Smokey Mountain Breakdown

Lo' Lord, verily I say unto you, I am heartily weary of staring at goat ass.

I stayed up until 3 a.m. staring at Blinkin's goat butt and watching for the blessed event. I was pretty sure when I brought her in yesterday that she would deliver fairly quickly.

Once again...I was mistaken.

Here I am, the next day, plunking away on the computer with a view of goat ass out of my window.

After Aegis' funeral, Scott took me down to the Big Creek Market and Deli for a "Chez" Burger and fries, since I'd not eaten in about four days. I highly recommend the "Chez" Burger at BCM&D, it's the old fashioned kind made by hand. The fries were crunchy and tasted of beef tallow. To make this okay, I chose a tomato juice as my canned drink.

I need to get a copy of their menu to post here. It reminds me of the menu at the old train depot diner in Columbia, SC. If you were ever there at 4:00 a.m. after way too many beers and pondered the mystery of "country" ham vs. "city" ham while listening to swing music, you'll know just what I'm talking about.

There is something about authenticity in a Southern greasy spoon that defies replication. They moved that old diner in Columbia across the street and it lost all that shabby ambiance.

In the midst of our meal, an attractive young woman came in wearing mud-encrusted designer jeans. I, and my companion, were properly attired in mud-encrusted Liberty overalls. Out of politeness, we didn't point out that she had overdressed for the occasion.

As it turned out, she had been rummaging under this fellow's house after a pair of baby pygmy goats she was smitten with. The guy lives up on Cabbage County. His place is straight out of Kuralt's "Christmas in Appalachia". The sort of place that makes Vista volunteers tear up and want to go build the poor soul a chemical toilet.

But as I've said before, Keralt missed a big part of the picture. The part where people choose to live this way. The part where the riches of the culture surpass the poverty.

But still, you couldn't have paid me a million dollars to grub around under this particular tar paper house sitting in the middle of a barnyard with 8 inches deep of manure enriched mud. Hell, he even lets the chickens and guineas in the house.

The young lady had just moved here with her boyfriend from Florida. We get lots of Floridians here fleeing the effects of global warming. Or just normal Florida warming which is bad enough.

She wanted to buy some goats.

"I've got a wether I can give you." I say, as neighborly as possible.

This is not really the altruistic gesture of goodwill it seems. The goat I'm offering her is Lucky. The same goat with me in my profile photo. I figure, if the fellow can sell some of his "yard" goats to her, I can at least unload Lucky on the newcomer.

Lucky is friendly to the point of being a pest. He also has big horns. I occasionally say that "he's Lucky he's not being eaten." I also occasionally call him "Barbecue". I'm not really joking.

"He doesn't bite," she asks, "does he?"

I'm not quite sure what to say since goats lack a set of upper teeth in the front. They can pinch you pretty good, but can't really bite properly.

"Uh...no, he's really friendly." I say. "Follows you around like a big dog."

This is absolutely true. I don't mention how incredibly annoying it is to have Lucky underfoot and trying to come in the house. Lucky is like the earnestly friendly hair-lipped kid in first grade who still wets himself. You know it's mean not to like him, but somehow you just can't help yourself.

"What if my dogs don't like him?" She asks. "I was thinking about getting babies since my dogs would like them better."

On toast, I think to myself.

"Well, you'll need a place to put him and some fencing." I say. "You don't want your goats and dogs to mix too much. Lucky has been raised with dogs so he's used to them."

I impart a few more pearls of goat wisdom to her and give her my phone number. She was supposed to call me the next day to come meet Lucky, but I didn't hear from her.
So Lucky is still here and safe for the time being.

At least until my rifle gets back from the gunsmith.