The dotard tried to preach us every now and then and would say things in the cadence of a priest high on verses from the ‘Geeta’.


A herd of goats it was, that had gotten on the habit of invading and sabotaging our garden during afternoon siestas.
When finally the door was opened, the room was peppered all over with goat-shit pellets. Finally, we realized it was a losing proposition after all, to hold the mischievous goat captive.