About a month ago, my girlfriend said, “Either marry me or pull my goat.” She stubbornly denies saying it now, although I’m not sure why when it’s probably the greatest ultimatum I’ve ever received. After nearly three years of dating, she was right. It was finally time to do what she asked and pull her goat. So, the other weekend, I decided to take her to a farm that was open to the public. After taking a hayride there, the farmer’s wife informed us that we could go in and feed the goats if we wanted. I thought this was perfect. I could show my girlfriend how committed I was to her and find a good goat for me to pull.
The lady handed us some ice cream cones filled with what I would assume to be goat feed, not ice cream (Definitely not ice cream), and we headed over to their pen. I’ve never been one that is shy to meet new farm animals, so I got right in there hoping to quickly befriend a goat I might be able to pull. My girlfriend was more reluctant, however, choosing to keep her distance from the rest of us, which didn’t exactly help with the horrific incident that would come next.
Almost immediately, a flock of little ones took a shine to me, and I knew before long I would have them eating out of the palm of my hand. I crouched down, poured some of the pellets and corn out of the ice cream cone, and had them doing just that: Eating out of the palm of my hand. While I was doing that, another goat snuck up behind me and jumped on my back. I spun around, furious, put up my dukes, and shouted, “What, ya wanna goat!” Billy the Goat obviously thought he was Billy the Kid or something. I was shocked once I saw my foe. He was humongous! Clearly, this was a goat who had done a little too much goat yoga.
At this point, I realized I was no match for this goat. I shut my mouth and slowly extended my hand, which had been concealing some of the grain. Somewhat a feeble attempt at a peace offering. I was surprised when the goat happily accepted my offer, and I figured this would be the end of it, but, boy, was I wrong. I tried to go back about my business with the little ones when the same goat jumped on my back again. He even went as far as sticking his hoof in my pocket this time. I think he might’ve been going for my wallet. Having enough, I flew the coop and went to be with the animals I relate to better: The chickens. After all was said and done, I learned it probably is preferable to just marry my girlfriend. At least then I wouldn’t get her goat.