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When I’d finished as much repair work as I could on the fence, I went down to look at what was going on. Of course, there was another broken batten. The animals were all further along well past the gate, so I took a chance, opened the gate and set out to drive The Pretender down to be with the others.  Laying out a $7 waratah every time they broke a batten was starting to wear a bit thin.

We circled a couple of times – with me tripping and hopping round among the cushions of prickly gorse and trying to keep an eye on the does and Moz in the paddock below at the same time.  Just when I thought I had him heading through the gate, The Pretender veered off to the side and instead Rheema came hurtling up through it at a full gallop before I could stop her.

Fuming, I ran forward and slammed the gate shut.  My calculated risk had gone to custard.  One step forward, two steps back. What to do now?

Never give up, they say.  Without very much hope, I followed Rheema as she moved off along the fenceline into the gorse and tea-tree where I had just been working.  Humans are at a huge disadvantage in those conditions, but I managed to flush her out and back down towards the gate.

When I got there, Moz was quite close to the gate and obviously intent on reclaimimg control of his harem – so I opened it to let him through, closing it quickly on Rheema’s kids and Dawn.  I slipped back through the gate myself, and as I turned to shut it I realised Rheema had decided two bucks were far too much and was coming towards me, with Moz and The Pretender hot on her heels.

She really didn’t want to be with those boys, because she came straight to me and slipped through the gate as I called out, “Come on, girl!” and opened it for her. I slammed it tight against the two males, full of glee that I’d turned the tables. “You two can just jolly well go off and fight it out!”  I told them.

And that’s what they did.  All evening as I worked below I could hear the clash of horns, and see them struggling, heaving and grunting as they pushed one another back and forth across the paddock. I couldn’t help wondering if Mozilla might be the loser.  His young son seemed to have a heavier bodyweight and, coming straight from the bush, was in better condition than his father.

I was sorry it had come to this, but I had reached the conclusion that Moz had to go as well.  This was a perfect example of the problems of dealing with wild stock, and I wasn’t about to go that route.  In all honesty Mozilla has probably done his dash here from a breeding standpoint anyway, and he’s not an easy buck to deal with at the best of times.  I would be better off to winter through the does on their own, and buy a Boer buck kid that I could raise to be tractable, rather than carry on dealing with wildness in my herd.

So while the two top guns were battling it out up towards the bush, the young rookie buckling had the two does and the two kids to himself.  Young guy sneaks in to grab the spoils!  One thing I knew, mom wouldn’t let him mate her, and with only the one male to deal with, I felt she would keep him in his place as far as the kids were concerned.

I also noticed that her udder was drunk up and the teats were even, now – no longer lopsided and full of milk as they had been when she first came through the fence.  When kids drink from their mother, they wag their tails – in pleasure I guess – which is exactly what the does do when on heat.  This tail-wagging had been attracting the wrong kind of attention from the boys, who were pretty forceful with their advances. I speculated that now Rheema and the kids had more peace from the males, the kids had been able to get their drinks without interruption – much more satisfactory for her and for them.

Peace descends on the valley.  But who was going to win the battle of the bucks?

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