Walk the Goat

Today's exercise consisted of, yes, walking the goat.

The goat (Billy, Buddy, or Red, depending on who's doing the calling) wears a collar.  He has found a way out of the rather large pen.  Easiest solution?  Slap a leash on that collar and walk him down to the barn and the door to the pen. 

Easy enough, right?

Granddad was leaving at the same time.  The goat wanted to chase Granddad's truck.  That wasn't too bad.  I managed to keep control of the goat, keep him out from in front of the moving vehicle.  No prob.

Dad drove his truck down to the barn.  Again, Buddy wanted to chase the truck.  I think he knew it was Dad, or maybe turning into the long driveway leading down to the barn was incentive.  I'm not sure.  The truck bounced down the red clay driveway, and the goat took off, with me being pulled, running, behind him until I either had to drop the leash for face being drug through red clay.

The goat cleared the truck, turned around and realized I was no longer attached.  What does he do?  Why, come and retrieve me, of course.  He gallops back to where I am, waits patiently while I pick up the leash, and again takes off.  I ran until I couldn't keep up and had to drop the leash again.  (I'm not a fan of the idea of being drug through red clay.  Really, I'm not.)

By this time, Dad is out of the truck, and the goat is inviting him to take the leash, but he's no longer running away (and why should he, since his target has stopped?)  We lead him back into the pen, then on for step two: figure out where the goat is escaping from.

We walked up and down the fence line, Dad trimming away small plants that had grown up to the electric fence wire.  A friend of his drove up, so I wound up having to haul the dogs into the house.  A quick change into pants and enclosed shoes, and I was back outside.  Dad had gone back to the barn, so I walked back down there.  We went inside the fence, where I kept the goat occupied while Dad continued the search and clean up efforts. 

The goat wanted to play, so we head-butted each other.  Okay, he head-butted me, and I either bumped him back with my hips or pushed with my hands.  Either way, he thought it was great play. 

Tomorrow, I'm on a soup diet.  The pre-surgery instructions say "eat light and drink extra fluids."  I know I shouldn't be nervous, but I am.