My wife and I move to the country from NYC 7 years ago. We bought a farm, a tractor (for mowing the lawn) and a thoroughbred race horse we had rescued at auction.
One horse alone is not a good idea though. Being herd animals they need company. After the expense of the farm and our impending marriage we also did not think it prudent to buy another horse.
We bought a baby billy-goat from a nearby farm for 20 bucks to keep the horse company. Because we had a farm we also bought 2 dogs a cat, and a bunch of chickens. THe place started to feel like home and we were very happy.
Then the goat hit puberty.
Pirate was its name. Pirate’s little nubbins became long wicked horns. He filled out with muscle. His testicles swelled to the size of twin softballs AND HIS SCROTUM DANGLED TO HIS KNEES!
He eyed the dogs, my wife, the chickens, the cats, and even me with clear evil intent.
Let me give you an example.
As I would go out into the field to feed the horse, I would carefully search out the presence of Pirate. Seeing him occupied, I would make a run for it with a few flakes of hay and a bucket of grain. Pirate would amble over to about ten yards away or so. He would eye me, give a lecherous twist of his head, and his enormous pink phallus would protrude from between his legs. As if suddenly discovering this for the first time, he would bend his head between his legs, and shoot an enormous load of goo all over his face. The foreplay being over, he would raise his dripp9ing head, eye me again and charge.
When he looked down at himself, I usually used this as an opportunity to run like hell.
He got wise to this tactic though, and he would be waiting by the gate every time I came out of the house.
In order to preserve my virginity I was forced into direct contact with Pirate on a daily basis. His strategy was to charge, knock you over, and have his way with you. You must stay on your feet no matter what!
I would hold a big bail of hay in front of me, and when pirate charged I would brace myself for the collision. As soon as we connected I would try to hook the baling wire over his horns. With the 80 pound attached to his head he wasn’t much of a threat, and I could go about my business.
When Pirate wised up this could become a drawn out and exhausting battle. I have to confess that sometimes on these occasions when I had finally “baled the goat” I would kick him in the nuts in retribution.
We came to an uneasy truce, but I knew he was only biding his time waiting to catch me unawares bending over the feeder.
I was not his sole target. Two chickens were found mysteriously dead one day, dirty and crushed. Later I witnessed Pirate pursue a terrified chicken (my wife’s favorite, named Peep,) into a corner, kneel down on its wings and rape it to death, crushing it in his orgasmic frenzy while I watched in horror.
One quiet Saturday evening I was startled by a canine cry of outrage and pain “Owoooooooooo!” as my Irish Wolfhound Corwin tried desperately to escape the clutches of the perverted Pirate who had attacked and mounted him in cowardly fashion from behind. I didn’t get down there in time to help him. The intrusion was complete. Despite counseling Corwin had a haunted look in his eye for years to come.
Once Pirate hit puberty my wife never ventured into the horsefield again. Like her, the cats were equally prudent.
I asked my neighbor what to do. He still lived on the working farm he had been born on, had a mullet haircut, and a shotgun in his pickup truck. These were all the credentials he needed.
“Here,” he said, handing me a rubber band.
“What do I do with this?”
“Wrap it around his balls three or four times. Real tight. After a week or two they’ll turn black and fall off, and that will be that.”
“No… really. What do I do?”
“Just like I told you,” he replied with irritation. “That’s what we do to bulls to make steers.”
“If you say so.”
I took the rubber band home, and later I did battle with Pirate. Once I had him baled I went to examine his nether regions, and fixed my gaze on the twin pomegranates hanging from his backside. I reached into my pocket to get the rubber band.
It was then that pity stayed my hand.
“It’s a pity I lost the rubber band,” I thought. “Oh well, I’ll just go up to house and get another”
As I started to walk away I looked back at Pirate standing there with a bale of hay on his head, shaking in a fury of sexual frustration. It was in that instant that I sympathized with him for the first time.
I remembered what it had been like when I was fifteen years old and hormones raged through my body. I was so horny I would become aroused if the wind blew. I would have done anything to have sex. Who am I to say that I would have been any different back then if I had seen a chicken strutting her stuff?
The next day I called the people we’d bought Pirate from and asked if they would take him back. They were delighted to.
When they came to pick him up "I asked him waht they were gonna do with him.
“Well, he’s looking really good!” The man said enthusiastically. I of course eyed him warily and looked around for a nearby bale.
“We’ll probably breed him some,” he continued. “I’ll bet he’ll make a great stud.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said I.
