Goats

Two goats. There were two goats tied up to a post in front of the bagel store. Well, in front of the animal rescue/pet store two over from the bagel shop, and I had to go a pet one of them. I would have pet the other as well, but it was busy eating trash out of the garbage bin. It had a foil potato chip bag in its mouth and was making impressively short work of the matter.

The goat that I was able to say hello to was a dark brown one. A dark brown goat that stood at the level of my sternum, but showed no signs of spooking at my approach and bashing its curved horns into my sternum. As it could have if it wanted to. No, the dark brown goat was fine with me walking up to it, hand out-raised toward it, saying, “Hello, goat.” It even seemed pleased to have me scruff the top of its head, but not so pleased when I rubbed behind its ears. It shook its head from side to side, and I had one arm reaching through between its long horns, caught in the crossfire, so to speak.

The goat didn’t seem greatly disturbed, just slightly annoyed, but I pulled my arm out of there right away. Because I’d like to keep it, to keep a working arm.