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BRODY: Is there a support group for traumatized goat owners?

I now know why goats have such small heads. It is because their brains are about the size of a green pea. They flat don’t need a big head for that.

I never actually removed and measured Willie T. Goat’s brain, though on occasion I came dangerously close, but after living with him for six months, I knew his IQ was somewhere around five – on a good day. Poor Willie.

I sat quietly, after showering and treating multiple cuts on my arms, legs and torso, trying to recall exactly why Willie T. Goat lived with us.

The memory dimmed, especially after a particular encounter.

Let me tell you about it.

In a rare moment, I decided to trim the hedge around the front veranda. I didn’t often go out there because we all know about the huge snakes I encountered underneath the rocker.

What you do not know, is two more six-foot snakes were sighted and removed there – one in the basement and one right by the hedge.

But the hedges were awfully high and overgrown. The day was perfect, and I felt great, so I let Willie T. out of the barn to munch and play while I trimmed.

Well, he did, and I did, with no problem until it happened.

From a dead standstill on the veranda he became airborne and landed deep into the five-foot-high hedge.

He promptly sank amid the gnarled roots, and lord knows what else, and only the very top of his black little head showed.

At first I laughed. I mean, it was an absurd sight, but then, when he started to moan and I bent down to help him back up, it was no longer funny.

He was completely hung up and certainly not out. Being the intelligent, animal-loving person I am, I started pulling his front legs and hissing, “Willie T. Brody, you get your behind out of there this very minute!”

He bleated pitifully.

Now what?

I went around to the front of the hedge and tried to separate the thick branches to make a path for him to get out.

Something was pinning him down, and nothing I did worked.

After about 15 minutes of this, it began to dawn on me that he and I were alone out there, and I had to solve this mess.

This meant I had to lower myself down into that dark, unknown hole territory when I knew snakes lived down there. The very thought of doing this made my stomach turn upside down with fear. Why? I couldn’t even see in there.

I was about to put my money where my mouth was, because I often talk about faith.

I told God I was trusting him to reroute the snakes away from my body — please.

There I went, my heart about to jump out of my chest.

I pulled. I tugged. I felt around, trying desperately to unscramble his legs from the roots, and finally, after about five minutes, I slipped my arms under his body and lifted him up, out and over the hedge.

Once free, he literally bounded out of my arms – very little the worse for wear with a few cuts and scratches, while I looked like Peter Rabbit after a night in the briar patch.

Heaving myself back up to the veranda, I thanked God for protecting me, and after checking my breath, I took Willie T. soundly back to the barn and the shears back to the shed — forever.

I was just wondering if there is a support group for people who attempted to either raise goats or do yard work? If so, please let me know.

The view from the mountain is wondrous.

Jean Brody is a passionate animal lover and mother. She previously lived in Winchester, but now resides in Littleton, Colorado. Her column has appeared in The Sun for more than 25 years.