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| # 50 Graham the goat on a rope |
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If your not an animal person don’t bother reading this months yarn as you wont understand it. If you are, you’ll know exactly what I’m on about.
I first met Graham 14 years ago as he came roaring into my driveway at about 50 kays per hour with his head sticking out the rear window of my youngest daughters little car. “Mom, Mom can you give Graham a home, my flatmates are going to take him to the dog food factory if you don’t” she yelled as the vehicle skidded to a halt in front of our house. The cunning little beggar, had seen me working in the garden and knew she had to get to her mum with the heart made of butter, before the grumpy ol’ man with the heart made of stone, could put his foot down and say no.
Of course this was all she needed, because my lovely wife had already melted and Graham had became part of the menagerie of animals that makes up my life. To say that I wasn’t happy about this, would I think, be an understatement.
I threatened to put one between his eyes right there and then and feed him to our own dogs. But I got the evil eye from my lovely wife, you know the one, the one that says don’t upset our youngest when she’s so obviously distressed, we can talk about this latter.
The last thing I needed on the property was a bloody angora goat that did a better impersonation of a blond Bob Marley, than Bob could have done himself. We did talk about it latter, and more than once. But the rest of the family ganged up on me and for the sake of harmony, a compromise was finally reached. They feed and water him, look after him, get him shorn when he needs it, he stays on this 20-foot chain and above all else, keep the bugger out of my veggie garden and he can stay. Yeah, yeah, yeah no worries, yeah right.
Of course they all grew up and moved away, went on OE’s, off to Uni, bought homes and started families of their own. And whose looking after Graham the dopey goat on a rope, you guessed it, Muggins. By and large he has done a good job around the place I must admit, as I was breaking the place in I would chain him to a large broom bush or a particularly ugly bit of blackberry and he would decimate it with the toughest mouth ever invented. Then I could cut the rest down with the chainsaw and move him on to the next bit due for destruction. Over the years he has got himself into some horrible situations, you would not believe how tangled a goat can get himself, on a 20-foot chain unless you had seen it for yourself. Over, under, though, behind, in, out, around and about and then stand there baa-ing and demanding that you come and untangle him from this blackberry bush right now, so he could finish the job, no matter what time of the day or night. Tough, staunch, uncompromising, stubborn, obstinate are all words that describe Graham and you have to watch you back when your untangling a goat that’s not happy, he could stick those horns into places you didn’t want him to, faster than the blink of an eye. If he was really pissed he would raise up on his hind legs and try and head butt you in the knee and that’s not something you want to have happen more than once. But he was a people goat and liked attention and a scratch behind the ear; he loved helping me in the garden even if I wasn’t there, every single time he broke off the chain. Catching him when he broke free required a little trick that my wife never knew about, a pinch of tobacco held between the fingers and he would come running from 50 meters. A little treat he and I had worked out years ago, but don’t drop the bloody pouch, he’ll eat the lot.
My dog grew up trying to get the best of Graham, she would run around bark and try and bite him on the bum. But he always had her measure; He would back up so that he had plenty of free chain, then charge. She would scamper out of the way with her tail between her legs, then turn round and come straight back for more, and they could play like this for hours. Then yesterday when I went to give him an apple and move him to a new feedlot, as I walked past him I saw a flash of white out of the corner of my eye and thought he was going to have a go at me for not giving him the apple straight away. I spun round to confront him and he was lying on his side having a fit. This winter has been hard on the old bugger and he has been losing a lot of condition. But this was obviously something much worse. I talked him out of the fit after a minute or two and broke the apple open for him to smell, I lifted him back to his feet and he munched it slowly. A quick phone call to the vet identified a dozen possible causes, tumour on the brain to Vitamin B2 deficiency all possible. By the time he got here Grahams time was near, his systems were finally giving up the ghost. “No choice I’m afraid but the big E.” As I dug his hole in the garden that he loved, the tears were streaming down my cheeks. That damn goat had finally got to me.
Ride with pride you old soul.
But then, that’s just a “soppy old truckers” point of view
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