It's really hard to photograph goats. I quote Owen far too much, but as he puts it, "They're like paparazzi when they see us." Which is exactly right. We step outside and they come running, madly bleating, and then slavishly follow us around.
Owen isn't hugging Peppermint, he's trying to keep her from jumping on the lap of the photographer.
I would say they're in it for the food, as aren't we all. But Peppermint will neglect grain, melon rinds, popcorn, and tortilla chips to butt gently at my legs until I give her the attention she remembers from her pampered indoor babyhood: holding, scratching, conversation. Then when I go back inside, she finds a shady spot and chews her cud. Goats are the greatest pets. We're going to breed them in November and will hopefully have kids and milk in the spring.