Right up there at the top of any life's most embarrassing moments list - when your goat attacks a small child in front of half a dozen witnesses...
If our goats took one of those trendy internet Sorting Hat quizzes, there's no question which house they'd claim. Sweet, gentle Elliot was born a Hufflepuff - meek and unassuming, he'd share his last orange peel with anyone who asked.
His wily brother, however, is Slytherin to the bone. Sneaky and calculating, Emerson head-butts Ellie for the best position at the hay rack, the juiciest tomatoes, the spot closest to the gate. Although smaller, he is the Alpha Goat, always first, always in control. His philosophy is: Just follow my rules, and no one gets hurt.
Sometimes I forget. Last week we hosted a picnic, and one mom told me how her 18-month old daughter just adores goats (from local petting zoos), and could she see Em and Ellie? Pride (and a little stupidity) kicked in as I lifted the toddler into the goat pen, smiling as she waved her hands and shrieked, "Goat! Goat!" Elliot ambled over, docile as the little girl leaned against his side and stroked his fur.
Nice goat, sweet goat, Why is that tiny human giving my brother all the attention? This needs to stop! and suddenly there was Emerson, head-butting her out of the way, and as she tumbled to the ground crying (though fortunately unhurt), Emerson calmly rubbed himself against my legs... My turn for attention now, Mommy!
Sure, you can pet my goats. Just put on these knee pads first, this helmet, this Kevlar vest...
