Mr. Write's Page

When I moved into my house in Jefferson in 2006, I discovered that the neighborhood had a goat problem. One of our neighbors was a free spirit who believed that one’s goats (and one’s female dogs in heat) should run free.

The realtor didn’t tell me anything about goats.

What we had was a herd of four adult goats, a guy and three gals. Technically, they lived in a backyard pen. But the pen, was, well, a technicality. Most days, the goats were loose, ranging free, munching on whatever greenery they encountered.

I was obliged to chase them away almost daily. When I charged them, shouting and waving, they quickly retreated — although occasionally, the male would stand his ground for a moment before turning tail.

Being new to the neighborhood, I was reluctant to complain. Better to let someone else handle it.

Finally, someone did. The goats especially enjoyed the planting beds that my neighbor Paul so carefully cultivated, and Paul was in a constant state of huff about the situation.

He complained to the Goat People, to no avail. He complained to Animal Control, and they issued a string of warnings. Still, the goat problem persisted.

And persisted. And persisted.

Then at last, the Animal Control guys appeared again. This time, they apprehended the goats and hauled them away. Word was, all four had been found on the front porch of a neighbor up the street, eating potted plants. Apparently, that neighbor had better connections than Paul.

Not long after that, a “For Sale By Owner” sign appeared in the yard of the goat owners. My guess: they wanted to find a place far from the city, where goats and people can live unfettered and unbothered.

The house sold quickly. The goats and their free-spirit owners are now gone.

Godspeed, Goat People.

“Car 11, this is Dispatch. Nuisance animals at large. Proceed to Forest Street and impound.”