There are no stupid questions…
…which is fantastic news, because I’m about to ask enough of them to get politely escorted out of Tractor Supply.
Are goats ticklish?
Hear me out.
I’ve officially reached the end of the internet.
Google has started contradicting itself.
Reddit is 4,000 strangers confidently arguing with one another while a guy named “GoatSlayer420” somehow becomes the leading authority on livestock.
YouTube thinks every problem in life can be solved with a cordless drill, a Harbor Freight tarp, and a sentence that starts with, “Now this ain’t OSHA approved…”
So naturally, I’m asking Jefferson County.
⚠️ Warning: This post contains actual paragraphs. If your attention span expires after four sentences, I completely understand. Scroll on, live your best life. If you know someone who still reads books without pictures, tag them. I need those people today.
I’m about to become a first-time goat dad.
Which is terrifying because goats apparently don’t come with an owner’s manual, a troubleshooting guide, or a customer service number.
Maybe that’s why 4-H exists.
It’s basically a support group where experienced farm kids teach the rest of us things like, “No, the goat isn’t broken,” “That’s supposed to happen,” and, “Please stop trying to put a flannel shirt on it.”
So before I accidentally become the reason future goats have warning labels…
I have questions.
Are goats ticklish?
Do they bite?
Can they smell fear?
Because if they can, I might as well introduce myself wearing a name tag that says “Easy Target.”
Do they have anal glands that need cleaned like my tiny biological weapon of a pug, or did nature show mercy exactly one time?
Will they learn their names and come when called, or am I just going to stand in a field screaming, “KEVIN!” while my neighbors quietly update Zillow estimates?
If I play polka music, will my goats dance, or am I about to become the weirdest man in Jefferson County?
Can goats hold grudges?
Like… if I accidentally step on one, is it over between us? Am I waking up every morning wondering which one loosened the fence while making direct eye contact?
Do they enjoy being scratched behind the ears?
Do they need haircuts, or do they naturally look like tiny washed-up rock stars from the ’80s?
Are they up before sunrise screaming because breakfast is 14 seconds late, or do they appreciate sleeping in on a rainy Saturday?
What’s the goat version of “don’t shake the baby?”
Every animal has that one unwritten rule experienced owners somehow forget to mention until after you’ve already violated it.
I know dogs can’t have chocolate.
Can goats have a tiny mug of hot cocoa on Christmas morning, or is that the kind of sentence that immediately makes my fiancée hide the veterinary textbooks?
Speaking of Christmas…
What does a goat even want?
Fancy hay?
A giant scratching brush?
A salt lick tied with a ribbon?
Tiny pajamas?
A Tractor Supply gift card?
Therapy?
If one goat learns how to escape…
Does it teach the others?
Or is there always one tiny horned criminal mastermind running an organized crime ring from the hay bale while the rest act as lookouts?
Can someone please start a Mommy & Me class, except it’s for grown adults who somehow woke up owning livestock?
I’d sign up immediately.
Show me how to pick one up.
Explain the weird noises.
Teach me the difference between “I’m happy,” “I’m hungry,” and “Congratulations, your fence no longer belongs to you.”
Now before anyone calls Goat Protective Services…
Relax.
My fiancée is a veterinary technician who grew up around farm animals.
She’s the actual responsible parent.
I’m basically the divorced Disney dad.
I’ll show up with snacks, tell everyone they’re beautiful, take embarrassing family photos, teach absolutely nothing of value, and mysteriously vanish the second someone says, “Can you help trim hooves?”
So…
Goat people…
People who own goats.
People who survived owning goats.
Or people who were possibly raised by goats.
Give me everything.
The beginner mistakes.
The things Google gets wrong.
The products that are worth buying.
The weird behaviors.
The stories that still make you laugh.
Because I have a sneaking suspicion these adorable little lawn mowers are about to humble me so thoroughly that six months from now they’ll be paying the mortgage while I ask permission to enter my own barn.
Dispatches like this one are being collected in What The F(arm): Sixty Dispatches from an Unqualified Ohio Farmer — $40, half of which turns straight into hay for the horses, the mini donkey, and the baby goats. The presses roll when 100 people pre-order.