Our neighbors got a goat. I know it's a goat because I hear goat sounds over there now. Also because our neighbor told us this afternoon: "So, yeah, we got a goat. I don't know how the City feels about goats."
We were glad to know that it was, in fact, a goat, because all day yesterday we thought we were going slowly crazy, all three of us hearing at different times a gentle maa-maaahing from across the wall that suggested some sort of barnyard animal but having at that point no additional evidence, such as a goat-sighting or missing underwear off the clothesline, to assure us of our non-craziness.
But now we know for sure that we're perfectly, perfectly sane. It's our neighbors that are crazy.
It's nice to have a goat around the neighborhood, I think. The maa-maaahing to the west complements the exotic squawking of the parrot to the east. But the minute someone moves in a circus bear or any kind of large sea mammal, we're strapping the couch to our elephant and getting the heck outta here.