I put aside my musings on local housing issues as I arrived at the home of Monty the goat.
Monty was a strikingly good-looking pet billy. Apparently he had a rather too striking smell, so the owner, Mr Beasley, wanted him castrated. I thought the aroma not too bad at all but have perhaps been around livestock for too long now.
I proceeded to examine him from head to tail and back again. The ensuing conversation went something like this:
Me: ‘Err, Mr Beasley unless Monty is a bilateral cryptorchid – which is when neither ball has descended – he has already been castrated.’
Mr Beasley: ‘So what are these dangly bits here then?’
Me: ‘Ahh; those are his wattles…’
Me: ‘… many goats have these fleshy growths hanging from their necks, like turkeys I suppose.’
I looked more closely at Mr Beasley, suddenly interested in the bushy Santa Claus-style beard he wore. What did he hide in there??