Creatures of Habit

I admit it—I’m a creature of habit. Same time, same channel. My daily routine doesn’t just run like clockwork; it is the clock. I eat the pretty much the same things, go the same places, and heaven help the person who tries to rearrange my furniture.

So I get it when other creatures stick to their routines. But even I have my limits.

We recently moved the goats’ portable shelter about ten feet. Not to another zip code. Not to another field. Just ten feet. Barely a shuffle. I could throw a biscuit farther.

That evening, the goats went to bed... in the old spot. Right there. Plopped themselves down like nothing had changed. Like the shelter had just disappeared.

Now, I’ve had nights where I’ve walked into the kitchen and forgotten why I was there. But I have never looked at a patch of open ground and thought, “Yup. That’s my bed.” Especially not when it’s raining. Especially not when my actual bed is ten feet away with a roof on it.

I tried reasoning with them. I pointed. I coaxed. I may have even given a TED Talk titled “Waterproofing: A Practical Guide to Not Getting Soaked.” They blinked at me. One burped.

So there they sat, in the exact same coordinates where the shelter used to be, convinced they were under cover. Meanwhile, the actual shelter, fully intact, dry as toast, sat lonely and abandoned ten feet away, like the unpopular kid at a middle school dance.

Apparently, to a goat, shelter isn’t about walls and roof—it’s about vibes.

And I thought I was set in my ways.

So yes, I’m a creature of habit. But I also know when it’s raining, I go where the roof is.

But the goats go where the roof once was, and trust the universe to fill in the rest.

You know what? I might start doing that too. Just sit where the chocolate cake used to be and wait.