Sitting Goat and Other Weird Animals

Farm life: where the animals are confused, the people are tired, and the water trough is never just for water.

Let’s talk about Grinch. No, not the green one who hates Christmas—this is my goat. Though to be fair, she’s equally weird and also not great at following social norms.

Grinch has decided she’s a dog. I’m not kidding. While all the other goats are stretched out chewing their cud like they’re lounging in a hay-scented day spa, Grinch is up on the hill, sitting. Not laying down. Not loafing. Sitting. Front legs straight, back end tucked, just surveying her kingdom like a canine queen guarding the realm.

I keep waiting for her to wag her tail or bark at passing clouds. One of these days, she’s gonna drop her cud, do a spin, and try to her own shadow. It’s giving “Golden Retriever trapped in a goat body” energy—and honestly, I’m not sure she’s mad about it.

Now, if that wasn’t strange enough, let me introduce the soggiest, most confused sheep in the pasture. I don’t know her name because she’s one of the lambs, and naming them would require a flowchart, a name tag gun, and probably a DNA test. But this particular wool dumpling has made the water trough her personal hot tub.

Yep. Every time I turn around, there she is—just chillin’ like she’s waiting for someone to bring her a mimosa and a cucumber eye mask. She doesn’t drink from it. She sits in it. Like a soggy crouton in a sheep salad.

And the best part? When she realizes I’ve spotted her mid-bath, she slowly sinks down…like she’s trying to become invisible. Girl, you are bright white, fuzzy, and the size of a carry-on suitcase. You’re not blending in. This is not a Mission: Impossible scene, you’re not Tom Cruise, and you are absolutely not stealthy. You’re just a sheep butt slowly disappearing into farm soup.

Somewhere in the dusty corners of her ping-pong-ball-sized brain, she’s thinking, “If I can’t see her… she can’t see me.” Sure, sweetie. That worked for me too—when I was five and thought I could hide behind a lamp.

So yes, I have weird animals. One thinks she’s a dog. Another thinks she’s a duck. And I? I just live here. I feed them, I clean up after them, and I write blog posts so I don’t start narrating out loud to the chickens like they’re on reality TV.

P.S. If you've got a cat that thinks she’s a cow or a rooster with an existential crisis, please share. Misfit barnyard animals deserve to know they’re not alone.