Why in the world have a stinking Billy goat? Ah, well imagine that your woman has gotten it into her head to milk a nanny day and night to have way too much goat milk around, and the too much doesn’t matter as long as I make the surplus into fresh farm cheese to put into the cold room to grow moldy and then be thrown out.

“A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five!” Groucho Marx

Gradually Nanny’s production dwindles, and rather than letting that be that, a Billy is bought in order to “freshen” her with a kid. That having been done, and Billy not needed for another season, he is allowed to hang out in the barnyard, for there is no fence whatever can hold him. Billy loved to charge up behind us and deliver a vicious butt; we learned to carry a baseball bat and to listen for hoof beats. Billy truly savored the thunk on his forehead, that being the nature of all Billys.

The game went on until one day Billy found me helpless beneath the Massey Ferguson performing an oil change. He quietly walked up and pissed into my ear and I broke; Billy was taken to auction. The woman be damned, enough is enough.