Phil and I were out last night and came home to this happy little scene:

I had put the goats in their pen before leaving, but forgot to lock the basement door, which they have access to. I know it was Cuzco who opened it but we saw no evidence that he came in. I think he knows his boundaries. The grain bin was knocked over but not much was taken. For Nibbles, exploring (and defiling) our house was a far more interesting prospect. There were goat pellets on every floor, basement to upstairs office. She also spent time dancing around on one of our end tables (all the remotes were on the floor) and left a present on the couch. For the record, it’s a lot more fun digging between the couch cushions for money than for goat pellets. Thankfully she did not figure out how to rifle the kitchen cabinets, and nothing in the office was destroyed (I’m sure the IRS would love to hear that “the goat ate our tax returns!”).

Not only do I need to be a lot more careful about that basement door (I’m lucky the goats did not gorge themselves on grain!), but I should probably change out the doorknobs. We have the handle kind and Cuzco knows how to open them with his head. A proper round knob would probably stump him even if I stupidly forgot to lock the deadbolt.