the other side of the fence

26 Sep

All last summer as I rode my bike through Snohomish county, past all the rolling pastures full of sun-loving, slow-moving livestock, I quietly squeed on numerous occasions. A tail-flicking horse – squee! a knock-kneed cow baby – squee!! Smiley-face goats! Squee squee! So I started volunteering at a goat farm to see what they’re like up close. Turns out, they are relentlessly cute, curious, smart and friendly. This farm is also a rescue, so the goats usually have a sad story — horns burned off, hooves untrimmed to the point where it’s amazing they can even walk, bb gun pellet lodged in the belly for what looks like a couple of years. It’s so sad what people think it’s okay to do to an animal. But somehow most of the goats maintain their trust, and they’ll just walk over, lean against you and look up with the sweetest faces you can imagine. And then poop. Because that’s what they do.

The neatest thing about this farm is that it’s on a road that’s somewhat popular with cyclists, so while I’m there I usually see 5-10 people ride by. Of those, maybe 2 or 3 look over, see the goats chomping lazily on the grass, and smile. I like to think they’re sqeeing a little inside.

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