Like most pygmy goat owners (or so I imagine, I hope I am not the only person doing what I am about to describe), I spend a few hours each week relaxing outside with our four pygmy goats (Charlie, Ella, Jack and Sally), scratching their backs when they’re too lazy to bite into the irritant themselves, and quietly observing their bucolic existence.
I wonder what their pygmy brains are thinking as they roam the grasses and walk by the pond. They seem quite intelligent, but so inexpensive in their emotional expression that it is difficult to draw clear conclusions.
I have paid attention to four areas of pygmy behavior: language, struggle, affection, and differentiation. These are not scientific analyzes in any way, they are simply observations. Eventually, if generalized theories about Pygmy behavior can be developed, it may be worth collecting more concrete data in addition to the current set of notes. Nonetheless, as a chance precursor to a more rigorous coding of pygmy behaviors, this can serve as a useful starting point for further observation.
Their role in life as prey rather than predator seems to inform much of their behavior. As more than one vet has told me, “a pygmy goat that acts sick is on the verge of death because naturally it hides any weakness.” The weakest pygmies are always the ones that predators attack first. Now, as Billy Crystal said, “It’s better to look good than feel good.”
In the language
So far I have found at least five different sounds. In general, pygmy goats are quite quiet, they make a little more noise than a cat and much less than a dog.
First, there is a separation call that they use every time a goat wanders away from the herd. If two stray away, they all chase after him and the pack unites before a warning call is needed.
Second, there is a call of recognition generally associated with positive expectations. If I walk out of the house with a plastic bucket in hand, they know this usually means food and they start yelling as they run to their shed. They will also make this call if we are going for a walk as they love to wander around the property.
Third, it is a call of disapproval, somewhat insistent, heard most often when food is a little late. They know I don’t get up on time every morning, so it goes quiet at breakfast. But if their dinner isn’t on the floor by 6 p.m., they start lining up outside the sliding glass doors on the porch and interrupt the evening news with their complaints.
Fourth, there is a little cry of “mip, mip, mip” that they make at the bottom of their throats as they prepare for battle. Supposedly, to a pygmy, this is deeply threatening and signals the incipient onset of a serious beating, but to everyone else it sounds ridiculous.
Fifth, and the saddest thing, there is a very loud, higher pitched continuous call that means “I am hurt” or “I think I am hurt.” For the most part, we observe the variant “I think I’m hurt” at the time of cutting the toenails. Sally, in particular, kicks her legs in all directions and screams like a baby as soon as the orange razor is drawn. I am the only one who has been injured by this ritual, as it once kicked just as I was turning the clippers, driving the two tips of the blades into the palm of my hand. Then Sally was able to observe my sharp, continuous cursing behavior.
Battle: Ritual of domination or good clean fun
Pygmy behaviorists associate fighting with maintaining order in the pack. I’m sure there’s an element to this, but it seems like they really enjoy breaking fronts. There is no obvious competition between Sally and Ella, but they will stand on the porch, stand up on their hind legs, and beat each other for 10-15 minutes; tails wagging all the time. Their fur bristles on their backs, a traditional sign of anger, as they fight, but it appears more puffy than enmity. The battle stops every 30 seconds or so if someone needs to bite into an itchy foot or take a sip of water.
Social affection and herd ties
The pygmy’s generous use of social affection to support bonding within the herd is one of the most endearing aspects of his behavior. As many people have noticed, you can tell if a pygmy goat really likes you because they will stand on your foot when you approach them, or maybe the grass is wet, they hate wet grass. They regularly engage in this behavior with each other. They chew on their ears, horns, and necklaces, lie on top of each other when sunbathing, and rest their legs on each other’s back when they bite a spot on the paw. There is a lot of physical contact in Pygmy land, but asexual in the case of our pack. All the boys are worn out so none of this is a prelude to a dream.
Personality differentiation
We only have four pygmy goats so this is clearly anecdotal, not device, but I think we can ignore any fears of deceptive anthropomorphism and conclude that these pygmies have personalities that are wildly differentiated and wildly entertaining.
Clearly She dominates the pack as a scout, new things are her thing. Charlie dominates the pack with size and muscle. Eat first, eat more, wake the other up when they nap, and generally act like a fidgety older brother. Given this, he still lets Ella lead when something new is afoot. Jack supports the pack by objecting to others and simply being sweetheart. Jack is unconditional and undemanding, taking what life brings him. Sally is very independent, regularly walking away from the pack, picking and choosing when to interact with humans, and exhibiting a fighting streak that belies her small size.
One could go on, but it is clear that there is no genetic blueprint that eliminates identical neural pathways. These four, at least, exhibit a clear personality differentiation that advocates a deeper understanding of the notion of will in non-human species.
Additional study
There is still work to be done in several areas, but time is money and the Pygmies are a parsimonious bunch who pay little for non-scientific monographs. Maybe if the investigation went a little deeper, they would go deeper into their pockets.
Their intelligence in relation to other pets would be a particularly fruitful area for further analysis. I am puzzled by their unwillingness to consistently respond to simple commands. Like cats, although they seem to understand certain commands, they do not seem willing to sit, toss, or tip over. These commands seem to bore them deeply; they are inherently kind about it and remain puzzled, but resolutely distant.
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