Goat for a boat?

Karen and I anchored at Haulover Bay. The bay sits on the western shore of Cooper Island, along a narrow strip of land that has some history. There is some historical evidence that shows this narrow, low-lying section of the island was used for neer-do-wells to escape larger official-types by dragging their small boats over the island to the other side and escape, while the large vessels had to go around.

The anchorage has really good holding (a nice sandy bottom that holds anchors well.) It isn''t a very nice place to be when the wind is ESE, though, as the waves (driven by the winds) wrap around the southern end of Cooper Island and turn northward into the bay. These waves make the boat rock side to side like an amusement ride. It would be an outstanding anchorage if the wind was NE, though.

Before leaving for smoother waters, we took the dinghy to the shore. A local man had also landed his small boat on shore, but headed off toward the interior of the island through the brush. Very suspicious, indeed! We headed over the narrow section to the other shoreline about 100' away to check out the scenery. It's unbelievable the amount of flotsam/jetsam (floating debris) that has accumulated on some of the shores; we've seen boat parts (from whole boats, I guess,) countless plastic bottles, tennis shoes, flip flops, bits and pieces of fishing net and even surfboards. This shoreline was no different except for a goat...a little tiny goat about 50' away, that was looking for mama. Thinking it would be fun to see what would happen, I made a couple of bleats like I thought a goat sounded like. The goat ran to us as fast as it could, bleating all the way. Just great! Now what do we do. I picked the little one up and it acted like it was in goat heaven. Or maybe it was just hungry. We looked all over the area for mama, but no sound was heard except of the local man tramping through the brush, rattling a plastic bucket. Karen suggested taking the little goat over to the local man and see if he had any ideas, so off I went looking for him. Nope, Karen stayed put next to the shore...she wasn't tramping around in the bug-infested brush to look for a possible show-down with a local drug-lord tending his "ganja" crop (marijuana.) I found the guy, finally, walking around dropping what appeared to be rocks into his buckets. He was put in charge of the little goat, assuring me that the mama was around somewhere, and the goats belonged to his family anyway. The rocks he was dropping into the bucket?...hermit crabs...I have no idea what he was going to do with them...surely, he wasn't going to eat them. Maybe he collects them and sells them to an exporter that, in turn, ships them out to pet stores. A pretty weird way to make a living, if that's what he was doing. And, no, we didn't see any "ganja."

Either this little one has really poor vision
or my goat calling skills are superb

I was trying to figure out how to make a goat on
a boat work...I could have called it "Billy" or "Billie"

AWWWW!

The little one still had a dried umbilical attached

Karen has some ammunition to use on me some day if she says I sound like an "old goat."