When a billy goat is knocked off his perch, there’s no hanging around, demanding a recount, and clinging on to the vestiges of power. We met this sad old fellow lying in the bracken beneath the trees and he watched us for about half an hour as we cooked up some soup on the primus.
Was he injured? Did he need help and rescuing?
After lunch I walked down and got to within 2 or 3 metres before he pulled himself to his feet and slowly strolled away. There was no apparent injury other than to his pride. I’ve seen ousted billies before and they go all listless with no purpose in life; there’s no dating agency for old billies looking for a companion.
Some years ago the billy that was ousted from our gang of goats got a new lease of life, taking up residence on the fire escape of Plas Dol y Moch, the outdoor education centre for children from Coventry. For a brief while the old billy was blessed with a plentiful supply of sweets before the wardens ushered him up the mountain.