My goats need me

In the garden, I hear pleading bleats. At the gate, they stand watching with big, woeful eyes. I walk across to greet them. They push velvety muzzles into my belly and blow vinegary breaths into my face. We talk for a while, their intelligent faces turned up to mine, taking in every word. I stroke long, soft ears, bury my face in warm, hairy necks and kiss knobbly brows. My two beautiful, gingerbread boys. Outside world and worries forgotten. These moments matter.