The Saga of the Goat, Part 1: Speaking “Goat”

The horse stables at camp had a revolving menagerie of random animals people donated.  The two white pygmy goats were my favorite.

The first summer they were there, we had them in an enclosure right by the area where we would line up with the horses about to go on a trail ride.  There was an electric fence, and when they touched it, they would sound like this: “Maa. Meh.  Meh.  Ma–MEEEH!”   By the time I got there for the summer, the goats never even touched the fence anymore.  But someone had discovered if you “talked” to the goats, they would answer you.  And if you made their “goat-touching-the-electric-fence” noise at them, they would make it back.

All summer long, the wranglers kept campers entertained by talking to the goats and getting the goats to holler.  At first it would freak them out, because the goat pen was hard to see through the trees and the campers would wonder what was making those awful sounds!  The trail rides didn’t always leave on time, for a variety of reasons, such as:

“I need to take my ponytail out!  It doesn’t fit under my helmet and it hurts!”

“My stirrups are uneven!”

“I think I’m going a little crooked.”  (Usually said by a rider leaning off at a 45 degree angle.)

“I changed my mind.  I’m too scared.  I don’t want to go.”

“My horse is hungry.  He wants a snack before we go.”

“But I don’t want to kick him too hard and hurt him!”

So, while waiting to go, I would look at this…

…and I’d talk to the goats.

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