Goat trouble

Two summers ago, I went camping near Avebury with Perran. He still regales people with my goat experience. 

The footpath went through a field with a large flock of goats. 

'Itll be alright.'

But as we entered the field they pricked up their heads and began to canter towards us in a tight mass.

Not knowing what goats do when they catch up with you, I performed a vertical take off over a gate into the next field where I waded rapidly uphill through waist high thistles until I deemed it safe to get back on the path.

Hahaha.

This year I was to camp again with Perran. Belatedly I realised I had booked in one of the few places in the country where there are wild goats - near Cheddar Gorge. 

'Great!'

Obviously he was hoping to get another story out of this, and I was hoping he didn't. This time I would be brave.

As we walked around Cheddar Gorge, my eyes were peeled for goats. However there was a lot of goat poo but no goats. Until we got almost back to the car, and then finally I saw them, three goats grazing.

'Look,' I said to Perran, 'There are goats and I'm perfectly calm.'

'Yes, Mum, that's so. But they are on the opposite side of the gorge.'

Get my Goat

At the weekend, Perran and I went to camp near Avebury, Europe’s largest stone circle.  We planned to explore the surrounding landscape, rich in prehistoric monuments like Silbury Hill and West Kennet Long Barrow. 

But we reckoned without the livestock.

We set off from the stone circle towards the Western Ridgeway intending to walk to see the Cherhill white horse.  At first we set up a thousand butterflies, a hundred birds and a couple of hares and it was all very magical and charming.

Then I spotted a problem – at least it was a problem for me – a large cluster of big white park cattle with calves.  I know cows with calves can be aggressive (understandably) and am becoming less and less willing to walk through such a herd.

Luckily the path veered round that field.

‘But,’ I said to Perran, ‘I can see more in the next field where the path goes.’

‘Well I can’t!’

‘They’re in that dip.’

As we got closer, he too spotted white backs. ‘But they’re too short for cows, Mum – must be sheep.’

‘Oh great, I’m fine with sheep.  But sheep aren’t tan are they? I can see some tan.’

As we passed through the kissing gate into the field, a whole herd of very lively goats raised their horned heads and cantered enthusiastically towards us en masse. 

‘It’s okay, Mum, they probably just want to see if we have any food.’  But too late – I had done a vertical take off over a gate into a nearby field full of brush and thistles. 

‘Safe!’ But then the first goat managed to squeeze between the gate bars and join me.  Suddenly I was charging uphill fast with Perran just behind, chuckling.  Now off the path, we had to squeeze under one barbed wire fence and climb over another in order finally to attain the Ridgeway.  If I looked a long way back down the path, I could just make out, lying in the dirt where I had left it, my lost dignity.

When finally we found ourselves on the bank above the Cherhill chalk figure, I was about to go through the kissing gate to get a better look, when Perran said.

‘Are you sure you want to go into that field, Mum?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘I think you’ll find there’s a white horse in there.’