Ginger O'Malley Goes: Llama Tell Ewe an Anecgoat

I didn’t want to write a new post until I had exciting news to share, like switching jobs or signing up for Hulu Plus. Finally, the day has come, because I just pet a baby goat.

Sarah, Eric and I ventured to Mountain Flower Goat Dairy this weekend where they let you pet goats. For free! We were almost there right when it opened for the day, but Eric had to stop and get gas, so naturally we were two hours late.

The goats are, for a lack of a better word, goat-like.

No. I can do better.

The babies are majestic jumbo-sized marshmallows that you just want to toast over an open fire and guzzle out their innards like a disappointing S’more. But we can’t do that, because in the pens are guard llamas.

According to legend and one of the volunteer guides, the guard llamas stand watch over the goat herd and protect them from predators, but all of that can change in an instant. People aren’t allowed to interact with the guard llamas because they may imprint and begin to think humans are also llamas, causing them to snap and start neck wrestling and attempting to mate with any llama-person they see fit.

Llamaaaaaa
Just killed a mannnnn
[Photo: Erc]

SAY IT TO MY FACE, COLLEEN

Instead of riding one of the llamas into the sunset like we had planned, we hunkered down in the pen of the goat mothers. The moms were laying down in a line and they all looked so exhausted, like they had fulfilled their sole purpose by spawning temporarily precious fluffernutters and were just waiting for their bloated bodies to succumb to sweet sweet death. It made me really forward to having kids of my own.

But then, in a twist of happiness, the goats rose and started to walk toward us and nudge us like plush bumper cars. The promise of pats was all they needed to make life worth living again.

Rack 'em stack 'em goats

This is the most joyous picture any of us has ever taken
[Photo: Erc]

The goat on the left is an American Lamacha
The goat on the right is I don't know what kind of goat that is

Back in the kiddie pen, I noticed a real-life human child trying to enter into the mamas’ pen. I decided to pretend to like children and help him. The gate was being blocked by a stubborn goat, so I gently yet definitely shoved her out of the way with my adult strength. Beaming, I held the gate open for the child. But he just stood there.
During that time, one of the hags escaped into the kiddie pen.
I stared at the boy, waiting for an explanation.

“I don’t want to go in. I’m a volunteer.”

Say what now, child? Because look at the mess you just made. Penelope is running amok. If you were being paid, I’d have your wages garnished and served on top of the goats’ hay.

We stopped to say one last goodbye to the 10-day old twins, who were being guarded by this hardened Samuel L. Jackson look-alike.