Delicious - or Dreadful?

A child of the sixties, I grew up in the era of Dr. Benjamin Spock and "tough love" and letting babies cry themselves to sleep. Though I have no memories of my earliest years, I am told that I suffered a severe separation anxiety and fear of being alone in my room at night, often climbing out of my crib to lie wailing on the floor with my tiny fingers (palms up) scrabbling under the door frame, frantically trying to pry the door from the hinges. Such was my terror of being locked in my room all alone.

I know how Emerson feels.

A few months ago we invested significant time and money in fencing our side field for the goats, providing them with a wonderful weedy grazing area much larger than their fenced yard next to the house. Here, we reasoned, they could safely forage for hours on wild grasses, thornbushes and poison ivy - all the things goats love. We call it "The Delicious Field" (because they used to love grazing there).They call it "Prison," "Little Corner of Hell," or "No-Way, No-How Are You Getting Us Through That Gate!" They were content when I sat in with them, but since they realized the field is a place where they are left alone, they now equate it with the terror of abandonment. Emerson refuses to eat out there, instead running in giant frantic circles, crying and throwing his body against the fence.

Yesterday I was determined to put them in the field. It was a warm day and I was just too busy to stand and watch them graze along the outside of the fence (their usual practice, cleverly staying far from the gate). I assembled all the required tools - collars, leashes, animal crackers, pods, Emily (home from school for the morning). With substantial bribery I half-dragged, half-lured Elliot through the gate, where he gave a peremptory fuss but then wandered off to forage, resigned to his fate. Emerson was fighting Emily with everything he had, but the two of us finally overpowered him, heaved him into a wagon and maneuvered him inside the fence.

Only one problem - I was locked in with them...

After about ten minutes Emily was able to lure Emerson away from the gate with a handful of pods, but as I tried to sneak out I glimpsed a flash of black fur and there he was, tearing toward the house at roughly twice the speed of light. Blasted goat! I found him cowering on the deck, shaking and panting, perhaps hoping I wouldn't find him. We sat together on the deck as he slowly relaxed and laid his head on my knee. This is the goat who stands on a bench outside the kitchen window and watches me wash dishes. Don't try to leave me out there ever again, Mommy. I just want to be where you are...