I've written before about my goat-wrangling adventures--I showed you videos and pictures of our two baby goats, here and here and here, illustrated funny things here, and shared ridiculous misadventures with my goats here.
All in all, I have to say that the goats are a pain in the neck. They don't stay in our pasture very well, the one who has one tentacle left thinks he's a LUV MACHINE, and they're persistent and smart enough to make a tiny gap in the fence into a major freeway in no time at all. But last week--last week was the absolute tops. It's after school, and Jenny's having a snack and getting ready to start on her homework. The phone rings and I answer it.
"Karen? This is Alyssa next door, and I know that this is going to sound sort of random, but I just saw a bunch of goats running down the road, and I wondered if, well, if maybe they were yours?"
Let me repeat what she said, in case you missed it. She said, "I JUST SAW A BUNCH OF GOATS RUNNING DOWN THE ROAD..."
So the goats are running down the road. RUNNING. DOWN THE ROAD. And let's be honest--if there are a bunch of goats running down the road, they must be my goats.
Jenny and I go to hunt them down. We walk all the way down to the corner, and there's no sign of them except for little piles of what Jenny has always called 'goaty pebbles.' We walk down the other direction from our house. No goats.
Finally, we check the back yard, and lo and behold, there they are, in yard next door, basically right where they started out, calmly eating my neighbor's lovely plants as though they hadn't just taken the scenic tour of the neighborhood...
My goats now have their very own private condominium area behind the barn, newly fenced in five-foot tall rigid fencing, never more to roam.