The Methodist's put on a show for their children Sunday night. Sheep, a calf, goats and the Camel stood across the street from my house ready for the children. No person was near the tents as I cooked supper. I heard the bleating of the little goat. All alone in the big tent with UPS trucks and neighborhood traffic speeding by, the little goat cried loud enough for me to hear him above the din of cooking and NPR on the radio.
I gave up. A lonesome and fearful lil' goat sounds like a child in trouble. I left the house, crossed the street to comfort the goat. He jumped down from his perch on a hay bale and leaned against my knee. His heart was beating fast as he quieted down. I stayed with him until a Methodist appeared.
For a City gal, helping a goat is a rare pleasure.