"Goat Rock"

We recently welcomed a young full-blood Boer buck to the farm. His name? Cassonova—naturally. Because if there was ever a swaggering heartthrob of the goat world, it’s this guy. He’s already working the fence line like he’s posing for a dating profile: “Tall, muscular, enjoys long walks by the hay feeder and knocking things over for fun.”

We picked him up from a beautiful farm with one of the best natural playgrounds I’ve ever seen—what we now call Goat Rock. It's a big, sun-drenched rock ledge that looks like it was designed by a goat architect with a dramatic flair for sunbathing real estate. The rock continues off to the right, out of camera view, but trust me—it’s prime goat territory. Every bump, shelf, and crevice had a goat wedged into it like some sort of barnyard version of Tetris. Heads resting, legs dangling, eyelids drooping in pure sun-soaked bliss.

It honestly made me jealous. They were sprawled out like they were on a tropical vacation, without a single care in the world—no bills, no chores, no wondering where they left their reading glasses (just me?). Just them and the sun and the occasional headbutt to keep things lively.

I snapped a picture, but it doesn’t do it justice. There’s something about that kind of peaceful, communal loafing that makes you pause. Makes you wish you were a goat. Or at least had a big rock and the time to loaf on it.

So now Cassonova's here, already charming the ladies and surveying his new kingdom. I might not have a rock ledge, but I’ve got a warm patch of barn wall, and if you catch me leaning on it in the afternoon sun with my eyes half closed… just know I’m living my best goat life.