In the middle of August, the neighbour’s goats didn’t come back as usual in the evening for milking so the next day we set out to find them – no goats meant no milk and no more cheese so it was a serious matter. We drove down towards the village and then split up into two groups. I went with Joe and following the trail of freshly laid goat shit, we eventually came across them on one of the peaks. We backed off and they came towards us but then rather than retracing their steps went further down the valley until the next peak. We circled them and managed to herd them back towards the cortijo. Unfortunately, they took the shortest route through the woods which meant that we arrived home scratched and bruised. But it was good to get them back into their pen.