This isn't about me, but is a great story about my Dad. One day in the early eighties, my Dad went out to buy a lawnmower after our old one had gone to the place that all old lawnmowers eventually end up.

On the way he spotted an opportunity not to be missed - "GOATS FOR SALE". "Wow", he reasoned, "Goats eat grass. Maybe I could save some money here.".

In he went to talk to the goat seller. "But don't goats end up with large horns?", asked Dad. "No, only the male ones grow horns", the purveyor of goats assured him. "These are all female". Reassured, money changed hands and Dad returned home with a very pleased look on his face and a goat under his arm.

Unfortunately there were some things we didn't know about our new goat (who was quickly given the moniker "Nanny") that we later learnt.

Firstly, Nanny didn't actually like eating grass. She loved eating our flowers and hedgerow. She was also a particular fan of fresh laundry drying on the line.

Secondly, Nanny thought that she was a dog. We owned several dogs at the time, and as far as Nanny was concerned, they were her kin. The problem was, that the dogs enjoyed certain privileges that were not extended to her. Such as being allowed in the house. Nanny didn't understand that she was different and couldn't see why she wasn't extended the same basic rights as her peers. When she was small, this wasn't a problem. However all this soon changed....

Now the more observant of you will already know what is coming.

Remember the wisdom of the goat seller? Now look at the picture again.

Yes, Nanny the goat was actually a BOY goat! Indeed, not long after Nanny came to live with us, we noticed these little buds appear on her head and as you will see from the picture, they started to grow and grow. Soon the secret was out and "Nanny" was given the more appropriate name "Billy".

So, we had a lawnmower that didn't cut grass and a girl goat who wasn't a girl. As Billy got older, resentment at the way he was being treated in comparison to his canine peers grew and my mothers valiant efforts to prevent Billy from eating his favourite meal of clean washing meant that he started to get quite violent and would butt the legs of my mother whilst she was out hanging the washing.

Getting in the house without him was also a challenge, so you had to run toward the end of the garden as a decoy and then race back to get in the door before he reached it at which point he would ram the door with his ever more impressive looking horns.

Mum ended up giving Dad an ultimatum - it's the goat or me.

We all agreed in the end that though we loved Billy, we just couldn't keep him anymore. We said our goodbyes and Dad drove to a rural goat sanctuary that he had found out about.

The story doesn't end there though as when Dad arrived at the goat sanctuary, he found that they were actually closed at the weekend. Unperturbed, he simply popped Billy over the fence and left him munching on some roses he had found. I often wondered what the goat sanctuary workers made of their unannounced addition.

So Billy was a much loved family pet before outgrowing us. He caused much amusement, like the time he fell into the water butt and had to be rescued after climbing on to it from a chair to reach the Ivy that had been out of his reach till that point. He also made great progress eating through the bench in the photograph.

However, as a lawnmower, he was useless.