The Goat Pen: Kingdom of Trouble

Event Date: 1978–1984 Drafted: 2025-11-23

Goats are nature’s little anarchists.

Our goat pen — a muddy, straw-covered plot beside the barn — was the first place I learned how personalities existed in animals: stubbornness, curiosity, mischief, even something like humor.

There were the friendly ones, the skittish ones, the aloof ones, and then there was the old grandpa goose, who lived near the goats and seemed actively committed to terrorizing children. His beady eyes followed us like he was the sheriff of his own ridiculous frontier. He’d hiss and lower his neck and waddle-chase us around the yard until we shrieked our way behind Mom’s legs.

The goats saw him as competition.

Sometimes the goats would escape, slipping through a gap in the fence, trotting into forbidden corners of the yard as if giving us a challenge. Mom would yell for us, all flustered and laughing, “Get them back in! Don’t let them near the grain!” And we’d run around the yard in a mix of panic and delight, trying to herd creatures who had absolutely no intention of being herded.

The best days were the quiet ones — brushing them, holding out grain in our palms, watching the babies hop sideways with that inexplicable goat-joy.

But there was always some level of trouble brewing. Goats are like that. They’re chaos wrapped in fur.

And yet, some of my earliest lessons in tenderness, patience, frustration, and responsibility came from that goat pen.

It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t sanitized. It was real. And that makes it sacred.