OK, next time I’ll listen when the dogs are trying to tell me something.The dogs were at the sliding glass door to the backyard barking furiously as bedtime neared; we figured they were just excited by one of the barn cats wandering around.But the next morning, with the sky just starting to lighten, we could see the cause for the commotion: Our three goats were hanging out in the backyard, between the pasture and the house.I donned a coat and headed out; turns out they had staged an escape through the gate to the goat pen, which had been improperly latched. The gate had largely swung shut after they got out, though, apparently leaving the goats outside the pen all night. It was presumably more excitement than they had bargained for, as they huddled around me and meekly followed me to their pen.Goats are notorious escape artists. “Goats Ö are very curious, intelligent, and driven to fulfill that ‘grass is always greener on the other side’ drive,” observes a posting at offthegridnews.com. “If they can, they will escape!” Our goats most cunning escape was staged with the help of a large wooden spool that they used to climb on; little by little, they edged the spool closer to the fence until they were able to use it to hop over.I believe Nana is the ringleader; she has been a part of our lives even before we moved to the country. We were boarding our horses at Powers Ranch and were coming home from a trip when Hope, our daughter, texted us: “Baby goat. Needs help!” A young goat had shown up at the ranch and had obviously had a rough time; its ears had been chewed on by dogs or something. Hope brought it to our house in town; somewhere, I still have a photo of her on the floor with the baby goat on her lap. I also have vivid memories of me sleeping outside on our back deck that night to keep the goat company; we couldn’t keep her in the house because of her less-than-helpful bathroom habits, and when we tried to leave her outside on her own, she hollered.Nana obviously wasn’t going to work out as a city goat, so we set up a pen for her at the Powers Ranch and, with the help of other horse boarders there, took care of her. When we moved to our little house on the prairie, we brought her along.A rescue goat from Black Forest that we named Christmas became Nana’s first goat roomie; when Christmas died of a massive infection, we got Chica, a LaMancha, from a couple in Hanover. (LaManchas are a type of dairy goat known for their small ears ó or their “much-reduced external ears,” as Britannica puts it.)Our third goat, Pepe, a male, turned up one day at a neighbor’s house; the owner was never found and Pepe landed with us, since the neighbors wanted him to have fellow goats. Pepe has never learned to fully trust us, though; while Nana and Chica will crowd around us, Pepe always hangs back.Just like chickens, goats appear to have a pecking order; Nana’s in charge and, interestingly, Pepe, though the last to join the group, seems to have become second in command. That leaves Chica out in the cold, literally. While the other two goats sleep in the barn, she seems to hang out at night in the outside goat house (essentially a very large doghouse) that was the main goat habitat in the pre-barn days. Being somewhat on her own has its advantages, though; she has learned to expect an extra treat at mealtime while Nana and Pepe are in the barn chowing down.In addition to their reputation as escape artists, goats are known for their love of climbing and standing on things, from benches to mountains to people (as in goat yoga). Since we had removed the spool they used to perch on, I built them a Christmas present: a platform, about 4 feet off the ground, where they can stand and survey their kingdom. But despite that innate desire to be up high, they’ve been slow in taking advantage of the platform; while they will readily climb up on my car given the chance, for example. They can’t seem to figure out the ramp to the platform. I guided Chica up the ramp the first time with the help of a leash; when she was ready to get down, she jumped instead of strolling back down the ramp. Maybe they’re just playing dumb and are having parties on their “porch” while I’m not around.
