(Can you see what the cat is looking at?)Life can change in an instant. One minute I’m laying face down in my bed, my nose buried in the frayed threads of a knit blanket, observing my thoughts as I slip out of consciousness during a midday nap. The next minute the house has erupted into chaos with my family and I running between rooms in frenzied circles, screaming and yelling, our faces lit with excitement and panic as we realize that we’re under siege and there's no safe place to hide.
Before going on, I should probably take a moment to describe the events that lead up to this point, the very peak of excitement in another strange adventure involving neighborhood animals and our own naivety.
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Two days prior, Will and I were hurriedly getting the kids ready for school when I stopped him mid stride in the kitchen to steal a kiss. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something big and black, like a monster, over his shoulder. Startled, my head snapped back, my eyes fixed on the looming shape just outside the window. With glistening fur, enormous horns and strange, horizontally probing eyes, illuminated by the morning light, were 3 Billy goats, happily eating grass in our back yard.
In the hours and days that followed we would discover them again at different locations around the house, each place more unsettling that the last. That afternoon they were outside my bedroom window, rearing up and launching themselves into full body collision, their horns smashing violently together with a mighty clatter. Later they were all on the back porch, pressing their faces against the glass as if the living room were an aquarium and we were the specimens under surveillance.
On the 3rd day all hell broke loose. The pattern of my bedspread was imprinted on my cheek as I drowsily lifted my head to look outside. Half-asleep, the sound of heavy footsteps in the grass beyond my window had blended into my dream for a minute or two before waking me up. A man in a neon orange t-shirt with a Pitbull on a rope was standing in my yard, talking to the neighbor, asking about his lost goats. I jumped up and ran into the other room to announce his arrival, and we all suddenly became very still with the moments starting to run in slow motion.
After casually requesting our consent, the man released his dog out back to search for the goats—then a knock at the front door, his son with another large dog-on-a-rope, wanting to join him in the effort. The seconds seemed like hours. My head whipped back and forth as my attention shifted to the commotion on opposing sides of the house. “Will, get the Goddam apples!” I implored as I realized that we had left a trail of snacks for the goats that the owner would see (he might get the wrong impression after all).
We were frozen, helpless in the vortex of confusion. There was a rustling in the bushes out back and a blur of a figure exploded from the underbrush, heading straight for the house. Unable to move out of sheer fascination and horror combined, we watched the massive black form with horns charge toward the house. Without hesitation the goat threw itself at full speed, head down, horns first into the sliding glass doors, “BOOM!” The entire house and every window and door shuttered with the vibration. The glass didn’t break! We all scattered, every man, woman and child for himself!
Another knock at the front door, goats, dogs and people running in all directions. Our youngest son, Chase, greeted the dark silhouette in the entry. Our visitor, a friend from out of town had arrived at just in time. “Oh sorry Nina,” he said, very matter-of-factly, “The goat…” then glancing and pointing behind her, “that goat…” they both looked at the two goats who just materialized, glaring ominously at them, "slammed into the window." Chase's voice didn't indicate that there was anything unusual about this. Leaving a trail of poop pellets and rope in their wake they took off again with dogs barking close at their heels.
Nina ducked inside and we clamored to the window ledge to see what would happen next. Across the yard, maybe 50ft. away the giant horned creature appeared again, galloping toward the front of the house. Suddenly it went airborne, assaulting the studio window, “WAM!!!!” It still didn’t go through!!! This time it rebounded and came straight up to the front door and the window where we were huddling to watch.
(Point of airborne impact)We quickly realized that it was going to make it inside one way or another, and panic ensued. What would happen when that giant goat got in here?!?!? We weren’t going to wait to find out. I grabbed the kids by their shirts and flung them toward their rooms, “Run!!! Get out of here!” They stayed by my side, too curious to leave the excitement. Our little dog and cat stood in the dining room, between the front and back doors, their fur all afluff.
Meanwhile one of the search dogs had fallen into a deep, dry well in back. Our neighbors stood outside their house, with a perfect view of the action, poised to take cover at a moments notice. Then, “Bam!” the baby goat tried to follow its friend’s lead by ramming into the back window. It stumbled, dazed by the impact. The dog in pursuit stopped short, with an expression that said, “Shit, that looked like it hurt.” Regaining its footing, the baby goat took off running and suddenly disappeared into the dry well with the other dog.
Imagine your dream house, tucked away into a secluded corner of a tropical paradise, clusters of trees and leafy shrubbery, flowers, palms, and fruit-bearing trees sprinkled here and there. Now imagine an apocolyptic battle between man, dog, and goat erupting in a flash. Looking closely you would see, through the windows, a nearly identical whirl of motion inside.
(Where it all went down)
Just when we thought hope was lost, the guys captured the goats almost simultaneously. The man in the orange shirt had his arms intertwined with "big black's" horns, pulled him along through the yard. Its legs locked in resistance, he nudged it forward, cooing gently, “Come on, its ok now, come along.” The kid in the back had fished the animals from the well somehow. On their way out the older man gave us an affirming nod and said calmly, “Sorry for the inconvenience. Call me if there are damages!” and left.
Outside on the front porch, besides the poop pellets and bits of discarded rope, was something that I’ve come to regard as a kind of souvenir. A full 6ft. 3inches off the ground (yes, I measured), the dusty impressions of horns on the Studio window, and a few hoof marks from brief, the post-impact scramble. It’s like our very own “Shroud of Turin,” same but different, right? 
