Of fences and bucks in rut . . .

​Last night I was reading in bed, when I heard Indy barking furiously.

I yelled at him.

He kept barking.

I yelled at him again.

Indy, barks frantically, going up in pitch.

​"Hmmmm. That's not like Indy. He usually at least pauses when I yell at him," 

​I look out the window at the buck paddock. Nope, no action there. I look out at the border of the neighbor's property. Nope.

I look out the front window at the doe paddock. The paddock is shrouded in dust and I can see shadowy figures of goats running in the background.

I panicked and ran out the door, not remembering until my feet hit dirt that I was naked.

Yup, "buck" naked.

As in, I knew my neighbor was weird, but I didn't know that she was into streaking.

I ran back into the house, and grabbed the first things that I could find (bathrobe and plastic birkenstocks) and ran out the door again, imagining the entire time that my best does were being eaten alive by some vicious predator.

In a sense this was true.

I got into the paddock to discover ALL SEVEN of my bucks chasing Sugar around the paddock.

Three mature bucks and four junior bucks that had chosen this moment to discover their hormones.

The next 20 minutes was mayhem as I cornered each individual buck and dragged his unwilling arse into a pen.

BUT, being goats . . . as I threw each buck out, the bucks that were already out charged the gate to get back in. Panache almost succeeded.

As I showered off buck stink, I couldn't help but think, "Welp, that's one way to learn that Sugar's AI didn't take."