Up on the rooftop
We named her Bridget. She was 4 months old when we picked her up-
a sweet little white goat who had been treated as a pet by the older lady who owned Bridget's mother. I think Bridget had spent the majority of her early moths inside the lady's house and not in the barn with the other goats, for she was most unhappy when we put her into our barn.
An unhappy goat makes a great deal of noise--"MAAA--maaa"--
screams splitting the air which sounded like a child in pain. Perhaps she was a child in pain, away from the home she had known.
We were determined; however, that Bridget would become comfortable in her nice stall with a burro next to her for company.
One day we let her loose in the pasture with the burro. We had electric fence around the field which kept the burro safely enclosed. There was lots of grass (for the burro-goats prefer briars!) and an old apple tree for shade. There was also an old claw-foot bath tub which served as a stock tank filled with cool water from the spring on the hillside above. Bridget followed the burro about, even attempting to mimic him by cropping some grass. Feeling that Bridget was safe and settled,
the children went off to school and I went to work. When I dropped in at noon to check on the animals Bridget was not in the pasture. I checked the barn--no goat. Our house sat across the street from the barn. A small two-story home, it backed in to a gentle sloping hillside in the rear. I walked all around the house. I climbed up the hillside in back of the house where our vegetable garden thrived. No goat.
As I turned back towards the house I heard a "Maa". This time it was a happy, even possibly a bragging cry. It came from above my head!
Looking upwards I saw a small white animal walking the ridgepole of the house. Bridget had spotted me. With a toss of her head and a flick of her white banner tail, she scampered nimbly across the rooftop.
Then sitting and sliding down a metal roofing panel, landing squarely on four stiff little legs, she stood on the grass behind the house.
She must have had some Alpine breed in her for she apparently had mistaken the house for a mountain, feeling very much at home up there. There was no keeping her in the pasture after that. Even a few months later when she reached adult height, she figured a way to get beneath the electric fence without being zapped. Immediately upon being released from her stall in the barn, across the narrow country back road where we lived dashed the white goat. To the back of the house-to the top of the roof trotted Bridget. From inside, we could hear the clatter of her cloven hoofs as she patrolled her post.
Winter came bringing with it lots of deep snow. The plow made large banks on both sides of the road. I shoveled a path through to provide access to the barn. I fed Bridget and the burro their grain, hay, and filled their water buckets. I allowed Bridget a peek out the barn door to see the deep white cold stuff which filled the area where she had so recently pranced. She seemed content now to stay in the confines of the warm barn.
Christmas Eve--the children hung their empty stockings on the mantle over the fireplace. The three younger children were still "believers."
while the oldest one played along with it knowing if you don't believe in Santa, he won't believe in you. I read them the Night Before Christmas. They set out cookies for Santa and carrots for his reindeer.
Next morning they flew from their beds early and raced to the living room. The cookies were gone and most of the carrots too. The second oldest child, who had been on the cusp of becoming a non-believer, told the two younger ones she knew now that Santa was real because she had awoken during the night to the sound of reindeer hooves tapping on the metal roofing above.
The older boy responded, "Naw, that was just Bridget."
a sweet little white goat who had been treated as a pet by the older lady who owned Bridget's mother. I think Bridget had spent the majority of her early moths inside the lady's house and not in the barn with the other goats, for she was most unhappy when we put her into our barn.
An unhappy goat makes a great deal of noise--"MAAA--maaa"--
screams splitting the air which sounded like a child in pain. Perhaps she was a child in pain, away from the home she had known.
We were determined; however, that Bridget would become comfortable in her nice stall with a burro next to her for company.
One day we let her loose in the pasture with the burro. We had electric fence around the field which kept the burro safely enclosed. There was lots of grass (for the burro-goats prefer briars!) and an old apple tree for shade. There was also an old claw-foot bath tub which served as a stock tank filled with cool water from the spring on the hillside above. Bridget followed the burro about, even attempting to mimic him by cropping some grass. Feeling that Bridget was safe and settled,
the children went off to school and I went to work. When I dropped in at noon to check on the animals Bridget was not in the pasture. I checked the barn--no goat. Our house sat across the street from the barn. A small two-story home, it backed in to a gentle sloping hillside in the rear. I walked all around the house. I climbed up the hillside in back of the house where our vegetable garden thrived. No goat.
As I turned back towards the house I heard a "Maa". This time it was a happy, even possibly a bragging cry. It came from above my head!
Looking upwards I saw a small white animal walking the ridgepole of the house. Bridget had spotted me. With a toss of her head and a flick of her white banner tail, she scampered nimbly across the rooftop.
Then sitting and sliding down a metal roofing panel, landing squarely on four stiff little legs, she stood on the grass behind the house.
She must have had some Alpine breed in her for she apparently had mistaken the house for a mountain, feeling very much at home up there. There was no keeping her in the pasture after that. Even a few months later when she reached adult height, she figured a way to get beneath the electric fence without being zapped. Immediately upon being released from her stall in the barn, across the narrow country back road where we lived dashed the white goat. To the back of the house-to the top of the roof trotted Bridget. From inside, we could hear the clatter of her cloven hoofs as she patrolled her post.
Winter came bringing with it lots of deep snow. The plow made large banks on both sides of the road. I shoveled a path through to provide access to the barn. I fed Bridget and the burro their grain, hay, and filled their water buckets. I allowed Bridget a peek out the barn door to see the deep white cold stuff which filled the area where she had so recently pranced. She seemed content now to stay in the confines of the warm barn.
Christmas Eve--the children hung their empty stockings on the mantle over the fireplace. The three younger children were still "believers."
while the oldest one played along with it knowing if you don't believe in Santa, he won't believe in you. I read them the Night Before Christmas. They set out cookies for Santa and carrots for his reindeer.
Next morning they flew from their beds early and raced to the living room. The cookies were gone and most of the carrots too. The second oldest child, who had been on the cusp of becoming a non-believer, told the two younger ones she knew now that Santa was real because she had awoken during the night to the sound of reindeer hooves tapping on the metal roofing above.
The older boy responded, "Naw, that was just Bridget."
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