The goats are back! Grandpa and the goats!

We live on a small hill. On the back side of the hill is the neighborhood park. Since the hillside is so steep, the parks department contracts with a goat herder (and his dog) to bring goats to the hillside to eat all of the weeds and wild grasses. He sets up temporary fences and just moves them along the hillside until the goats eat all the weeds. It's pretty cool.

Well, two years ago when I was off visiting the kids, Lon wanted to see what the goats did. Seriously. Even I can't make up something like this. Maybe he was expecting hieroglyphics or crop circles or who knows what? So off he goes after dinner. That's our house at the top.

There is a gate up there and he went out it and started climbing down the hill. He only got about a hundred feet and slipped. For the longest time I envisioned a Homer Simpson type fall--lots of bouncing and head over hills and all that. He explains it as pretty much standing on an unstable dirt clod and turning his ankle.
He was all alone. We (the kids and I) have teased him unmercifully about making a crutch (Boy Scout style) and limping to the street awaiting some kind soul. There was also discussion about him crawling out. Luckily he had his cell phone. He called the fire station that is across the street. "I heard them start their engine. They were here in 3 minutes." The fireman had to holler down the hill to find him. A couple of fireman took their first aid kit down. He was offered morphine, but bravely refused it. Ask him why.
They took a litter and strapped him in and winched him up the hill to the awaiting ambulance. In the ambulance he called me. I flew home from Salt Lake City before he got a room in the ER. Luckily Alan came and tried to keep things moving.
Two surgeries, thirteen screws, one plate, 25 staples, one walker, and two crutches later all he has to show for his pain and suffering is cankles. Oh well.
And if you want to know what goats do on a hillside--not much!