by Sam Gruetter

Editor-in-Chief

I have new neighbors. They eat everything in sight, make noise at all hours of the day, and bother me constantly. No, it is not my sister back from college. The people next door have resorted to goat labor to solve the weed problem that ravages our neighborhood. This couple, who apparently have way too much disposable income, have hired a gaggle of goats to come and eat the underbrush on their property and the surrounding area; however, it slipped their mind to notify the neighborhood that our places of residence were about to transform into a petting zoo. Imagine my shock when, on a regular Tuesday morning, I drive down my street to go to school, and several goats visually accost me! I initially thought that this must be a jailbreak from some zoo, and I was all for it, PETA and whatnot, but my mother soon notified me that these goats were not criminal escapees, but rather paid laborers. You mean somebody exchanged the US dollar, several Big B’s (short for Ben Franklin), for some animals to frolic and eat. I was immediately offended. Why was I not considered for such a position? 

A few days after the goats wormed their way into the neighborhood and, admittedly, my heart, my residence received an invitation to a goat-watching party. What is this? The Hunger Games? Is the hard work my furry friends are enduring every day some form of sick entertainment for you soulless kooks? Do you think your underbrush eats itself? Why don’t we just throw them into the colosseum and make them fight to the death? Anyways, I went, but made sure everybody present knew I did NOT support this oligarchic lifestyle and that I was vehemently team goat. What is a goat- watching party, you may ask? Well, we sat and watched the goats eat dead stuff for two hours; it was both exhilarating and captivating. I cheered on my goats louder than a mom cheering on her son on the football field (who rides the bench every game). Safe to say, I have not received another invitation to any more laboring mammal parties, and will likely not. 

However, my new friends’ time with us was limited, as there was only so much brush to consume, and the forest from which I had been stealing brush to prolong the goats’ stay was running low as well. When I saw the herders packing the goats into cages and loading them into a moving truck, I had such a visceral reaction that it required sedation. Apologies to the goat shepherd whose stick-thing I tried to run off with in my medicated state. Completely unrelated to my prior confession, but guess who is going as Little Bo Peep this Halloween? When the goats left, I resolved to get them back. Upon visiting Hiregoats.com and seeing the outrageous prices for goat labor, I realized that I may just have to endure my tremendous loss and wait for that random Tuesday when I round the corner to my house and the goats are back.