Mad Goat

There are certain things that no aspect of child rearing prepares you for. I would say entering a goat petting pen never struck me as being particularly dangerous. That’s probably why I chose to enter the pen the hard way. I thought that the only way to enter the pen was via a long ladder. I hauled myself and the boy over the ladder. Me being spectacularly afraid of heights did not make this any easier, and the boy weighs also lot. This, combined with the fact that the boy was not particularly enthralled at having to enter a pen full of inquisitive goats, made the achievement at getting into the pen a big thing for me. This was until Hubby (who was almost bent double with hysterical laughter at my “scaling” of the ladder with the boy) pointed out the gate into the pen.

I ignored his laughter and decided to concentrate on selecting a friendly goat which my son could stroke. I did not need to look far, as we were surrounded by them. They were incredibly friendly and did not mind being stroked.

They also decided to try to eat my new linen trousers. I laughed and said “give it back please” whilst tugging at my trousers. The goat did not oblige, and some more goats decided to encircle us. My boy started to become mildly alarmed. I tried to make light of the situation and said we were going leave and have an icecream. Clearly the goats had other ideas. By the time I picked the boy up and tried to stumble out of the petting pen, the little critters were not only chewing my trousers but were guzzling down my cardigan cord. I yanked the cord as fast and hard as I could, I must have residue of stomach enzymes on it as it stank. I tried to look calm and unflustered as the gate of the pen swung closed, but it was very hard. I spent the next five minutes mentally cooking goat stew out of the offending animals!!!