Don't steal the goat!

I was once tempted to commit a heinous crime - in fact it was only my vehicular ineptitude that kept me from becoming a criminal, a thief so corrupt as to steal from a house of worship.

I confess - last Christmas, I almost stole a goat... from a church.

Collections are a national pastime, right? We collect stamps, coins, postcards. Among my relatives are collectors of snowmen, starfish, hedgehogs and pineapple items. My husband collects emblems from old cars, Emily has tea cups and Megan's assortment of camels is amazing. So it is only natural that recently I started looking for goats - plastic goats, stuffed animal goats, T-shirts, whatever.

Hint - when you choose something to collect, pick an easy category. Like cats. Feline trinkets are everywhere. You nearly trip over them at yard sales. Same for dogs, Disney items, tractors, or angel figurines. Even camels, which Megan has collected for nearly ten years, are not too difficult to find, especially around the holidays when they can be gleaned from most Nativity sets.

Goats, however, are a different story. Nearly impossible. Only occasionally found in a child's farm animal set, they have no status, no "cuteness factor," no desirability. Except apparently at the student store of the US Naval Academy (where a goat is the school mascot, but where ordinary citizens are not permitted), you can hardly find a goat trinket anywhere. I have three plastic goats and one Beanie Baby - that's it. So you can imagine my excitement in December when I drove past a nearby church and spotted in their life-size outdoor Nativity set - not only the customary camel, but also a giant wooden goat!!

How cool! How amazing! A goat, right there next to baby Jesus!

I wanted that goat.

And just for a fleeting moment I wondered, would anyone really miss that goat if I pulled up to the curb, grabbed it and tossed it into the back of my van? Think how awesome it would look in my living room. And right in front of the church was just one parking space - and that's what saved me from descending into a life of crime. Sometime between the age of sixteen and now, I have forgotten how to parallel park. I kept on driving, wistfully whispering, "Merry Christmas, goat!" He is probably now stowed away in the church basement, just waiting for next December. Hmmm...

Mike recently brought home a new pair of work gloves he bought at a local shop - and in horror I read on the tag "100% Goat Skin Leather." When I told him to look for goat items, this is NOT what I meant!! I would have returned them on principle, but Emerson had already eaten the receipt.

Maybe I don't need more plastic goats. After all, what's better than the real thing?