Every time I smell, eat, see, think of a cantaloupe I think of (family friend) Gene Waltersheid. I’m not sure why, maybe he had cantaloupes on his farm, but he’s the memory and there’s no changing that, not that I want to.
POST EDIT/PHOTO REMOVAL: Mom informed me that the photo I had here (I thought showing Gene Waltersheid) was indeed NOT Gene, but rather Jess Buckner. Ha! See how much I know! This doesn't change the story, so let's carry on...
(Maybe it was just one goat, but it makes a better story when there are dozens of hostile monsters, rather than one.)
Hey buddy...spitting at me won't win you any raw carrots or whatever it is you dream of while eating that nasty grass!
p.s. Did you notice the little guy hanging out trying to steal the shot. I'm pretty sure he was the cutest thing EVER and I would take him home if it weren't for that part where he grows up and acts like his saliva spitting Daddy. Nasty.