Last night, I was at my BFF Louise’s house for her birthday party (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOUISE!) and we were discussing the hilarious-yet-unnerving viral sensation of the week: the goats who yell like humans.

In case you haven’t seen it yet, here it is in all its glory:

I personally find the video TERRIFYING until the one clip with the two goats whose friends all sound normal. It’s like, “Meeeh!” “Baaa!” “ARRGGHHHH!” And I laaaaugh and laaaaugh. Watch it. You’ll see.

As we were discussing this, it came up that goats can be quite mean, and I was like, “HECK YES THEY CAN BE!”

Let me tell you why.


I am about five years old. It’s summer, and I’m at my BFF Brynn’s birthday party, which is taking place at a lovely petting farm called Funberry Farm! Brynn lives across the street and our moms are like, super good friends too, so my mom entrusted me to the birthday party.

SIDENOTE: Why does bad stuff always happen when your mom isn’t around? See: this and this as examples.

It’s the early 90s, so naturally I am wearing either sweatpants or shorts, a track jacket, and my FAVOURITE T-SHIRT EVER!

Let me describe the t-shirt. Just let me.

It was day-glo pink with a big square image on the front of it from OUTER SPACE. There was an astronaut on the moon, guys! An astronaut!

I loved that fucking shirt.

Okay, so we’re at the farm and I see a baby goat. In case you haven’t figured this out yet, I adore animals. And we’re being encouraged to pet the animals, so I’ve gone past happy into some weird, glazed over euphoria. I give that goat lot of cuddles – it’s sooooo cute! It’s sooooo soft! It loooooves me! Life is great! This is the BEST BIRTHDAY PARTY EVER!

Then Mama Goat sees what’s up.

And Mama Goat is not happy.

This is where the nightmare begins, y’all.

Mama Goat walks up to me, eerily calm, and rather than do something drastic like headbutt me to China, Mama Goat decides she wants to kill me slowly, water torture style. At first she looks cool, so I go to pet her. She gets a bit closer. Then a bit closer.

And then she starts to EAT MY SHIRT.

She gets the bottom corner of my t-shirt into her evil, evil jaws, and she starts to chew. And then, as if inhaling a strand of spaghetti, she pulls in more t-shirt. Then more. My t-shirt – MY FAVOURITE T-SHIRT – is now getting uncomfortably tight on my body, and I start to panic. I think the goat is literally going to take a chunk out of my torso with the next bite. I start to cry. I put my hand flat on Mama Goat’s forehead and push, but yeah right, she’s NOT budging.

Finally a woman who works at the farm notices what’s happening and comes running. She grabs Mama Goat by the horns, trying to force her to release. But goats, like horses, cannot release their jaws once they’re shut, so basically I’m shit out of luck.

“Honey, we have to take your t-shirt off.”



So I have to like, sink out of my t-shirt, dropping to my knees and wiggling out of it before I get eaten alive by a stupid goat. And not only does she destroy my favourite t-shirt, but I have to be topless in front of everyone until Brynn’s mom runs and finds my track suit jacket, which I have to wear as a top for the rest of the HOT SUMMER DAY.


And the day I learned that goats are not to be trusted.

They might look chill, but they're plotting. Trust me.
They might look chill, but they’re plotting. Trust me.