As I said yesterday, I hate goats. Anyone who knows me might be shocked by that statement. I love all most animals (okay...creepy crawlies aren't high on the list).

Goats are the exception.

One of my first memories is of Billy. Billy was my cousin's goat. Billy was mean. I was around three or four years old and Billy loved to terrorize me. He'd headbutt me (like goat's do) and generally traumatize me. I have a distinct memory of him cornering me in the cow barn, knocking me down in the filth, headbutting and kicking me until I somehow escaped and ran to Grandma's house. I had many a bruise from Billy.

My parents did what they could to protect me but all they could do was refuse to let me play outside. That wasn't fun. My cousin (and her family) thought it was funny how Billy seemed to have a vendetta against me. "Haha," they would chortle, "isn't it cute how Billy chases Erin around?"

"Oh, Billy likes you, Erin."

Meanwhile, Erin is running for all her little legs are worth to escape from this goat. I can still remember the fear I felt when I saw that goat coming. I tried hiding behind my parents or my grandfather but Billy just would not give up.

Billy made a quick and swift exit after the day he turned on my cousin. Evidently, it was ok to terrorize me, but one slip where she was concerned and that goat is history. (Yes, I'm still a little bitter about it.)

So I am not looking forward to Middle Cousin's Wife brining her goats. My only highlight is that I am now bigger (MUCH bigger than a goat). They better not mess with me. I'll..... I'll....sit on it.

Who's laughing now, Goat? Who's laughing now!