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
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
posted by Windmill Ranch @ 4:36 PM
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