I’m sure your growing suspense over the origins of the extremely friendly, partly grown Boer goat must have been building to an incredible degree (tongue in cheek). But first before I provide the denouement for this little tale, I wanted to share some theories from those of us living on Blue Jay Way.
Many thought the goat had lost his mother and for reasons, not at all clear, had imprinted on humans.
Many of us also thought the goat had previously experienced close contact with humans and was trying to reestablish just such a bond.
Among the more fanciful ruminations was the goat was waiting for a mail order bride from the postman. It did seem an amorous little fellow. This sounded about right to me, as the goat had entered his adolescence and no doubt had goatly hormonal surges. Alternatively we thought he was waiting for a ride in order to head off for a great goat get-along. Oh well.
The goat’s desire to climb the fence became abundantly clear when he repeatedly managed to get out of the pasture. We would chase him down, grab the goat, lift him over the fence, and deposit him back into the neighbor’s pasture. This was getting old for all of us, especially for the ranch owner.
Suddenly one day the goat was gone. No more was I met at the mailbox by the floppy eared, friendly one. I must admit to feeling a sense of loss. This led me to inquire of our neighbor, the ranch owner, about the goat’s absence.
Unfortunately Marion Baethge, who owned the pasture next to the mailboxes, had tired of retrieving the goat from the county road. We learned the goat actually belonged to his son who lived elsewhere. Indeed the goat had been a bottle baby and had been raised in their house. As he grew, he did what goats do, namely learn how to butt. Apparently no one was safe, especially if they tried to bend over. This had gotten old pretty quickly, as I suspect the inhabitants must have become as jukey as road lizards, never knowing when the goat was heading full stream at them.
Marion’s son had left the goat at Marion’s ranch which was not nearly as nice as the house from which he came. The goat it seems began auditioning for a new home and new people/targets to butt.
Marion finally became so flummoxed from having to retrieve the goat from the county road that he called his son and asked he immediately take him back.
So there it is. The mystery of the postal goat at last has been revealed. Nevertheless, checking the mail these days just isn’t as pleasing as it once was.