Goats, Gates, and Buckles

Twice a day or so I bring the goat boys up on the deck outside our kitchen - they like to be closer to us and something about the sound of their hooves on the wooden boards seems to encourage them to dance around together in a way they do nowhere else. I reinforce the regular gate to the steps with an additional baby gate to prevent escapes. Usually when I let them out of their pen in the driveway they run right up the stairs to the deck, but the other night they took an unexpected detour because I had foolishly left the recycling bin out - Look, Elliot! A New-and-Very-Interesting-Potentially-Edible-Object!! Let's go check it out! To lure them away I grabbed a bucket of hay and a shaker of treats from the garage, and they reluctantly followed me up the steps. I set the hay down by the sliding glass door and went inside, leaving them to their dance.

About fifteen minutes later I was standing at the sink when I glanced out the window and spied the open gate. That's strange, I mused,  I thought the goats were up here... Suddenly my heart was in my throat as I realized the potential enormity of my mistake - I quickly scanned the deck through the window for - no goats! My goodness, they could be anywhere by now - in the road, at a neighbor's eating poisonous shrubbery, halfway to the next county...Where we we even start looking? Would they come back if we called them? I yelled for Emily as I yanked open the door - and there they were, standing right by the door and rubbing their horn scurs against the brick. Either they had not noticed the open gate or they are so superbly well-behaved that they decided not to take advantage of their chance at freedom. (I'm inclined to go with Option 1...) I sat with them for a while, and the word that came to me was "buckles..."

When my twin daughters were about two years old, I ordered from a catalog the sweetest little pink Mary Jane-type shoes with a buckle strap that closed with one easy snap. They fit Megan perfectly, but Emily had inherited my husband's extra-wide feet (they don't sell pink Mary Janes in a 4E width!) so her shoes were constantly coming unsnapped and many times a day she came to me to fix her "buckles." One day I had an appointment in the city, a trip I dreaded as I much prefer winding country roads to busy highways with merges, quick lane changes and heavy truck traffic. I gave the girls some extra snacks and toys in the back seat and prayed they would behave. We were barely out of the driveway, though, when Emily started fussing about her buckles. Already running late and not really sure of the directions (pre-GPS days!), I popped in a Sesame Street sing-along cassette and told her I'd fix the shoes when we got there. She continued to cry, however - "Mommy! My buckles..." and then Megan chimed in and I turned up the music louder and louder until I couldn't take the cacophany of two wailing toddlers any more. I veered into an emergency pull-off area, stomped on the brake and yanked open Emily's sliding door - fully ready to rip off those blasted shoes and hurl them at the next big rig that sped by...But there were her shoes, perfectly buckled over her sparkly pink tights - Emily, they're fine, what on earth...? My eyes found her sobbing, tear-stained face and then her little chubby hands - clutching the unfastened straps of her carseat. Apparently in the distractions of leaving I had never buckled her in. I hugged her for a very long time.

Sometimes in life we get a reprieve.

Cherish every day with your children. You never know what tomorrow may bring.
And if you have goats, cherish them too. (But always remember to close the gate!)