The goaterer


By Tiber 

We accumulate animals around here the way other people end up with, I don’t know, hangers. And even though Dad has insisted we conserve money, the animal parade hasn’t stopped.

First, Mom brought home the needy peacocks and this week, Iris Nell brought home a needy goat.

Now believe me, I am all for rescuing any animal in distress, but to be honest, I’ve never really gotten the point of goats. I mean, what do they do?

Iris Nell took me outside to meet Fletcher. He’s a Nigerian Dwarf goat and though he’s small, I didn’t want him suddenly lunging for my chest which, of course, was the first thing he did.

I panicked and screamed, “He’s going for my nipples!!!” as if I was some girl caught in a drunken bar brawl. He was really just curious about my shirt buttons so it’s a good thing only Iris Nell witnessed my insane meltdown, as anybody else in my family would have slammed pictures of it all over the Internet.

Anyway, the goat was actually pretty calm and soon he made me relax as if I was his goatkeeper…goatboss…goaterer? You see how much I know about this? Goatherd! Is that it?

Anyway, goats are herd animals so, though Dad doesn’t know it yet, my guess is, we’re going to end up adopting more, as well as catering to all of their requirements. Goats are not for everybody because, evidently, as modest as they appear, they tend to go all Hollywood child-star over the perfection of their accommodations.

Iris Nell informed me that they really can pay their own way, though, what with cheese and their ability to “mow” tricky spots on the grounds.

And to my great surprise, I just sort of like this one. I mean, if I’m out grabbing a coffee, I don’t pause and think, “I wonder if Fletcher would like a little latte.”

But when I go hiking, he does follow along. Great. Maybe he thinks I’m his mother. I don’t know where the hell he would have gotten that idea. All I did was look out for him and pat him on the head. He’s a good boy.

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