Oh yeah. My life, baby. My. Life.
Its been a weird couple of weeks. Apparently someone on the spit was given a kid for Chrissie...
Ok, background - this is Ohope, a wee settlement on a spit of sand blocking Ohiwa Harbour:
And this is the kind of 'kid' I mean:
Right, so - urban legend has it that someone was given a kid for Chrissie and they abandoned it when they either a) left Ohope after the Chrissie hols, or b) stopped chasing it down every time it escaped and told no one about it.
Not too smart.
Anyway - so there has been a, now very large, goat roaming around the spit, feasting on peoples flower gardens and leaving mysterious piles of scat on dead lawns and decking, alike. (dead lawns due to drought, not the scat). Many a phone call were answered hearing "I think I saw a goat! A GOAT! On your lawn!".
I thought it was cute, and when Mum pronounced it male, named him Billy Elliot. (Ooooh, The Wit!). So we put out a bucket of water and I gave him bread (ok; and a carrot and maybe a hotcross bun with marg and jam...) in the hope that if he was indeed half tame, eventually we could catch the little bugger. Apparently Animal Control had tried once, got 'em cornered whence he started throwing himself against the plate glass doors, and they had to let him go.
Eventually the residents converged with two ute's worth of Animal Control people and he made the mistake of fleeing into a (very high) fenced-in yard. Bye bye Billy.
Here's the kicker - Billy Elliot was a girl. I shall never again trust my Mothers goat sexing ability.
We saw Belly Elliot advertised in the paper last week, up for sale. The parents did not take kindly to my suggestion that we buy her back.