Let me just clarify something right off the bat: these ponies? Not mine. Nope. I have not taken leave of my senses and started collecting pasture pets. I didn’t impulse-buy miniature horses like someone panic-buys throw pillows. These two are strictly here on a summer internship. Their job? Mow down the overgrown pasture that the goats have taken one look at and said, “Hard pass.”
Contrary to popular belief—and every cartoon and children’s book ever written—goats do not eat everything. That’s a myth perpetuated by people who have clearly never tried to feed a goat swamp grass. Goats are browsers, not grazers. That means they want trees, shrubs, brambles, poison ivy, and your brand-new orchard saplings. Grass is for peasants. Especially this particular pasture, which is filled with something we call “swamp grass”—it’s tall, coarse, and by midsummer it gets sharp enough to double as paper-cut delivery devices. Goats? Offended. Absolutely not. They won’t touch it unless they’re staging a hunger strike for dramatic effect.
Enter the ponies.
These two little equine weed-whackers showed up like a lawncare crew with built-in charm. To horses, swamp grass is apparently the equivalent of a five-star buffet. Their motto seems to be “If it’s green, it’s keen.” They dove right in like they were late for brunch, munching through the thickets with the kind of enthusiasm you usually only see at county fair pie-eating contests.
They've settled in like they own the place—standing under the half-dead tree like it's a tiki bar, swishing their tails with casual confidence. From a distance, they could pass for decorative lawn statues. Pastoral. Picturesque. Pooping lawn ornaments.
Meanwhile, the goats are loitering by the barn, clearly offended by the whole arrangement. They’ve been giving me side-eye for days. I’m fully expecting to find “TRAITOR” spelled out in hay bales or scratched into the dirt with a hoof. Goats are nothing if not passive-aggressive.
But once again—for anyone keeping track—they're not mine. Just seasonal help. Temporary pasture contractors. Freelance grazers. But yes, okay, I’ll admit it: they’re kind of adorable.
Don’t get any ideas. I’m not keeping them.
Probably.
