Goat Wrangler

Goat wrangler
So I'm out in the front yard mid-morning, whacking weeds and applying herbicide. I look up, and I am maybe more surprised than I should be to see four goats, standing by the side of the road, looking much like a small gang of middle-schoolers at a liquor store on a school day - nervous and fidgety, trying to look nonchalant, and unsure of just how out of place they appear, or how well they can cover it up.
My neighbor Harold was on the other side of this impromptu herd, trying to keep them from harm while his son made a run up the road to determine the Gang of Four's owner. Since this was the first time I've actually spoken to Harold, I introduced myself. Before this episode ended, we would both know what the other was made of.
The young man returned, and our absent shepherd was as yet undiscovered. As usual, I turned to technology. I found the phone number for Calaveras County Animal Control, and contacted the lone officer on duty. I reported the bewildered bovids to the helpless office jockey, who advised me that she's all the county gets for the day, and she's not coming anytime soon. Minutes later, they called to advise me of the address of someone in my neighborhood who had reported their goats missing, and were quite distraught about it.
I found my goatless neighbors, and led them back to their wayward herd. They thanked me earnestly as I trudged back home to my landscaping. It took me only a minute or two to realize that a) they could use some help, and b) corralling and wrestling goats to somewhere they don't want to go may just be the most fun I've had all week. Back I sprinted.
Me, "June", George and Harold's kids set about cornering the horned hoodlums, and I was the lucky boy to tackle to first one! I got one arm around the neck, and another safely but snugly around the ribcage, and I know how fortunate I am not to have caught a horn to the face. Once busted, the goat was fairly cooperative. This is a lot like what I imagine my Dad's beat to be like when he worked midnight shifts with the Manteca Police Department. My new friend George was pitifully trying to secure a makeshift leash around the goat's neck, and doing a terrible job of it.
Finally, he got a very loose, very sloppy knot around my catch's neck, and proceeded to drag the goat down the hill towards his Nissan pickup, alternately cursing in broken English and trying to pull the goats head clean off. I finally took pity on him (and the goat), and scooped the goat up in my arms, and rode in the pickup bed back to the guy's home, about a mile away.
We managed to get two more safely penned up back at El Rancho, and the last goat, by now quite distressed at the absence of his brethren and sistren (sistren?) and very mobile, had made a genius move, especially for a goat. He journeyed into a nighbor's yard which was quite steep, quite hilly, quite rocky, and quite protected by a big, black, shaggy (and allegedly harmless, acording to the owner) dog. Doing double duty as both Goat Wrangler and Welcome Wagon, I moved first to the door, so as to introduce myself and my compadres as well as our mission as to just what the flying Heck we were doing tresspassing on his property. The Ebony Protector lumbered from his doghouse, and whoofed his displeasure at my ignorant presence, and I immediately retreated to the relative safety of the pickup bed. George stood around for no apparent reason, and let the dog get right up on him. God smiled on George, and George still has all his fluids and tissue (to my knowledge; it's been a few hours now since I've seen George, and anything could have happened).
Anyway - to make a long story over, George and June dropped me off as their fourth and final goat bounced unhappily away over a hundred yards and two houses farther into the distance, and they zipped away.
There is only one thing I truly regret, and I can scarcely communicate the depth of this regret: That I didn't grab my camcorder and my daughter (as cameraperson), to secure some video of this ridiculously exciting escapade for posterity and downloading fun. I may never recover from this lost opportunity. I can only hope that this retelling of the story stands in its stead.
It turns out that Harold is a fine neighbor, keeping vigil over someone else's livestock to ensure that they didn't become embedded in someone's bumper, like some ghastly, rural hood ornament. I learned something about myself as well - that I can indeed catch goats with my bare hands. That's one nagging question off my mind. Get it? "Nagging". Har, har.
Prologue
This post was originally posted at my own website blog and is reproduced here in an edited form. Feel free to browse to my moderately awesome website for the whole story, in its original, PG-13 version.