A rather pungent - in fact it wouldn't be going too far to say revolting, and distressingly familiar Odeur de Rutting Billygoat insinuated itself into my nostrils, and then my conciousness, as I sat here yesterday lunchtime, innocently trolling the Blogiverse.
My immediate thought [ after the 'erk ...yuck ... never smelt him-next-door from inside the house before' ] was something along the lines of "... that wind must be coming from just the wrong quarter"
Then my tender ears were assailed by what was either a Bedouin in full cry - unlikely in Central Victoria - or a male goat in the throes of passion, serenading the object of his temporary affection.
My immediate thought THIS time was " that sounds bloody close"
"that sounds very bloody close"
hell's bells and jumping catfish
so I sprinted for the kitchen door, grabbing the camera on the way, just in time to immortalise the sight of a fairly startled looking Robbyn being assured that she is the [current] love of Blackadder's life
Needless to say PND and Brenda were not home and of course I didn't have handy any chain heavy enough to fasten him to a nearby tree.
Got any idea how much effort is required to persuade a fully grown 100 kilo plus male goat to go about 200 metres in the opposite and uphill direction from the object of his affection ?
Well I do and I'm here to tell you that it is entirely possible that my right shoulder and upper arm [ not to mention my already dodgy knee ] may never be the same again
and as the final ironic twist in the tail ?
Today all of next door's livestock have been moved as per schedule to their new farm out at Strathfieldsaye
that beggar knew it was his last chance
I don't know how he knew