So I picked the baby goat up on Thursday evening. That was highly entertaining in itself, since the neighbor with the goats is a real Doctor Doolittle. She’s a vet tech, and seems to be a collector, except that she takes extremely good care of her menagerie, and many collectors don’t.

I was greeted at the gate by a galumphing Great Dane and a Doberman Pinscher that she was trying to call off. Since she had the gate open, I walked in, as the code of conduct goes. This is one place that doesn’t mess around; they’ve got a complete chain link fence, many dogs tied up or kenneled in the front yard, and signs warning of guard dogs.

I could see she had a shock collar on the Doberman, and she did know I was coming, so I just walked in far enough for her to see me and stood still. I have been around the dog before, so I wasn’t too worried, but she seemed to be having a time calling him off. Finally, he veered away. That’s very nice that she’s training her dogs to mind, but I’m not sure that I really appreciate being an unwitting dummy.

Then she told me that she was really working with the dog because the week before, a lady came in when the gate was closed and the dogs were loose, and he bit the shit out of her. That’s nice—totally the victim’s fault, since in this country, you don’t just keep walking in a posted yard with dogs coming at you. But still, here I was potentially the next victim and doing everything right.

Once she introduced us though, the dog was fine. I do love Dobermans. The Great Dane was a big ol’ puppy—not even a year old. She was a big leaner, and between the Doberman on one side and the Dane on the other, I was feeling a little too well loved. The Dane was mouthy, and I got completely slobbered.

So we went and got the goat, and I took him over to the barn and got him all situated for the night in one of the horse trailers. He clearly wasn’t very people socialized, and had just been pulled off his mother. So he cried and cried, which freaked out one of our less experienced horses. The rest of them didn’t give a shit though, and all was fine.

I took him home and got him all taken care of Friday morning. The dogs were very interested—Angus still is. The goat (he has been named Elvis—the kids liked it) is still hollering, but mostly because he’s lonely.

Seamus goes out there and keeps him company, and he’s quiet the whole time. By Sunday afternoon, Elvis was tame enough to follow either Seamus or me around, so I let him out in the yard for a little bit. Angus got a little too excited over that, and found out what that lumpy collar means. He’s still fascinated with the goat, but he’s quickly going to learn to leave it alone. Jessie is bored by the whole thing.

The boys and I had a fun afternoon at Thomas’ birthday party. It’s not every party that has an organized drowning^*!

The boys’ gift of two water fighters went over well, and Marci organized a tournament. Picture 12 or so ten year olds having water wrestling matches, and you get the picture. It was pretty fun. One of the girls ended up winning the whole shebang, with all the moms cheering her on.

Cowboy and son spent the day traveling between two rodeos. The last time I heard from them, they were sitting about third in the team roping at the first one, and Chris was second or third in the calf roping. That was all in the slack though; standings could change during the performance. They called while they were on their way to the second rodeo.

It’s funny that I never get to see them win a roping. Well, I did see Chris win the 10-steer this fall, but not with Cowboy as his partner. I have yet to see Cowboy win one. He has won, just not when I’m there to see it. I’m convinced that either the camera or I am a jinx. So maybe they’ll have good luck tonight, because I’m sure to go with them next time.

^*no actual children were drowned in the making of this entry