Photo taken by the owner.

The title is tongue in cheek, because by no means do I consider myself a goat whisperer anymore than I consider myself Cesar Millan, the dog whisperer. The closest I’ve ever come to owning a goat was through my youngest brother, who raised one as a pet. The goat used to stand upright on his hind legs and box with my brother. I have a healthy respect for wild animals and quite a few domestic ones as well, especially if they’re not my own. 

In late August, in the muggy Texas heat, a neighbor spotted a goat roaming our neighborhood. The hardy, domesticated creature was healthy and appeared to be well-fed, and some speculated, pregnant. She was white and brown and had backward curved horns. 

Through word of mouth the news soon spread that someone had been cruising our neighborhood inquiring about a goat, and the owner had also posted on Nextdoor to be on the outlook for the renegade ruminant. I checked Nextdoor to get an idea of where the goat had been spotted and learned there had been several sightings near our home. 

The following morning I saw the goat, and as the owner had stated, she was indeed a runner for she took off at breakneck speed as soon as she caught sight of our dog. Thankfully, a tall fence separated the two. 

The next day, I spotted her again. This time she held her ground when she saw me, but the minute I started to dial the owner, she disappeared down the road and into some brush. 

The sightings continued but no one could sequester her until days later when a contractor working at our house texted us. “Hey, when did you start raising goats?”

His question spurred us into action. It was easy to confirm our contractor’s report. She was planted in front of his truck staring at it as though a strange animal was blocking her path. 

I immediately closed our gates, trapping her on the property, and called the owner. He showed up within minutes, hauling an animal trailer. And he brought reinforcements: a herding dog and a sturdy, plastic lasso. This I had to see. 

True to form, the frisky goat bolted but soon discovered she couldn’t escape the yard. However, that didn’t deter her. She evaded the owner at every chance until three of his friends pulled up at our house. 

Between the herding dog, the owner, and his three helpers, the goat was finally corralled in a corner of the yard and lassoed. Surprisingly, she didn’t fight the noose, but walked willingly, although at a snail’s pace, to the parked animal trailer. Once she was safely onboard, the owner and his friends thanked us profusely for “rescuing” the feisty ruminant, and she was soon on her way home.