No fencing job around here is complete until you goat-test. So I tweaked the goat fence last night, giving them a boop-out of new grass and scrub, and swapping out the tall bit for the standard 4-foot fencing (I need the tall bit for the bean trellis). I also put in a real gate on the garden side, since it's been tedious hauling mulch from the barn to the garden, untwisting wires every time. The little goobers obligingly tested the fence for me this morning, and found it lacking. Translation: the dogs woke me up to tell me the goats were in the garden. I was out there in mismatched shoes blinking in the sunshine before you could say, "You little bastards!"
C. would kill me if the goats destroyed the garden. Plus, I would go hungry this winter.
But they willingly followed me back into the pasture when I shook the grain can. I think the breakout was a ploy to get treats.
I do have a name idea for them, though. Terrence and Phillip, after the characters on the South Park TV-show-within-a-TV-show. T. and P. are British, and find themselves hilarious. They mostly fart at each other, and laugh and laugh. Idiots. Substitute a headbutt for the fart, and you have the goat boys. I offer the suggestion to C., and she suggests Pestilence and Plague would be more appropriate. Pesto and Plague-o? No, I think T. and P. are better. There's no meanness in the goats.
Little bastards.
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