Thanks, girls. I can't feel safe anymore. Sure, it was interesting, perhaps plausible, even - that programmers might someday create Artificial Intelligence (A.I.) with consciousness and the ability to pass the Turing Test. Yet this is what gives me pause - how do we know the goats aren't A.I.? Am I imagining that silvery glint in Emerson's eye, and the way they hang at the gate - do they see me as merely a means to escape their confinement, manipulating me like robotic Ava used young Caleb?? If I peeled back a flap of black fur...
I always thought it was cute, how Emerson plays a little game of sticking his nose in my coat pocket to pull out my gloves - but what if he's really searching for a key card??? And, although sweet Elliot seems a bit brainless (hence the nickname "Stupidhead"), it could just be an act...
What is this world coming to, when you can't even trust your goats?!
So, while the ultimate nightmare might be this - being locked up with a bunch of robotic goats (well, any goats, actually...) a helicopter ride away from the nearest neighbor, there would be a few advantages to being more secluded, as I learned this morning when I went out to feed the goats. I should be used to this, but honestly, there were mounds of goat poop everywhere - the driveway, the picnic table, the feeding shed - and I just started shrieking at them.
"Where did all this poop come from?? Who did this?? Do you stupidheads really think I want to see all this poop so early in the morning?? Who's going to clean it up?? I'm so sick of all this poop!!"
Right. Tomorrow morning, before I start yelling at them, I'll remember to check that none of the neighbors are walking by along the road...
What are you staring at? Just keep walking, mister...
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