A month of crash course goat caretaking with the most un-ideal of first-time goats for an inexperienced goat ownerPrepare yourself for an ongoing tale of entertainment... The story of the goat who showed up in the driveway will continue to unravel - check back for updates and new posts as the story unfolds into the collection of words below! This is Gus. Gus Von Anderson, Duke of District Township to be exact. It's a name that was formally cemented via text message with my neighbor around the corner, whom I'd never met in 8 years of living around the corner but now have both his and his wife's contact information in my cell phone... because of this goat. And he isn't the only one. In fact, I met seven neighbors in one day all by the same circumstance. I was looking for a goat... not my goat.. well yes, my goat but not exactly... well, we are caring for it... yes it's the one no one could catch... okay it might be ours. The day of the great goat escape will forever be fondly etched into memory, but this story does not start on that day. It starts on a Wednesday, February 7th, 2024 and to be exact, at about 11:35 am.
I was leaving for work at my usual departure time of 11:30 am and had already warmed up the truck a few minutes prior; the big silver diesel held in place by its wood block parking brake patiently idled a few yards from the house as I checked my final to-do's. House lights off, water bottle, phone, yep... just kick out the parking brake and hop in. I nudged the truck forward a few inches then bumped it back into neutral, letting it lazily roll down the slight incline of the driveway. Almost as casually, I was headed toward another ordinary mid-week work day. Or so I thought. As I approached the garage (situated near the end of the driveway) I saw something standing in the driveway about 20 feet from the road. It looked like a black dog. My first thought was it was Teddy, a handsome, friendly dog who'd crashed our Thanksgiving dinner a few years back as we were playing frisbee in the yard, and who, without any identification tags, we'd taken in for the night out of concern for his safety, only to discover the next morning that he belonged right around the corner. We'd even given him a flea bath. I hadn't seen him since. Was he back? No; upon closer inspection, the dog had some brown accents, like a shepherd or a Rottweiler. With my foot on the brake and the truck still stationary just before the edge of the garage, I stared harder through the windshield. It wasn't a dog. It was a goat. My reaction to the situation remained the same, if not even more urgent. Get a leash on that animal before it gets hit by a car. Not bothering to shut the truck off, I cut the wheels uphill leaving it parked on a diagonal and hopped out. I hurriedly detoured to the passenger side to remove a 4 foot leash from the inner door pocket. The realization that the short thick leash I held would make a difficult lasso at best (especially with the set of horns on this beast) sent me scrambling into the garage to grab the first feasible substitute I could find: a few pieces of flat nylon webbing. Leaving the garage's man door wide open, I walked past the front of the rumbling truck and began to approach the goat while softly talking to it and tying my pieces of impromptu leash together. I also noticed that a car was stopped on the road right beyond the driveway, and its emergency flasher beacon greeting indicated that it had likely spotted this goat before I had. Not taking my eyes off the goat, I half glanced up at the car and its open drivers side window and proclaimed loudly, "This isn't my goat." The driver responded back with something that sounded like 'It's been walking down the road and I'm afraid it will get hit by a car." Fair enough, we're both on the same page. As I got closer to the goat, it did not appear as if it were ready to bolt back up to the road, but it also didn't look like it was going to let me loop a tether around its neck either. Was it even friendly? Extending a hand toward the horned newcomer, I tested the waters. It shimmied off toward the edge of the driveway opposite the road, which dropped off into the thick bramble and overgrowth of the woods and would make for a very tedious capture. Wanting tremendously to avoid this route that would play almost entirely to the goat's advantage, I made a wide berth toward the direction it was headed to deter it away from me and consequently, the woods. And toward the garage. The quiet garage with the welcoming open door, conveniently located opposite of the leash-wielding lady and away from the noisy truck blocking the continued path of the driveway. It looked like an obvious escape route for a scared goat - slip through this open door and ditch your captors, they won't see where you went. Being a former Siberian husky owner was finally paying off - I'd left that door open on purpose. Not wanting to mingle with me or the truck, the goat walked right into the garage. And as soon as I saw a furry black rump clear the edge of that door, I smartly walked over and pulled it shut. Thud. "Beh-ehh-eh." I turned the truck off. Breathing a sigh of relief that the most important part in whatever this would turn out to be was complete, I walked out to the road and up to the car. I told the lady I'd just captured the goat - she told me over a half dozen grown men had tried and failed. She lived a few bends away, not far but certainly far enough for it to be a hazardous trek for a goat when sharing shoulder-less asphalt with drivers who sliced through the curvy hillside at thrill-seeking speeds. She also informed me that she had inquired about the goat further down the road and was told that it had been sighted a few days prior. I explained that I was on my way to work and had a spare dog kennel that I could leave the goat in for the time being, but asked if she would mind sticking around until I actually got the goat out of the garage. She confessed that she was not dressed for handling a goat, to which I quickly countered, "Oh no, you don't need to do anything.... just pull into the driveway while I get a proper leash on it and if it, you know, winds up pinning me against the wall or something you can call 9-1-1." I had no idea what this goat would do if cornered and if it was already irate that I had trapped it... I also had no idea what it was doing in the garage, which was littered with important tools and toys and all sorts of things that a mad goat could easily destroy or at the very least, bugger up good and proper. Thankfully this Good Samaritan was willing to be my lifeline if help was needed. As she pulled into the end of the driveway where the goat had first made its appearance, I yanked open the passenger door of the truck (again) and grabbed my cell phone. It was 11:45. Dialing up my work, I heard a mild hint of curiosity when the call was answered. I never call out. I hardly call in late. In fact I hardly call at all - I just show up, every day, like clockwork. Not today. "Hey there. I'm going to be about a half hour late. Yes, everything's fine..there was a goat at the end of my driveway as I was leaving but I've got it locked in the garage now and I just need to get it down to the extra pen. No, I have no idea. Thanks. Be there as soon as I can." Typical late excuse. I tossed the phone back onto the seat. The lady had gotten out of her car and was looking at the garage door where a goat could be heard shuffling around on the other side. She really wasn't bluffing - she was not dressed for any part of this. Her striking green dress or skirt with matching high heels didn't even look at home in our sparely graveled driveway, let alone attire to wrangle a goat in. "I'm just going to run up to the house and get a proper leash and a pair of gloves - I'll be right back," I assured her. I literally ran. Snagging my heavy work gloves and my best multi-purpose leash fashioned from rugged paracord - both conveniently located within three feet of the door - I sprinted back down the driveway to the garage. I found the well dressed lady crouched in front of the wooden door with her hand through the 6 inch square cat hole carved into the bottom corner. She actually had her hand completely through the door; a hole surround by years of outdoor cat fur. In a dress. Or a skirt. "He is letting me pet him!" she exclaimed. It was no shock to me after that when she appeared fully prepared to follow me into the garage. In heels. Not only was she a warm and friendly person, she wasn't afraid to face off with a substantially horned goat in an obstacle course of a garage... without being dressed for the occasion. Now that takes guts. At least I had gloves and safety toe boots. TO BE CONTINUED .... Would we make it out unscathed? Would we even make it... i n ?
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Tales of Douglas Furr (and his friends)narrated by Crissy Clossin Archives
February 2024
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