Every farm has that goat.
Ours is Nilla.
At first glance, she looks innocent—nestled in hay like a rustic throw pillow from a very specific Etsy shop. Do not be fooled. Nilla is not resting. She is plotting.
Nilla does not believe hay is something you eat politely from a feeder. Hay is a lifestyle. A nest. A throne. A blanket fort built exclusively so she can stare directly into your soul while chewing with confidence.
Her signature move is burrowing. You’ll walk into the barn, see hay everywhere, and realize Nilla has once again fully moved in.
She assumes every object exists solely for her enrichment. Buckets? Toys. Feed scoops? Instruments. Chairs?
Challenges. Fences? An ongoing rivalry. Despite years of experience, Nilla remains convinced her horns will absolutely fit through the fence this time. They never do. She gets stuck, complains loudly, and acts personally offended when rescued.
At home, she especially enjoys picking on her youngest child—stealing snacks, standing just a little too close, and generally reminding everyone who’s in charge. It’s less “mothering” and more “light hazing.”
Yes, she has horns—but they’re mostly decorative (and frequently trapped). Her real weapon is her face. That smug, tilted expression that says, You’re mad, but am I wrong? You’ll catch her mid-chaos and she’ll look at you like this was clearly your idea.
Nilla is not just a goat.
She is a statement.
She is a liability.
She is hay’s final boss.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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