Getting My Goat
When my lady read this article about goats at Slate.com, she turned to me and said, in her no-nonsense but also very sweet voice: “We can not have goats, honey.” If you’re not the type to read a few paragraphs about the joys and jeers of owning - or being owned by - three impertinent goats, here are some of the highlights:
Whenever I walk out to the barn to do the chores, I am hooted and jeered. By my goats. The jeering is sharp, loud, and to the point—a quick, nasal “baah” that is presumptuous and annoying. They are the most impertinent animals I have ever known.
I love them, of course.
“Nuts to you, goats!” I yelled when they catcalled me a few mornings ago. “You don’t know anything. Bug off. Be quiet.”
My goats are not contemplative, accepting, or introspective. Unlike cows, they are not accepting. Unlike sheep, they are smart. Unlike donkeys, they are intrusive. Unlike dogs, they are useless, except to annoy me.
They are playful, chasing one another around, butting heads every now and then. It is not true that they will eat anything. Quite the opposite. My goats like fresh hay, Paul Newman’s low-fat popcorn, oat cookies, and multigrain wheat bran. They turn up their noses at almost anything else. The only time they are remotely respectful to me is when I bring them a bag of popcorn and dump it on the ground.
They don’t jeer only at me. They are the only creatures on the farm who regularly laugh at Rose, my working dog. They scoff when my cow Luna goes into heat and gets frisky. They poke fun at Winston, my venerable rooster, and find the spirituality of the donkeys ludicrous.
If this doesn’t convince you to run out and buy some goats, I don’t know what will.
February 22nd, 2008 at 10:46 pm
So…how many goats did you pick up?
As for me…I’m pretty sure my landlord will not approve of me keeping goats in my apartment.