My goat Nana once kicked me in the groin when I squeezed her too hard. I bet she could take this guy easy.

Once there was this Cool Goat Herder named Dragoslav. He told me that everything was cool and I could go listen to the bouzouki music while he tended our flocks together. But he lost a few of the goats and blamed it on me. So I didn't feel bad when he was eaten by wolves.

One year my flock had dwindled due to dysentery, so I had no work for my summer associate Bogdan. Instead, I had him tend a boulder near our grazing grounds. But when the flock increased and I asked him to assist with the goats, the pressure was too much - Bogdan had become used to the boulder's ways and could not adapt. In despair, he fled our pasture and now sells gyros in Chicago.

A few years ago I lost the shears I used to trim my goats. A petulant little boy named Grigor taunted me in the village, claiming that I preferred my goats with long hair so I could stroke them at night in the fields in place of a woman. I wanted to beat him with my crook, but instead I told Grigor that I desired to make peace and I offered him a drink of kirsch. When Grigor became inebriated and passed out, I sold him to a band of wandering Gypsies. I used the money to buy new shears.

A long time ago a man came from the Bureau of Livestock Pastures and informed me and my partner Blagojce that the Bureau would split our pasture in two. He said that our land was much larger than the other nearby pastures, that we had too many goats to properly care for, and consequently our goats were not of the same quality as those in the other, smaller pastures. That night the man became sick at the local tavern. He moaned wretchedly like a mother goat giving birth to a kid with six legs. Instead of returning to the big city, he left to recuperate by the sea, where he was eaten by a shark. Our pasture was never split. The bureaucrats leave us alone, whispering about the “Curse of the Goat Herd.” But really it was because Blagojce urinated on the man’s baklava.

Several years ago I had too many associates tending my flock. I explained to them that our PPB (“profits per billy”) were down sharply, and I could only afford to keep two of the ten associates. To make the layoffs fair, I gave them a test of physical endurance. The first two associates who could run to the Dnestr River and back would remain. As soon as the associates were out of sight, Blagojce and I moved the herd in the opposite direction. We also poured blood on the ground to make it look as if we had been eaten by wolves. After moving the herd to the other side of the mountain, Blagojce and I watched the associates return through binoculars. As they approached the blood-strewn campsite, they began weeping at our deaths and their misfortune. Unfortunately for the associates, their mourning attracted a real pack of wolves who attacked and devoured them. If Blagojce and I had not employed our ruse, we too would have suffered the same fate. It was the best business decision we ever made.

After the great dot-goat bust of the late 1990s, our milk production sunk dramatically. The partner emeritus of our flock Stjepan urged me to cut the associates’ salaries to insulate us partners from the downturn. Instead, I secretly informed the associates of his plot. We warned the partner emeritus that a storm was approaching from the southwest. That night, as the partner emeritus crouched tightly in his sleeping pouch, the associates and I took turns “making rain” on his coverlet. It was mid-winter and a frost gripped the land. The partner emeritus froze to death. Luckily, the next week the air warmed and our goats began lactating abundantly. But now their milk only tastes of urine to me.

I usually take a few goats from my flock to the annual livestock convention. Although some herders select their finest specimens and try to win first prize, I always chose the goats I find the most socially engaging. Who wants to sight-see with a morose goat? Two years ago I planned to bring Nana and Marta, my favorites. But I also noticed the young billy Krunislav exercising strenuously in the field and cleansing his pelt in the river. I asked Marta about his strange behavior. She informed me that Krunislav earnestly desired to attend the convention and had been training for months to persuade me to take him. Impressed by his dedication, I acquiesced. Krunislav pranced delightedly through the meadow. Shortly before we reached the convention, our food supplies ran low. I slaughtered Krunislav and fed the left-overs to Nana and Marta. Because he had exercised so hard, Krunislav was delicious. His mutton fetched third prize.