair.
At this point, I began walking very briskly back to my truck. Unfortunately, he began walking briskier. So, I began running. Keep in mind, I haven't run since the 80s, that's the 1980s. Specifically, I last ran in 1988 around the track in Ada, Oklahoma. That's another story.
I think at this point, Billy said to himself--'hmm, I got him in my sights. I'll give him a little lead and then charge." He did charge, but unfortunately for him I used my old high school football know-how to veer around the truck and jump into my truck. Billy could only stand and look at me through the window. Again, I have thumbs. He's a goat.
"What now," I asked myself. It didn't take long to realize that I wasn't getting out my truck ever again around this goat. So, I just began driving, slowly back to his holding pen. But, I knew he'd get out again.
That's when I had my farm animal epiphany. That is, open his trailer, get back in the truck and see what happens.
Well low and behold, Billy made a beeline for the trailer and began eating some old grain. That single move gave me enough time to bolt him in and take a deep breath.
Now, Billy's holded up in a trailer fit for a king. Everyday, I carefully open his trailer, shoo him back with anything I can find, water him and feed him.
It's obvious to me this goat doesn't speak spanish. Otherwise, he'd know the definition of Cabrito!
Bill Robertson
Mgr., Windmill Ranch Preserve
325.573.1200

Cows in the road and other stuff

Hi everybody! It's been a long, long time since I sat down to write a ranch blog. Excuses are like backsides, everyone has one and they all smell, so I won't waste your time.
It's been a whirlwind since my last entry. I don't know how many of you know, but besides our normal and extreme ranch adventures--we've also began renovating an historic hotel in downtown Snyder.
Rumor has it that the site is legendary from land deals (both good and bad), a west Texas 'red light district', and even shootings. It's called the Manhattan.
The name is kind of confusing because we're about as far from New York as we are from the moon. The name comes from the 1950s. As the story goes, a young man lived at the hotel for a short while. He left for his honeymoon. But on this normal exciting adventure, he died. Word of the man's death eventually filtered back to town. At the time, the proprietor of the hotel was folding one of the man's shirts, made by the Manhattan Shirt Company, hence the name.
So as you can see, when you have stories like that, it can get pretty busy and that's not even @ the ranch.
As for the Windmill Ranch Preserve, let me update you on the projects and there are many. First of all, we're on the verge of putting in our vineyard. That's right, a little vino in west Texas. Plus, we're on the cusp of starting our new garden. We've made some adjustments. Our veggie garden is now behind our kitchen. Our previous garden will be reserved for cut flowers. We're also very near adding a small herd of cattle. This is a funny story.
We're working with a young man out of Fort Stockton. He wants the run cattle. We want to eventually offer roundups. The funny part is; we won't have any black cows.
Now before you think this is a racist cowboy thing, it's not.
We asked the wrangler, Josh, why not Black Angus? He said he didn't like black cows. We asked why, presuming something scientific. He say, you can't see 'em. So, we're having red cows.
We've had a lot of great parties out here. We were swamped over the holidays. Loads of fun! Now, we're ready to take on the wedding season.
I could go on and on and on, but let's leave it at, we're very busy at the ranch.
Come see us.
Bill Robertson
Ranch Manager, Windmill Ranch Preserve
325.573.1200