This is a little tale of our time in Spain. It was when we lived in the very small village of Pla de Corrals


The Goat.


This could only happen in Spain, or possibly Greece.
There are many odd things that happen here, without a reason !
Here’s the story of the goat. It was a Saturday morning at about 9.30 in the morning, Di was in the kitchen when she could see someone at the top of our drive, just getting off his bike – in full biker gear. This in itself was a common sight for us at the weekends because cycling is a massive pastime for the Spanish, and seeing them stop at the end of the driveway wasn’t a rare occurrence, because they wanted a rest, fix punctures, relieving themselves, etc. This turned out to be different, because the guy seemed to be tying something to our chain link fence – on the inside of our plot, then got onto his bike and rode off.
Di called me and said that a bloke had just left a goat tied up at the end of the drive!! I obviously discounted this as an hallucination of the result of a non-sleep of the previous night, but I was certainly mistaken. There stood this brown and white patchwork coated goat. We investigated further, it was in very good condition and was obviously a pet. But why would someone just dump it on us? All very odd.
I made various phone calls to find out if anyone wanted a bloody goat – you can imagine the responses cant you. So I then had a brainwave because we couldn’t keep it loose in our garden, we didn’t have a fence all round our plot of ground, the answer was Jo, our lovely neighbour who lives just along the road opposite about 200 meters away. I phoned her and suggested that I had the complete answer to her overgrown garden, which was becoming a task for her to manage – Jo, who was in her 75th year, was finding that keeping her garden in a reasonable state was a chore, along with her 6 or 37 cats that she kept and fed each day.



“What you need is a goat , Jo”
“Yes I suppose I do” she answered.
“I’ve got one” I said very quickly.
Silence at the end of the phone.
Thinking very quickly at this stage I went into full flow.
“I’d love to keep it myself but we haven’t got secure ground ” –  and went into the whole story for her, etc –  you’re getting the picture, I know.
“You had better bring it over here then” she said



She was almost thrilled with this lovely goat, no, really, she was!
One of our other mates gave her a visit later that day, he used to keep a goat or two during his lifetime here, and told her that in his opinion it was female, Moroccan and a well-cared for animal, abnormal for the Spanish.
Jo was happier now, honestly, although I think that she had become somewhat apprehensive about the partnership.
But (sorry for the pun), the question still remained of where this creature came from, someone must be missing the thing?
Di and I felt a little guilty about the fact that we had dumped this poor little goat in Jo’s lap  so we were in constant touch with her and went over that same afternoon to see how she, Jo, and she, the goat were pairing up. The stupid thing had already eaten halfway through Jo’s grapevines and clearing all the things that were nice in the garden, including the roses – so she now had a name – Rose, nice touch eh?


It was after only a few days that we heard through the village grapevine – not the one in Jo’s garden, which was becoming just a line of stumps – that the very old deaf guy who lives on the road to Simat, had been seen wandering around the bars in Simat very distraught and asking if anyone  had seen his goat. This guy was affectionately known locally as “El Sordo” – “The deaf one”, and was described as about 140 years old, this was a slight exaggeration but by looking at him, it was a fair description.
We told Jo of Rose’s real home address.
She was slightly worried that this old boy would not be capable of keeping Rose – they, Jo and Rose, were becoming quite affectionate towards each other over these few days. Rose was joining Jo on the garden swing seat while she was reading her book – Jo that is.
Di and I drove round to this guys “casita” or better described as a shack, just. El Sordo was pissed out of his head and couldn’t hear anything, we had to wave our arms around to get him to acknowledge that we were there! He was having quite a difficult time getting his sight lined up with what was around him too, what a state to get in. It was no good trying to get through to him so we left and went back home. I phoned the grapevine who had lived with a local Spaniard in the village for 20 years, and she told me that it wasn’t unusual for El Sordo to be in this state, and she was sure that he would be eternally grateful if we took the goat back to him.
On that advice we went over to Jo and told her that we would walk Rose round to her owner. She was a little bit disappointed now to see her new friend go out her life after such a short time.
We had to walk with Rose along the road towards Simat – as you can imagine we got a few double takes from passing motorists seeing this English couple taking a goat for a walk. Another mate from the village came past and screeched to a stop and reversed – the road isn’t that busy, good job too – he thought we were out of our heads at the same time thought we had a large Alsatian with us.
We eventually got to our destination. El Sordo was now lying on the floor inside the shack – not moving.
“Shit, he’s dead”
I softly shoved my foot onto his outlaid body – he moved.
“Great, he’s alive”
In due course he came round and saw the goat – or probably a herd of them – made some sort of gesture, smile and grunt and fell back down again.
All was well, we had solved the mystery and the pair were together again. We thought that we would tie Rose up to the tree which already held the donkey – they were obviously mates.
We went back home, and got our grapevines’ Spanish partner to check-in on him.
We haven’t heard a thing from El Sordo, but that’s the Spanish for you.

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