Dolly The Attack Goat
Dolly — The Attack Goat.
Dolly, my eleven year old Nigerian Dwarf doe, hates dogs. And when I say she hates them, I mean it. Her hate is fervent, passionate, obsessive, ardent, vehement, intense, overwhelming – call it what you want… she truly loathes the canine species.
A 90 pound Labrador-Pittbull mix dog comes barreling out of a small pasture. Behind him, a very enraged-looking ball of fluffy white fur follows in hot pursuit. The poor dog reaches a dead-end and cowers against the fence as the hard head slams into his belly. The 50 pound mass of white fur shakes itself and backs away. Dolly struts haughtily back to the barn. She has won again.
This worked so well against the property guard dog, Angus, that Dolly knew she must be the champion dog-chaser. No more putting up with guard dogs for her! Then she spys Oakley, who is a 100 pound Great Pyrenees livestock guardian dog. Keep in mind that she is still quite flush with her success against the shorter, stockier Lab. So, she *knew* that she would “conquer” this new threat to her territory in an instant. Lowering her head, she backed up a few paces. Then, she charged like an undersized bull toward the unsuspecting dog. Swoosh! Her head brushed the bottom of the dog’s long belly hair, never even touching her intended target of his ribs. Crash! As the little goat never felt any impact, she kept running, smashing headfirst into the woven-wire fence on the other side of the Pyrenees. Never having been the brightest dog in the world, Oakley watched with a sort of detached, slightly baffled, interest as Dolly swung a quick about-face and again hit the fence, this time with her rump. She shook her head in irritation, as if thinking: “Where did I ever go wrong?” Dolly isn’t a quitter, though. She wouldn’t ever dream of letting a “lunkhead” like Oakley get the best of her! Lowering her head again, she charged. Swoosh! Again, she passed under his belly without even coming close to actually hitting more than his shaggy hair. This time, she narrowly avoided slamming into a tree after her failure to make contact with her target. Oakley slowly turned his head to watch the ball of white-haired fury fly beneath him and scuttle to a stop five feet away. More confused than ever now, Dolly lifted her aim slightly. Again, she charged. Again, she missed. This time, she hit the hair only 3 inches below his belly, rather than four. Crash! Again, she collided with that fence. Now the fury was being replaced by suspicion and befuddlement. Maybe it was best to let this dog stay. She started to inch away towards the barn, never taking her eye off the big, shaggy animal. Oakley watched her go. He seemed to give a doggy-shrug. “Goats,” the gesture seemed to say, “who ever understands them?”
Was that the end of Dolly’s anti-dog campaigning? For a few months, yes. She never did pick on Oakley again. But when a new puppy joined the household, well, I sort of got that feeling of déjà-vu…
Bang! Bailey, a six month old shepherd mix, trotted in front of the goat pen gate for the fifth time in a row. Once again, Dolly butted the fence with all of her might. Fur raised threateningly, an angry gleam in those golden eyes, the little Nigerian backed away. I could see Bailey pivoting and preparing to trot in front of the gate again. She really did enjoy watching this furious little goat smash her head on the gate!
I scooped up the little puppy just as she began her light little jog past the gate. Dolly was already prepared for her next attack on the fence. It was a little bit hard to tell who was more disappointed at my intervention: the goat, or the dog.