baaah

tempus-teapot:

Have you ever had any doubts about the words “frolic” or “gambol”? Doubt no more. 

One year I had friends up at my house (I lived in a mountainous area with roads that gave urban friends palpitations) for Easter weekend. We hung out, had a nice dinner, got pleasantly toasted, and played with my three heavily pregnant goats, the chickens, and my foot fetishist turkey.

Easter morning, we were sitting out in the sunroom, having coffee and looking down at the pen where the animals lived when out of the goat shed came wobbling the first of my goats’ kids. And then another, and then to my surprise, a third.

We spent Easter Sunday snuggling the babies, and for months thereafter I got to learn about frolicking, gamboling, and even capering up close. It was so much fun.

Now I live in the middle of a city of nearly a million in an unbroken urban sprawl, but I still love goats. 

I’m these goats.