Cautionary Tale: Goat, Not Accessory

Saturday Special: Cautionary Tale—

Goats Are Not Fashion Accessories

(Unless you’re a guy, and you’ve got enough whiskers growing in just the right places).

So I’d refashioned wool skirts and wool leggings out of wool sweaters, like my friend Steph did so beautifully. I was tickled at the outcome; pleased as punch that I was finding so many things in my closet that would go with. Excited to show off my adventure.

Pleased too, when I looked out the window at my beloved Eugenia Beliza (aka Genie Belly, aka Genie) and Cricket, and realized (oh the cleverness of me) that we all matched. What a delicious photo shoot the three of us could make! My black and white striped leggings with Genie’s polka dot belly, andCricket’s beautiful Holstein coloring.

Any cuteness or charisma that I lacked, my goats would make up for.

I forgot that my little goats are entirely herd animals.

Yes, pets, and yes, sweet and very funny, and yes, they think of me as part of their herd (the food-bringer), but really, once I’ve fed and scratched them and cooed a little, they prefer one another’s company. And though they like to make grand escapes from their little goat yard, they never get further than my pear trees right outside their fence, where they stop and nibble.

I could tell the photo shoot would go a little wanky when we got Genie on a leash.

It’s been awhile since we’ve taken her on a walk (early fall—goat poop dotting the sidewalk wherever we travelled), and then, Cricket was on a leash too, experiencing the novelty of the neighborhood with her, leaving her own complementary trail. Cricket bawled as she watched Genie go out the gate without her. Genie got past the pear trees and balked, her hair standing on end. We had planned to take her a block away where frosty trees made a pretty backdrop…we were lucky to get her across the street. The neighbor’s goat, hearing Cricket’s distress, started crying too…and Genie, torn between curiosity at her unmet neighbor and homesickness for Cricket, was too beside herself to be cute or funny. She was just puffy and anxious. She didn’t even really enjoy being scratched.

Marc Chagall painted goats, I think, because he knew better than to take pictures of them.

I had to carry Genie back into her pen. We didn’t even consider asking Cricket to go for a walk. They’ve forgiven us, of course, since we are the food givers and the fur scratchers. And they’re perfectly cute with each other, and with us, in the safety of their own yard.    Perhaps I’ll just paint them— looking soulful with black and white leggings and Maurya’s ukele.