I am learning from our goats. No, really.

Goats. Who would have thought we'd have goats, of all pets...and yet now we'd have no other animal and be so pleased as we are.

We have two nannies and a wether. They are half Pygmy, and half Nigerian. Smaller than the average full size dog, but just as heavy.

I just read that their dung was used by Neolithic peoples as fuel, their hide for water and wine bottles, even parchment. I am continually amazed by the place these cousins of the sheep have taken in history. But I've been around sheep. These are no mere sheep. They're smart, quirky, quick to attitude and rebellion. A lot of the stories I read to the kids (old, classic tales) include goats. Because, I believe, the authors took note of the extraordinary rascal that is so well defined in these creatures.

The goat has a four chambered stomach, which, really, makes more sense. They have horizontal slit-shaped pupils, an adaptation which increases peripheral depth perception. They are curious and intelligent.

Watching our goats grow and mature has been a wonderful thing. Now, it is fall, and they were born in the spring. They delight in the falling leaves, and their enjoyment of the cooler fall weather produces in the watcher a consideration of this delight, and then a consequent more avid appreciation of falling leaves, something that can become commonplace. I am also aware that they have never seen falling leaves before, and it reminds me of the puppies my family raised as a child, and their excitement over such things like leaves and snow. The goats take an ever more happy countenance, realizing how terrific it is that the leaves that were out of reach are now fluttering down in piles around them.

We have a sliding glass door and if you stand before it the goats are sure to come sidling up and press their curious faces against the glass to peer at you. They no longer call loudly, as when we first brought them to their new home, instead if they speak it's a gentle and affectionate "Baaa." Sit in a lawn chair in the yard and you are sure to have them surround you with snuffles and nibbles -and then one is in your lap nose to nose with you. They're not bashful, in the least.

Their sense of community is another beautiful thing to regard. They move in a herd, work together, sleep together, ponder together, frolic together. If they fight, it is for a reason, and they get the fight over with and decided quickly, then go back to their friendly ways.

We know already that they could be over our fence easily if they chose to go. There is a look in their eyes that clamours of wild ways. They would find a weak or low spot in the fence, if they cared to look. But they are content with us, and I know an appreciation of their choice to reside in our care.

If I've ever seen an animal I'd describe as happy, it'd be a goat. They are pleased with their simple existence, always on the lookout for a bit of adventure but constantly ready to return to habits that have been trustworthy without regret of the loss of excitement.

Makes me think maybe I have something to learn from them.