This ruffian ruminant drove my husband crazy in just five days.
Keeping a goat has its ups and downs.
Robby and I married and moved to a farm, even though he’s not really a country fellow. But he had a positive attitude, announcing that it was his lifelong dream to have a goat. The poor guy didn’t know what he was in for.
Robby researched goat care for hours. Did I know they’re just like dogs—kind, loving and easy to care for? That they love being around people? Robby regaled me with lists of wonderful things about goats while working on his masterpiece: the ultimate goat pen.
Then a friend called to say that if we wanted a goat, she had one that was driving her crazy. Before we knew it, we were standing in her barn, gazing at the cutest brownand-white goat. But when I leaned down to place a makeshift twine lead around his neck, this adorable creature flew several feet straight up the wall, did a backflip and darted to the other side of the pen. After eight laps around the pen, several runs up the wall and one full-fledged escape outside, our little friend was leashed. He was also coated from head to hoof in mud and manure and not going in my backseat. It’s a short drive, though, so I popped the trunk.
The goat handled a few minutes in a large trunk like a champ.
Robby led little Pan to his pen, where the frisky critter frolicked happily in his new home. On the second day, however, Pan invented a game I call “Is It Really an EscapeProof Fence?” By day three, the score was fence 0, goat 1.
By day four, Pan had a regular routine. Step one, escape the pen. Step two, head straight for our front door. Step three, knock. (He did this by jumping up, then hitting the door with a front hoof.) Step four, watch Robby find the hole and hammer a board over it. Repeat steps one through four frequently.
Soon Pan was knocking at our door on the hour. And every time, Robby sprang forth armed with a hammer and board. By that night, he went to bed confident Pan was indeed securely imprisoned.
After waking on day five to the sound of our dogs going crazy, I returned to the bedroom laughing. “Honey, your goat’s at the door.” My disgruntled husband got up and put Pan in his pen. Before he could make it back to the house, the goat was back at the front door.
That was about an hour ago. I can now hear the sounds of sawing and hammering. In the meantime, guess who’s looking up at me innocently from our front step?