Lessons from the Goat Yard

My goats have enjoyed a rather uneventful summer. Elliot's skin pathology is, if not gone, at least dormant. The past few months have heralded only one escape (more frightening for Ellie than myself, I think, when I spotted him wandering along the road, and still no idea how he got out) and one incident of inappropriate contact with the air-conditioning technician (Emerson, and never, ever bend over in front of a goat unless you are absolutely certain the hastily-erected temporary fence will hold against his weight!) Relieved by the respite from constant goat drama, I am grateful for the lessons my goats have taught me these past three years. Take flexibility, for instance...

Several weeks ago my daughter and I were preparing a meal she had requested - herb-encrusted chicken on a bed of risotto and sauteed kale - when her phone made its peculiar chirping sound. Her eyes lit up as she read the text.

"Awesome! I've just been invited to a birthday party!"

Absently I drizzled wine over the sizzling chicken. "That's nice. What's the date?"

"Well, tonight. Six o'clock, actually." She already had her apron off, thrusting the risotto bowl at me, mid-mix. "Here, I need to get changed."

Quite a bit more wine splashed from the bottle as I spun toward the wall clock, sputtering. "Tonight?? Like, twenty-two minutes from now, that six o'clock? What about dinner?"

"Oh, it's my phone's fault. She actually texted me fourteen minutes ago; it just took forever to go through. And don't worry about dinner - it's a cookout, so I'll eat there."

Staring at a haystack of kale waiting its turn in the pan, I barely caught her voice from down the hall. "Oh, and I'll need a gift - maybe something you have hidden away, that you bought me for Christmas? Can you wrap it quick? I need to leave in five."

It's a lucky thing the goats like kale! Flexibility...This, however, was mere preparation for the following week when my other daughter arrived home from her summer camp job, dumping three months worth of luggage and laundry in the living room.  "I hope you don't mind," she announced, "but I've invited twenty-four people here for lunch tomorrow."

Maybe it was the dead silence, or my catatonic stare as she peered into the refrigerator..."Mom? Maybe we should go to the grocery store."

Oh, yeah. Either that, or we'll have to roast a goat...