When the first apple blossom burst open upon the tree, but before the
last lethal frost had tinged its petals, the goat’s fur was an even
coat of brown. Although the humans fed him many different things and he
helped himself frequently to the trees whose bark flayed so easily at
the trunk, the goat was slim of frame and nothing disrupted the smooth
umber fur that run from his nose to the tip of his tail.
in late spring, the lady carried a bucket down the front steps of the
people barn. This was not an unusual occurrence as each morning a biped
emerged from the front door with buckets filled either with fresh water
or taste treats. On this occasion, the lady wouldn’t share the bucket
with the goat. She thwarted every single effort he made to sample the
contents. She did give him a peanut, but how can one peanut compare to a
Instead, the woman carried the bucket to a square
bit of earth, one that was surrounded by a fence. Bucket and lady went
inside the square. The goat found himself outside the fence, his peanut
consumed by a thieving chicken and his stomach wanting more…quite
probably a bucket more.
To add insult to injury, the cruel human
pulled a packet from her pocket, tore it open and spilled mouthwatering
seeds onto the ground, as well as cool water from the bucket. On the
ground! If the goat could have shared his thoughts at that moment in a
human tongue, his speech would quite likely have been censored in this
space, such was the level of his frustration with the seeming waste of a
good something or other.
As this goat was, well, a goat, he took
that frustration between his stubby teeth and transformed it into
adrenalin. The muscles in his hindquarters bunched, and with the
strength of, well, an adrenalized goat, he leapt high over the fence. As
fast as his prehensile lips could gather, he gobbled up every single
seed. With a satisfied belch and a turn of the hoof, he left the scene
of the crime to look for some dessert.
But these seeds weren’t any
old peanut. These seeds were Ferry-Morse, “seeds guaranteed to grow”,
“moon and stars “watermelon. And grow they did. First, the goat’s trim
physique swelled. His slim belly became quite a melon itself, causing
him some discomfort during the night hours. By morning, his velvety
brown coat was speckled with tiny white spots and one big round one. And
there you have it.
The moral of this story? If you are a goat,
read the label on your food. You’re a human, you say? Container gardens
on a second-floor balcony are where it’s at, if there’s a goat in the