How To Spoil A Goat In 4 Weeks or Less...

..a cautionary tale I’m now qualified to teach

Step 1: Start with a baby goat. Bonus points if she’s ridiculously cute, has ears the size of salad plates, and stares at you like you broke her leg personally.

Step 2: Allow said goat to dramatically injure herself within 24 hours of arriving at your farm. Ideally, this should involve a staircase, a poor sense of self-preservation, and a moment where time slows down and all you can think is, “No. Nope. Nope. That’s not how legs work.”

Step 3: Respond with panic and farmyard ingenuity. Build a soft cast out of whatever’s on hand—vet wrap, gauze, a large flat stick, sheer willpower—and pray the vet doesn’t laugh when you walk in. (Spoiler: he won’t. He’ll be impressed. And now you’ll start to believe you can do orthopedic work in your kitchen with a flashlight and duct tape.)

Step 4: Bring the goat inside. Just for one night, you tell yourself. One night in the dog crate next to your bed so she doesn’t feel alone. One night of ba-ba-baaing and the faint smell of alfalfa in your living room.

One night becomes two. Then three. Before long, the crate has bedding that’s fluffed just so, and you’re offering her bits of apple while you fold laundry and discuss your day like you’re roommates.

Step 5: Start carrying her everywhere. Because she can’t walk much. But also because she looks so cozy tucked under your arm like a squirmy little handbag. Bonus points if you start talking to her in baby voice. Double bonus if she answers back.

Step 6: Make “keep the cast dry” your entire personality. Strategically place towels, furniture, and plastic barriers like you’re prepping for a flood. Begin sentence with, “I can’t let her out yet, her cast might get wet…” even if the sun is shining and it hasn’t rained in a week.

Step 7: Hand-feed her treats “just to cheer her up.” Buy special goat snacks. Cut grapes into halves. Let her lick peanut butter off your finger while your other animals look on in stunned betrayal.

Step 8: Find yourself swaddling her in a blanket “so she doesn’t get chilled.” Take a photo. Share it with friends. Convince yourself this is normal. It’s not. But by now you’re too far gone.

Step 9: Realize that when the cast finally comes off… she’s not going to be less spoiled. She’s going to expect couch time. And treats. And indoor privileges. And for you to carry her like royalty every time she looks mildly inconvenienced.

Step 10: Give in. Because by this point, you’ve created a tiny, four-legged diva with the emotional pull of a Disney princess and the confidence of a goat who once lived in your house. 

And you know what? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

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