Well, we’re back from the Rendy, and what a weekend it was! First of all, Cuzco would like to thank all his loyal fans for driving miles into the wilderness over bumpy dirt roads just to meet him. Second of all, he would like to apologize for making a scene at the campfire the first night. He knows perfectly well he should not have whacked Phil in the face with his horn no matter how cranky he was feeling.
Phil is doing much better. His irritation with Cuzco has subsided along with the bump on his forehead. However, I think he’s decided that I should be the primary goat handler in crowded situations in the future. Cuzco seems to mostly be a one-person goat, and I’m usually that person when he’s in an intense situation. Right before he whacked Phil, Cuzco had been entertaining the crowd with his repertoire of tricks, so Phil said he wasn’t sure whether he had the best-behaved or worst-behaved goat at the Rendezvous.
In stark contrast to Cuzco’s stand-offishness, Lilly had the time of her life making the rounds. I did not see that goat lie down once all weekend when there were people or goats to interact with. Wherever there was a crowd, Lilly was in the middle of it, and often as not Petunia was in somebody’s lap. Lilly made friends with every person and picked a fight with about half the goats. She seemed to win most of them.
Nibbles spent most of her time hiding from a certain little boy who wanted nothing more than to play with her and Nubbin. She also liked to torment the young wethers that Dwite brought for the silent auction. They were smaller than her, so she took advantage of the situation–especially when they were tied up.
Nibbles was taken aback by Amelia Goat-hart’s rather aggressive introduction. My goats and Herb’s (Charlie Horse’s) goats hung out a lot. Nibbles adopted Herb’s trailer as her favorite hide-out spot, and Lilly fought, er… roughhoused with his goats the entire time.
Speaking of udders, I entertained romantic visions of supplying the camp’s source of milk each morning. At home I’ve been getting a gallon a day out of these beauties from just one milking. At camp, it was a different story. I was thinking of starting a rodeo event: wild goat milking. Between flying feet, flying bucket, and flying dirt, I felt very fortunate that I was able to get one clean quart on the first morning. That was it. After that they were onto me and there was no more milk fit to drink. Oh well. Can’t say we didn’t try.