I know, you are sitting there scratching you head; 'Michelle, you live in suburbia, your yard only looks like it has been eaten by goats it could fit into the average beer store twice! Your neighbours thrive on bylaw. Where are the goats?
In the house! In the bedrooms and on the couch, they are tucked into bathroom drawers meant to house hair accessories and toothpaste, in toy boxes and the laundry room. The goats are everywhere,we take them in the car and on vacation. Every one of us has our own personal herd and is continually on the look out to increase head count.
The phrase is 'Don't let them get your goat.' We must say it a hundred times a week. A phrase induced by sibling rivalry and combat. It is the description for that moment where one child does something intentionally to provoke outrage in another, they 'borrow' personal items, comment on relationships, personal appearance, hygiene and intelligence. It is taking control of the other person's emotions and playing them like a marionette. Perhaps we are not goat farmers as much as we are goat rustlers. No one in this house is ever satisfied with keeping their own goats, no they go on missions to collect them, pushing buttons and invading personal space, stopping at nothing to get another person's goat.
It gets loud... "Am not!"...."Are too!".... "Am not!"...."Are too!"... "You're a goat farmer!"
They know it! They know that they are being rustled and they don't close the gate to protect their livestock. No, they see it coming so they climb up on top of the barn Nananabooboo style, wiggle their butts at one another and dare the 'getting' of their goats. All the while I stand around like the sheriff in a cowboy western "Now, Now Jeb...let's just think about this for a minute, you don't really want to go a hurt'n your kin there do ya?"
Heck ya they do! and they will take my goats in the process if they can!
Somebody triumphs at every showdown, the victory cry rings out..."I GOT YOUR GOAT!" Yes they actually say it, as they skip away from the battle back to their room to count their reward.
Leaving me in the wake, my boots covered in dust staring over an empty field wishing we were fishermen. Fishermen bob up and down on the water in their own little boats. They yell across the lake to one another "Any luck today?" They point each other in the direction of good shoals and pass along success tips, they recount great stories over lively music and the catch of the day.
I want to be a fisherman.
Gratitude today that while we spend an awful lot of time 'down on the farm' we also enjoy getting away to do some fishing from time to time.
Are you a family of farmers of fisherman?
Hope, Gratitude and Smiles are meant to be shared!
Michelle
Hey...I'm visiting Pleasantville this week! Stop by and say hello!!!!
