We Speak Human, and Experiments

So, it dawned on us at some point that we actually speak human better than we speak goat. So instead of just trying to convince the goats to get out of the road whenever a car was coming, we got right out there in the road and stopped the traffic. Then we’d let the cars go by slowly, and it was a miracle how well it worked, standing out there in the middle of the road making a big old X with my body. People react to that. People react to people. And the goats just wriggle and mingle and whack each other and stand around and just generally act like goats.

And fancy that, my stress level went down about a million percent.

It was cold and we took all four of them and tried to go a new way until Bosco noticed a giant rottweiler growling his face off by a pretty low fence. So we turned around and went another way and used our new human to human communication technique three or four times. Some teenagers pulled into a driveway right in front of us and hopped out.

Cool dogs ya got there. They said. What breed are they?

And then they laughed a little and squealed a little and yelled clever things like, GOATS!, and started heading inside. Jon Snow went a little closer to investigate the squealing, so of course Sharkey followed. And then Oatcake and then Bosco followed. And then we followed them, cooing and calling, and trying to get them back on track. The teenagers squealed some more and hustled backwards toward the front door. The faster they went, the faster Jon Snow followed. Before the teenagers knew it, Jon Snow had one foot through their front door.

GOAT!, they squealed one last time and shut the door on Jon Snow’s foot. That startled him and he turned around and ran back toward me, and then so did everyone else, and then we had an entire gang of goats hauling ass straight down the driveway right at us, so we just got the hell out of the way for a minute and then gave everyone cookies.

We hiked around on a new trail. The North Loop. It was wonderful. Sweeping views of the city and the valley, and the river and the trees. Bosco followed me pretty well as long as I plied him with animal crackers, and the other three still jostled each other around, jockeying for last place. Sophie took the rear, pushing the team along, mentally wearing herself out over the next six miles trying to think of every way she could to get them to just walk.

Sounds like it would be easy to get a goat to walk, but Sophie would heartily disagree.

I pictured us camping here and there. Under this little stand of rocks, or hanging my hammock in that little grove of trees. Oatcake didn’t scream at all, and the silence was sweet. Just the clop clop of Bosco’s hoofs and some gentle swearing from Sophie directed at Sharkey again.

We were wearing our dresses. Unwashed. We want to see how badly they’ll smell after five days of hiking in them. Experiments, experiments, experiments.

We hiked our way back and stopped the traffic and stripped the goats of their packs.

And yawned our way all the way home.