Requiem for a Goat

There he stood on a distant hill.

Far from the herd, alone and still.

A champion breed, noble and sure.

Separated for his response to the ageless lure

that drives a beast crazy from time to time.

Now he awaits his master’s find

yet his eyes quickly scan the area below.

An urgency directs the way to go.

Muscles respond, he finds himself free.

Strength abounds, he knows what’s to be.

The does are nervous, they seek to hide.

A buck with the does rises in pride.

He knows a battle is soon to begin.

He also knows it could be his end.

The master’s wire fence separates the two.

A small obstacle for what they must do.

The sound of crashing heads fills the air.

An obsession to kill is what they share.

The noble one realizes he’s getting no where

so he backs up the hill for one last shot.

This time he’s giving it all he’s got.

Charging like a locomotive with head cast down

he misses the buck and hits a pole in the ground.

Silence fills the night time air.

The does just graze, they don’t care.

The victor walks away, the battle is done.

He knows not why, but knows he’s won.

The champion lies dead, alone and still

with a broken neck at the bottom of the hill.

Victim of a urgency that delights in the kill.

My friend Bill raised goats and while we shot pool he told me this true story about his prize winning goat.  I was moved and inspired by the ridiculous relevancy to my own haphazard way of racing headstrong into love.

1988