Malignant cattle
"Drink the children milk, you will be healthy" -vot by this song formula I acted, only, the milk, which I went to the evening milking, was goat.
Suburban villages long ago entered the part of my ancient city, and the rural way of life in them was preserved for a long time. They kept not only goats, but also cows, not to mention the bird. I watched a goat flock from the balcony of a multi-storey house, which was grazed by an elderly woman on a green lawn with a remnant of the apple orchard. Now there is a shopping center. Goat's milk I appreciated, I did not drink any, but my son grew up as a milkman, drank milk like water. I agreed with the woman, Vera Danilovna, to take a pair, straight from under the goat, and by evening she was already at her wicket the next day.
On this day, Vera Danilovna hesitated a little, I met her on the meadow with the herd. Five white goats and a goat-maker named Bush. A curly graying forehead, adorned with solid horns and the cocky temper of a cloven-hoofed man, did not let me relax. Therefore, not moving away from Vera Danilovna, chasing her along with her, she reached the gate. Then I would have to stay, but Vera Danilovna was driving the goats, graciously held the gate in front of me: "Sit, and I quickly" and rushed to the summer kitchen. The goats obediently went to the barn, and Bush, closing the procession, suddenly stopped. Late I noticed the aiming look and aggressive inclination of the head, but there was nowhere to retreat. The departure to the exit was blocked by the aggressor, the knave Valet was ringing at the farm buildings. To me he was condescending, but he was not yet a friend. I slowly moved to the far corner of the yard, brushing away the villain with a bag, making him even more provocative. Turned, behind is a motorcycle with a cradle. She slowed down, but Bush was already in a pose and there was no time to think about it. Butterfly I have flown in a cradle, and therefrom-on a seat. The circus number turned out to be perfect, the sultry was at my feet. In impotent rage, he was hammering the motorcycle wheel, Knave whining, either approving the goat's actions, or condemning. The old woman, Vera Dmitrievna's mother, came out to the noise from the house. Shustful, despite her age, she quickly assessed the situation and courted Bush's key, drove him into the cowshed. "Get down, daughter, I'm angry with him, I cried out with a crutch of the side. Uchora strangling the gut too, drove the motocyclette, and the wine from him farther as far as the parkan jumped. " I looked around in bewilderment, the fence to me, like that cat, was not overcome, the circus number would fail.