A goat in the water tank.

I’ve been pretty serious, so I want to lighten the mood and just give a quick childhood story. I lived on a farm and we had goats. My favorite goat of all time was named Billy I know how original. He was more like a dog when we’d drive in he’d jump over the fence, and come and greet me. My mom made me take him to the auction barn and I remember crying the entire way. We needed the money or something I don’t remember, but I remember riding in the back of the truck with Billy, and I don’t think I spoke to her for a while.

The next season we got some new goats. One was named Johnny. I was either 4 or 5, but I put on my boots and went outside without telling anyone. I climbed the fence and found Johnny. I tried riding him like a horse and he bolted and drug me across some glass. I didn’t let go though. My knee started gushing blood, and I had to climb the fence and go tell my parents what I did. They took me to the hospital where I received stitches. The next day again without telling anyone I put back on my boots and revisited Johnny. This time though I picked him up and put him in the water tank. It wasn’t deep so he wasn’t going too drowned, but I wanted to get even I guess. My mom caught me, and I think she yelled at me. Needless to say I never visited Johnny anymore.

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