Life in the Country

We’re getting settled into our new (old) house in the country.  And boy, do I mean “in the country!”  We had some friends over for lunch yesterday–the kind of friends that don’t mind that they had to walk sideways around our remaining unpacked boxes.  I love that kind of friend.

Anyway, I made an apple pie for the occasion.  About ten minutes after I’d taken it out of the oven, I asked Pete to go into the kitchen and see if it was cool enough to serve yet, since everyone was whining about being able to smell it but not yet eat it.  So, he ambled into the kitchen and, almost immediately, his calm, quiet voice reached our ears: “There’s a goat in our yard.”  I wish you could have heard him.  Seriously, he said it just as evenly as if he were saying, “The sky is blue.”

Now, I should inform you that I am quite aware that we have goats for neighbors.  Across the street to the west, across the street to the north, and next door to the south.  But we also have fences in these parts, so I never expected to have a goat in my yard.  At least, not until we buy one of our own to eat all our thistles and dandelions.

So I said, “Excuse me?  In our yard?”

Pete said (calmly again), “He just walked under our deck.”

At this point, we’d all joined him at the window where he was standing, but since the goat had walked under the deck, we couldn’t see him.  So we all ran over to another window to see if we could watch him walk out.   Which he did. Because he wanted to join his buddies.

Oh, yes.  He had not come alone.  Not by a long shot.  There, right in our front yard, was a veritable herd of goats.  Brown ones, white ones, brown-and-white ones, and two darling little baby goats (yes, I know they’re called “kids”).  I couldn’t even count them, there were so many.

Obviously, we couldn’t just let the goats meander around.  Especially since, at this point, several of them had jumped up into our raised bed where we had, only last week, buried our beloved pet rabbit who recently went to Bunny Heaven.  So we all ran outside and stood between the goats and the road, to keep them somewhat contained while we figured out our next move.  Once all our brains kicked into gear, we realized that we have a play area in our back yard that is fenced in.  I opened the gate and we all poked and prodded the goats until they were off of the grave of our dearly departed and clumped around the swingset instead (this was much easier than I anticipated–goats are truly stupid animals, thank goodness).

In the meantime, Pete went next door to see if he could find the goats’ owner, which he did, simply by walking through the same hole in the fence that the goats had evidently just created.  All the owner had to do was walk up to our gate with a bucket of feed, and the goats were gone.  (If you’ve never watched a goat run, you have missed a great laugh.)

So, that was our typical Sunday afternoon in the country.

Oh.  In case you were wondering, we did manage to count the goats once they were all in the backyard.

Twenty-eight.

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2 thoughts on “Life in the Country

  1. Well, that was my plan, but Pete found the owner too fast! Also, I discovered that goats don’t necessarily restrict themselves to dining on weeds. They were beginning to enjoy my forsythia quite a bit as well, the little buggers.

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