Few writers (Lawrence Durrell, for example) manage to convey the blinding heat and light of Greece as well as Leigh Fermor does. In this case, I loved the vivid image of the nibbling nanny goat blithely finding the tenderest leaves despite the stream of invective hurled at her by the powerless goatherd. Even when his insults are swapped for hard ware, and she is sent duly flying through the air, she remains impervious to his fury. Good on you, goat lady.
‘What could they all find to eat in this sun-smitten wilderness? A nimble nanny-goat had settled the problem by leaping into a sycamore tree and rising with lightning bounds from branch to branch till she had reached the top, where, perched precariously like a heraldic emblem, she began swallowing the delicious young leaves. The goatherd was in a frenzy and inappropriate oaths whizzed through the air in the wake of stony missiles. “Pimp!” he shouted, “Catamite!” and “Whore!”; all in vain. Finally, aiming his crook like a javelin, and winging it pleonastically with the cry of “hornwearer!” he caught her a neat blow on the belly.  “Na Kerata!” The goat sailed up into the air and over our heads in a wide arc and alighted on the hillside, where, cool as a cucumber, the female cuckold went on munching some gloomy plant.’
Source: Patrick Leigh Fermor, Mani: Travels in the Southern Peloponnese, introduction by Michael Gorra, New York: New York Review of Books, 2006 (1958), p. 194
