Tales of the Holy Goat
The garden is particularly lush this year, we have had a very wet spring interspersed with some really nice warm sunny days. We have the house on the market 5 acres just being too much now but have worked like dogs to keep the weeds at bay ( the beastly actual dogs only supervise!) The bastard weeds grow at an alarming rate, actually I’m sure they are triffids, they just described them wrongly in the book!
It has now got to the point that the garden is fairly mature and people, total strangers, actually stop and ask if they may walk round and look as it is fairly unusual for Whatcom County in that it is filled with flowers not public lavatory style landscaping as are most properties. So we are reasonably and justifiably rather pleased with it. Not unreasonably it is being sold with the garden being very much one of its selling points. One would not expect a non gardener to buy this place.
Now for the Holy Goat, which has become the ranking obscenity of the week plus!
Some wretched woman, a divorcee, (not bloody surprised, he must have run screaming) living alone who owns two horses and a GOAT wants to buy the place. We have a rather good barn that she wanted I think a sight more than the house! First off she tries to knock the price down 30 Grand because we smoke and not content with steam cleaning the carpets would have to be replaced (Neurotic bitch!) Then she tries to come round with her realtor and wants to browbeat us over this that and the other. (That we did not allow, most unethical!) Then she gets her knickers in a twist as we were not interested in making a counter offer and declined to do so.
We were concerned that she would not be able to maintain two horses and said GOAT, garden and full time job and it would end up being tantamount to animal cruelty as they would get out and run into the huge lumber trucks bring monster trunks to the saw mill a couple of miles up the road. One helluva big heap of minced horse under an 18 wheeler! So, we had our realtor make discreet enquiries of her realtor to find out which fantasy island she inhabited.
Evidently she intended to let the garden go to to the GOAT as she wasn’t interested, just the field and barn for the horses. Just after this information was imparted I was off for tea with my little old lady widow, 86 and a very good Christian clean living sort. Needless to say I waxed lyrical on telling her the tale, ended up ‘f’ing and blinding something horrible. She and her sons were laughing so hard I thought she would have a stroke. Her son coined the ‘Holy Goat’ as a ranking obscenity. By the time the afternoon was over we were all in the highest good humour, I did try to apologise for the language but she was having none of it as she swore she’d heard it all before, (I doubt it! I can get right colourful!) She did demand updates though on the tale.
Needless to say, said GOAT owner comes back with another offer, upping it 15 Grand. Ouch. By this time we had decided that we really didn’t want to move at all! We only put it on the market because my bursitis in my left knee gave me so much trouble for the last two years but strangely enough hasn’t worried me since my weird Chink doctor has got to it. But we could see this one coming and coming. We had the dread thought that if she came up to the asking price we would either have to sacrifice the garden to the Holy GOAT or shell out 28 Grand to the realtor as his fee for breach of contract, serious ouch either way!
Not unreasonably our realtor thought we should make a counter offer this time round, grudgingly spousal unit dropped 2 grand and we hoped and we hoped and we hoped she would go away! Further snotty remarks about this that and the other and the word came down that she was going to make an offer on another place. “Oh what a shame” ( Said with total insincerity and mendacity) Please, please, please may she be very happy wherever she goes as long as it isn’t here!
I hope the GOAT gets eaten for its pains.
We now have to repel all prospective purchasers from making any decent offers. We have thought about strategically placed coprolitic dog turds in the living room. Spousal unit favoured open dishes of rat poison here and there to infer a verminous condition and we could set out our motion sensored ultrasonic deer repeller to human setting to send them mad on entry. (It seriously drives you nuts and gives you a terrible headache) Anything to get them running screaming out the front door! Trouble is we shall have to go through this charade the whole summer as a selling contract lasts six months here and that doesn’t run out till the autumn.
Any bizarre suggestions on how not to sell your house would be gratefully accepted.