Brownie points and seedy doings
Monday, December 17, 2018 at 05:44PM

Continuing our impromptu creature feature -- which began (who knew what we'd started?) with last week's why-won't-the-birds-come-to-my-nifty-window-feeder post -- I present for your entertainment a grazing goat.

Fooled you with that squirrel picture, didn't I? Haha. Here's the deal:

I was tooling homeward late last week after a day spent running errands when I made the soft right turn from Wescott Road onto Nursery Hill Road. Two minutes and I'd be at the house.

But upon straightening my vehicle in the roadway, I noticed a car haphazardly pulled over on the right, beside the Nursery Hill-side fencing of Wescott Acres, our local luxury pet resort, which occupies a large corner tract.

(You can pay to billet your dog or cat or rabbit there if you're going away for the weekend, but it's also the permanent home of assorted horses, ponies, and various other barnyard-type animals.)

I braked tentatively, thinking something was amiss.

And it was, but it wasn't.

As in, it wasn't an accident or any other sort of mishap. A lady had pulled her car over in a hasty fashion, at an awkward angle, due to a goat sighting.

Well, you may be thinking, why not? You said it was a pet resort.

Yes; it is a pet resort. But critters of the grazing variety are supposed to stay inside the fencing, not resort to escaping to the outside so as to sample the grass of freedom.

(Which, while it may be freer, is not greener. It's exactly the same color. And I'd bet my goat-watching badge that it tastes the same too.)

Experiencing a momentary but no less urgent frisson of FOMO, I turned left at the first opportunity, executed a second left turn as soon as possible, then came back out to Nursery Hill Road and made a right.

I parked in the lot of an orthodontist's office at the corner of Wescott and Nursery Hill.

I grabbed my phone and walked across the road to meet the goat, who was simultaneously snacking and having his picture taken by the lady who'd stopped to check him out.

His admirer chuckled when she saw me. The owner is coming to get him, she said.

I looked down the sidewalk in the direction of Wescott Road and sure enough, a petite lady with a bucket in her hand was walking our way.

I began taking pictures of the goat, not knowing whether the owner would disapprove. I've been told to cease and desist more than once, where my photography is concerned.

But when the goat's owner reached me and the other lady, both of us brandishing our phones, recording random goat activity, she was super nice.

The bucket in her hand contained tasty pellets designed to lure the animal into following her back to the friendly confines of Wescott Acres Luxury Pet Resort.

She told us that the goat, who goes by the name of Brownie, had been turned in by some nefarious individual to a dog kill shelter. How humiliating can it get for a goat?

He was cooling his little bovidae hooves there -- in no actual danger of being killed, we were reassured, because they hesitate to euthanize goats at dog kill places -- when the folks in charge notified some local pet farms that there was a baby goat to be had free for the asking.

(Brownie, at that point, didn't even have horns, he was so young. He was a Brownie with no points. This was about a year ago.)

So the kind owners of Wescott Acres Luxury Pet Resort took him in and let him loose on the acreage they use just for the welfare of the assortment of aforementioned farm animals.

But here recently, Brownie has exhibited a predilection for escaping. He doesn't run away; he simply wriggles out and eats happily on the wrong side of the fence.

We can't tell where he's getting out, the owner said, plucking at the wire netting nailed to one side of the running red-rail fence, as if by doing so, she would in that instant learn the answer.

Well. Not my circus, not my monkeys. But I did enjoy meeting Brownie, who, although naughty at times, is a sweetheart.

He just wants to be free to graze at will wherever the spirit moves. I feel him.

On the home front, the birds pointedly refuse to nosh at my window feeder. They prance around on the deck directly beneath said feeder, pecking at the seed I threw down there as a means of alerting them to the fact that there's a full feeder a few feet away.

But the feeder itself, they ignore.

I've seen our usual contingent of cardinals, along with a couple of wrens and maybe a mockingbird. They eat from the deck and fly away without looking up.

I'm thinking of installing a blinking neon arrow pointing to the bird feeder. That should generate interest -- I'm just not sure what kind.

Click to embiggen. You won't regret it.

Meanwhile, the squirrels have duly noted the birdseed spill on our deck and have wasted no time in availing themselves of any number of gratis al fresco repasts.

This particular bushy-tailed guest was busy acquiring a quantity of seed, then hopping onto the back of the swing to eat it.

Sometimes he faced the pool as he munched; sometimes he faced the house. The point was, he had a high old time.

Proving once again that it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.

Click to embiggen. You'll be glad you did.

So far as I can tell, there have been no attempts by the squirrel population to breach our window feeder and dine from its seedy depths.

But we shall see; time is on their side because that feeder's not going anywhere.

And as far as I know, neither am I.

And that is all for now.


Happy Monday

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