The Baby Goat
There is profundity in simple things.
I am pouring a mug of water into my one-cup coffee maker, then spooning grounds into the mesh basket that holds the coffee with an old measuring spoon. The sun is shining on the trees outside the window. It is peaceful this morning and my thoughts turn toward the memory of a baby goat.
The tiny goat was 2 hours old being carefully held close under the chin of its owner.
I was on my usual walk around the neighborhood. This time I had to give myself a stern talking-to to get my lazy self out the door. I could just as easily skip it and the world would not come to a halt, I told myself. If that was the case, then it didn’t matter if I got up off my behind and walked around the block either. That took the pressure off so I stood up and marched out the door.
Turning left, as I expected, there was the huge long-haired white beauty of a dog on his hind legs with his front paws on the tall wire fence, barking for attention. Yeah, you know you’re something special, don’t you? I slowed down clapping my approval and calling out compliments just like as he had trained me to do.
I wondered where the goats were that shared the lot with big-white-dog.
