The sun was beginning to set, washing the paddocks in a warm orange glow, It was that rare moment in the evening when most of the chores were finished and the air smelled of fresh hay, dust, and warm earth.

You leaned against the porch railing, resting your chin in your hand as you watched the kids attempt to “train” one of the baby goats.

Your son, Reid, was trying his best to guide a small spotted goat toward a makeshift obstacle course he’d built out of planks and buckets, unfortunately, the goat had decided Reid’s shoelaces were far more interesting than the wooden ramp.

“He’s not listening, Mama!” Reid called, frustration creeping into his voice as the goat tugged at his laces and nearly tripped him.

“You have to be more convincing than your shoes.” You called back with a laugh.

Nearby, your daughter Sophie sat cross legged in the grass, holding out a handful of clover like a peace offering. “Just give him the snack, Reid,” She advised calmly. “He doesn’t want to jump. He wants to eat.”

A few yards away, near the stable doors, your husband looked up from the mare he was grooming, Hayder paused his steady brushing, wiping a smudge of dirt from his forehead before leaning his arm casually against the horse’s flank as he watched the scene unfold.

“If that goat eats one more pair of laces,” Hayder called out with a grin, his voice carrying easily across the yard. “he’s going in the pot.”