Never approach a goat from the front, a horse from the back, or a fool from any side.

- Jewish proverb

Oregon has many interesting places to lay one’s head. There’s a bed and breakfast in the trees called Out’n’About Treesort near Cave Junction, the historic lodge at Crater Lake (which has bragging rights as the deepest lake in the United States and is considered a natural wonder), the writerly-themed Sylvia Beach Hotel at the coast, the purportedly haunted Heathman Hotel in Portland or a Tudor style Inn near the Shakespearean Festival in Ashland. But there’s no place quite like Goat Mama and Papa’s.

To recapra (ha ha, Capra means goat in Latin), our friends in the Rogue Valley have rescued two baby goats that live part time in their house (the other part in their customized garage-stable or sizable yard). Of course, a couple years have passed since the adoption and those darling kids are now full grown behemoths, no longer wearing leopard print customized diapers, having been somewhat house broken.

I say somewhat, because the parents still have to be cautious, making sure the girls’ horns don’t puncture the artwork on the wall while playing on the back of the couch, they don’t nibble poisonous plants or eat the kitchen sink.

I just had a thought (surprise!). If Capra means goat in Latin, is a Capricorn a mix between a goat and a unicorn?

I’m not sure what a “spiritual enticement” is, but we saw this sign while visiting Grants Pants over the weekend. We had our own woo-woo moment the first morning we woke up at our friend’s house. While I fumbled with the coffee pot, Groom suddenly pointed to the reflection on Goat Mama’s cupboard.

As plain as you can see, there was a cross shimmering on their newly installed cabinet. I lunged for the camera as Groom waved his hands about trying to figure what in tarnation was casting the shadow. It was a comical scene, me snapping away as a pre-caffeinated hubby did his best to find the originator. Along with the garlic braids, we felt very safe from Vampire attacks, and, Blessed.

Follow me while I jump ahead a few days…

On Sunday evening, after taking down the booth and loading the van when Art In Bloom had finally closed, we walked back into our friend’s house. All the lights were off and it was unusually quiet. Uh-oh…

Phew! Everything was “normal.” They were all curled up on the couch together, cuddling and cudding. There’s nothing quite like the sight of two full grown goats ruminating (chewing their regurgitated food) on the couch while watching television. I take that back, one of the goats was on the couch while the other was stretched out in the recliner, each with an adoring parent petting or combing the pampered lassies.

With five cats and two goats, it’s a common occurrence, although a tad unsettling, to find any one of them on our air mattress, or perhaps discover a “present” they’ve left behind. Creatures of habit, these cloven hoofed beasties require all manner of food and snackies practically around the clock.

In addition to the fresh hay in a manger, the grass in the back forty, and what else can be rooted, foraged and cleverly grasped, Goat Mama provides them with various and assorted treats. They are ga-ga for the almond butter she slathers on her index finger and bravely inserts into their mouths. Baby is gentle, while Honey Bunches of Goats prefers a bite of dactyl to go with her nut spread. Ouch!

They are cuckoo for dried oats served in silver bowls, mushed bananas to the point of liquification, pumpkin innards, and special organic alfalfa hors d’oeuvres. To say these goats are spoiled, well, that would simply be stating the obvious.

Raised in the country, Goat Mama had horses, donkeys, dogs, cats, guinea pigs, and skunks as playmates. Well, the skunks were actually squatters, making their presence odiferously apparent, but the point is she grew up around a variety of animals and is more comfortable around them than the two-legged kind.

She has her own language and patter and can be overheard clucking, bleating, purring, barking or growling. Goat Mama has amazing animal intelligence and can nurture any species. They instinctively know this and untold numbers of wounded critters have managed to find their way to her house so she will take care of them.

As a two-legged varmint myself, I don’t fascinate her the way I would if I had tusks, talons, beaks, wings, fur, feathers, tails or paws. I do have whiskers, but that’s a personal issue that requires tweezers and a magnification mirror.

It was a precious gift to spend Mother’s Day with my folks, see old friends, try new restaurants, and go treasure antiquing. We found some very cool vintage pieces to retrofit into our new line of necklaces, and while we’re on the momentary topic of neck girdles, we successfully sold more, breaking another record, so we’re doing the happy dance about that!

In the aftermath of relishing our visit, I am also glad to be back in our own house, sleeping in our own bed, snuggling with our own cat. As the enduring wisdom of Dorothy rings true, “There’s no place like home.”