Goats in the Big Apple

Most parents would understand, I think...You love your children, of course, but sometimes you just need a break, a few moments of peace from whining toddlers or sassy teens, or even goats...and so when we recently had the opportunity to spend three days in New York City, I eagerly traded cornfields and creeks for subways and skyscrapers. My written itinerary listed Broadway, Carnegie Hall, Times Square, but a tiny little part of me was also rejoicing that I didn't even have to think about those caprine beasts for three whole days! I would not call to check on them, I would not talk about them, I would not speak their names. I imparted these rules to my family as well, stressing that we could be cultured and discuss only topics such as Art Deco and architecture and French Impressionists. Anyone who even mentioned goats was threatened with the ultimate punishment - being the designated "country idiot" who had to approach a stranger in the subway station and ask which train would take us downtown. (Why on earth do all the maps show routes in colors and yet the actual trains are marked by letters? I knew we needed to find a yellow train to 13th Street, so why were my only options the Q, the R or the M2 Local?? I wanted to shout, "Right, I may seem stupid here, but you should see my skill at hoof-trimming!") 

In Broadway's Gershwin Theatre, Wicked was spellbinding, spectular, packed with fantastic music, plot and special effects. Only one problem - someone should have warned us about Dr. Dillamond. Yes, one of the main characters (a history professor at the school where Glinda and Elphaba study) is indeed a talking goat. Strike one for a goat-free vacation.

The following day we trekked some thirty blocks to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. (I had meticulously mapped out a bus route for this trip, but my husband thought the walk would be "fun." Had the city not been smothered in 95 degree heat, he might have been right...) Here at least we could appreciate priceless Monets, Rembrandts, Picassos...oh my goodness, there were goats everywhere! I tried not to spot them, but in nearly every room we spied goats - painted, sculpted, etched into jewelry and Egyptian artifacts, even leering at us from the yogurt for sale in the cafe! There was no escape. That would be strike two.

Meandering downtown in search of affordable shopping (hint - there are half a dozen thrift stores at 23rd and 3rd Streets!), we wandered into Madison Square Park. We took in the lush greenery, a colorful and gigantic display of knitted rope artwork, and individual fenced areas apparently designed to contain romping New York dogs. I'm sure at that moment we all had the same thought, but unfortunately I spoke first.

"Can't you just imagine bringing the goats here?" I called to Emily. "They would absolutely love it!"

Oops. Strike three. Maybe we aren't meant for this urban life. How soon can we go home? I miss those crazy goats!