Goats in the Garage

So the husband and I are out in the goat yard trying to Reno-proof the fencing yet again. It's like he has strings attached to him and some mysterious puppet master periodically yanks him up and deposits him on the other side of the fence. Usually on the side where my flowers and vines prefer to be left alone but are disappearing rapidly.

I shooed the twins out to the south forty and husband and I sat and stared at the fence. After about ten minutes of that, I walked around the garage to check on the goats, who have been known to sneak off to 7-11 for Slurpees when left unattended. The goats now seem to be MIA. I yelled at Joe and asked him where the goats are, and he just looked at me, as if I hadn't been sitting next to him for ten minutes, staring at the fence.

So now we're in the garage, staring at each other, when we hear TAP TAP TAP. ABOVE our heads, mind you. I said, "WHAT is THAT?" and the tapping suddenly stopped. I went to the stairs and hollered up into the empty storage space, "You two better NOT be playing where you don't belong!" and the tapping returned, closer to the stairs, closer.....until two black and white goatie heads peeked around the corner, looked down at me with their goatie ears a flappin' and then they came tip tapping down the stairs, comfy as can be.

They waltzed past me, glanced at Joe, who was still staring at the ceiling with just a hint of a tear in his right eye, and headed back to their pen. Upon inspection of the storage space, I found two empty Slurpee cups and a copy of The National Inquirer, but I will simply choose to believe that my children left them there. Right? Right? Someone, please.... tell me I'm right.