There are two kinds of goats in this world: the ones that stay where you put them, and the ones that laugh at your attempts to contain them. Here at Andersen Acres, we live with the latter. Specifically, we live with Arwen, our white goat with mischievous brown spots and a brain that never stops scheming.
If you’ve ever raised goats, you already know—they’re clever. Too clever. And if you haven’t, well... let me tell you a little story.
It All Began One Peaceful Morning...
The day started like most do. The ducks were squabbling over puddles, the chickens were planning their next turf war, and Shadowfax, our ever-dramatic white miniature horse, was prancing near the fence line like he was auditioning for a fantasy movie.
I made my way out to the goat pen, expecting the usual morning chorus of bleats and head nudges. But the pen?
Empty.
Gate wide open. Not a goat in sight.
Cue the adrenaline.
The Search Begins
Now, I’ve had goats long enough to know they don’t go far—at least not right away. They’ll usually stay within snacking distance. So I started the search.
First stop: the garden. And of course, there she was—Arwen—standing in the middle of my kale patch, looking me dead in the eyes while chewing on a leaf like it was forbidden treasure.
Around her were the others, casually trampling my carefully planted rows like they were auditioning for some kind of goat-based interpretive dance.
I hollered. Arwen bolted. The others followed.
Around the Farm in 80 Seconds
The chase was on.
Through the garden.
Around the chicken coop (where she briefly tried to climb inside to check for treats).
Past the compost heap (which she sampled, of course).
And finally... up onto the porch.
I got there just in time to see Arwen standing proudly by the front door like she owned the place. She’d somehow made it past three gates, a bungee cord, and a latch I had sworn was goat-proof.
Spoiler: it wasn’t.
How Did She Do It?
After returning everyone to the pen (with the help of grain bribery and a mildly judgmental duck audience), I went back to inspect the scene of the crime.
The latch was intact, but… not locked.
Now here’s the thing—I had locked it. I was sure of it. But the gate had been opened with the precision of a creature that had watched me do it 500 times and thought, “I could do that.”
So she did.
Goat-Proofing 2.0 (and 3.0, and 4.0...)
Since that fateful morning, we’ve:
- Switched to two-step locking mechanisms
- Added carabiners and clips to every latch
- Installed a second gate inside the first (because one gate clearly isn't enough)
- And started keeping a closer eye on Arwen—our resident escape artist
Do any of these things stop her forever? No. But they slow her down. And on a farm, sometimes that’s all you can ask for.
Tips for Managing Mischievous Goats
If you’re new to goats—or just trying to outwit your own little four-legged mastermind—here are a few things I’ve learned:
- Never underestimate a goat. If you think they can’t reach it, open it, or climb it... they probably already have.
- Lock everything. Then lock it again.
- Routine is their blueprint. They watch what you do. Switch it up.
- Enrichment matters. Bored goats cause chaos. Provide climbing structures, toys, and challenges to keep them busy (and less likely to challenge your fences).
- Always keep grain handy. It’s not a bribe if it works.
A Day in the Life at Andersen Acres
Life on the farm is many things—chaotic, joyful, frustrating, hilarious—and nowhere is that more true than when goats are involved.
We wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Even when Arwen’s outsmarted us (again), even when the garden is in ruins, and even when I’ve had to climb under the porch to retrieve a goat who just had to see what was under there… I still laugh.
Because that’s farming. That’s goats. And honestly, that’s what makes Andersen Acres feel like home.
Have you had a goat escape artist of your own? Drop your favorite farmyard mischief stories in the comments—I could use the moral support.
Until next time, may your gates stay shut and your goats stay put.
🐐💚
