impersonations, because one day it turned on him and killed him. Butted him thirty-seven times. You know how I know that? Because he captured the whole thing on film.â She started rocking herself, sobbing, but as she went on the sounds changed, and the sobs turned to hysterical laughter. âThereâs Commandant Cal in his desert fatigue pants and combat boots, standing in the goat pen with this big male with these big honking horns. Calâs giving it hand signals,â Catherine made karate-chop motions with her hands, âand barking orders at it in atrociously accented German: âAchtung!â âSetz!â And at first the goatâs actually obeying. Itâs paying attention, itâs sitting, itâs staying and going down on command, and you can see Cal swelling up with pride, thinking about all the money heâs going to make off his seminarials and imagining the look on Tiffanyâs face when she realizes the gold mine she foolishly walked away from. Then Cal points to a stuffed dummy a few feet away and says, âFass!â which means âAttack!â and the goatâs like Sieg heil! but instead of charging the dummy it charges Cal and butts him in the thigh, wham! And Cal goes down, flat on his back. For a minute heâs just lying there in a daze, and then he sits up and rubs his leg and looks at the goat with this wounded expression on his face. âWhat the heck, Billy?â he says. âThat hurt .â And the goat paws the ground and charges him and butts him in the shoulder, wham! âHey!â Cal yells. Heâs hopping mad now, his face is bright red and heâs practically got steam coming out of his ears. âOh, youâve done it now, mister,â he tells the goat as he struggles to his feet. âYouâve crossed the line now.â
Catherine stopped, gasping for air, laughing so hard she could barely speak. âCal draws himself up and puffs his chest out, by God heâs going to show that goat whoâs boss, and heâs shouting âSetz!â and âPlatz!â and making his patent-pending Guard Goat hand signals. But the goat doesnât want to sit or go down, what it wants to do is fass. This time Cal dodges it, yelling, âNein, Billy! Nein!â but the goatâs not having it, oh no, itâs trained too long and hard for this moment, and it butts him again, wham! And Cal goes back down. He tries to get up but he canât, his legs wonât support him, and heâs sitting there hollering every German word he can think of. Meanwhile the goatâs in full battle mode, and it butts him again, wham! So Cal points his finger at it and in his sternest voice, pulls out his last-ditch ace in the hole: âBad goat! Baaaad goat!â Wham! Wham! â
It was horrible; it was funny as shit. Catherine was doubled over, and tears and snot were streaming down her face. I couldnât help it, I started laughing too, and then Elena joined in and then George, and before long we were all howling and clutching our bellies. âBad goat! Wham! â Catherine cried, and I shouted, âVolkswagen! Wham! â At which point it turned into a free-for-all: âDachsund! Wham! â âFrankfurter! Wham! â âLederhosen! Wham! â
Eventually we subsided, the howls turning into sheepish chortles that would soon fade into shamed silence; we could all sense it coming. Catherine looked like she was about to start crying again.
âI read about these two guys in Ireland,â Elena said. âThey were driving on a country road, going in opposite directions, and the fog was so incredibly thick and the insides of their windshields were so covered with condensation they couldnât see a thing, so both of them had their heads stuck out the window.â She demonstrated, wrapping her hands around an imaginary steering wheel, craning her neck to one side and squinting. âAnd
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