Urban prairie

There’s nothing better than a screaming baby goat.

Mostly because it means the screaming ‘kid’ isn’t a human one.

If you’ve escaped the myriad of videos on the internet of goatly beings yelling themselves hoarse, you won’t know what I’m talking about. Pay attention the next time you pass an elementary school, however, and you’ll gain a pretty good idea of what the shouting mammals sound like.

I’m not joking; kids and kids sound a lot alike when they unhinge their jaws and bellow.

Please don’t try this at home, (human) kiddos. Your favorite parental units may not have their hearing back from last week’s game – whether from soap operatic sobs or cheering jeers.

Bleeding ears and all, it’s quite nice to encounter a hollering goat.

Now, when you are taking a nice walk through the neighborhood and hearing shouting kids, there’s rarely something to worry about, I know. But shouting kids can be disconcerting when they take you unawares at the best of times and loudest of games. If you cannot actually see any children, things get a heck of a lot more concerning. Unless the screams sound ever so slightly like a “blllleeeaa-aa-aaa-aaa-at” (that’s a goat’s bleat, obviously).

If you’re surprised that kids and (human) kids are so easily confused in a neighborhood – and that the mystery source would indeed be a farm animal – allow me to wholeheartedly welcome you to North Idaho, or at least to Hayden, where a few goats and cows still make common neighbors. (Cows are great neighbors, since their demands for supper let you know it’s about time to start cooking your own.)

Thank goodness they do, because the eerie screeching that greets me on my long walks is a lot more charming when it comes from a furry kid. (Although if I could be sure a screeching child was howling with joy, that would be pretty heart-warming, too.)

I determined the source of the screams was likely a goat a few months ago. I could see the pen (and no children), and every so often the sounds would end in a definite bleat that even the most talented of barn animal-obsessed toddlers couldn’t mimic. Yet I only just saw the darn thing last weekend.

The only thing more amiable than a surprise kid sighting (and the relief of knowing it looked perfectly healthy and probably well-treated in its sizable pen) was the sight of its sweater.

Usually “people clothes” don’t belong on animals, but when they acquiesce in the face of winter, it’s pretty darn cute.

Life on the urban prairie (the goat lives right by a gas station and a coffee stand) is pretty sweet.

And a little outspoken.