Sunny Side Up March 15, 2006 2006, Kathleen Gibson What are you chasing? For one idyllic year, the year our children were nine and eleven, the Preacher took a sabbatical from ministry. We rented a house on a hillside, surrounded by rolling farmland in the picturesque Beaver Valley of Ontario. Mostly for the children, but also for me, we fetched ourselves some critters. We already owned two hamsters and a demented red cocker named Chalmer. Now we added three bunnies, an extra cocker, and two young angora billy goats. Our kids named those kids Curly and Shyly. Lacking fences between our rented property and the neighbour's farmland, we left the goats on a long tether in the daytime, a rope looped around the center of a large wooden electrical spool. Curly and Shyly quickly figured out how to flip that spool. They rolled it all over the property and somehow did it without getting tangled up. One day a shadow passed over the window of the lower floor room where the children and I were working. We looked up. There were both goats, peering in and nudging each other for the best view. Just like real kids outside the monkey cage at the zoo. To protect them from predators, we bedded the goats down in a small shed at the bottom of the property. At first they trotted in willingly, but when they grew into rams, they vetoed my curfew. I had a terrible time retiring them. As a last resort I fetched Chalmer. Both goats despised that dog. When he got loose, all H-E-double hockey sticks did too. He'd chase them until they were so addled they'd head for their shed, no matter what time of day. Sure enough, they ran like obedient children into the shed. It became routine after that. "Sic'em Chalmer," I'd say. He never needed a second invitation. Sheep run from conflict. Goats fight. Curly and Shyly remembered who they were one evening. In mid-run, both stopped, pivoted, and stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes locked balefully on Chalmer. The dog stopped, sat, and looked up at me. Then, in the absence of action, he made the mistake of turning around. In that moment Curly, the largest ram, lowered his head and charged. The feisty cocker did a tidy somersault and landed in a tumble of red fur. Yipping in surprise, he came back and plunked himself down beside me again. By that time, the goat was staring off in another direction, contemplating reruns. The star acrobat obliged. Chalmer never put the goats to bed again - avoided them entirely, after that. I found another way to trick them into their shed. Bribery, I seem to recall. We're all chasing something. I've been flipped mid-chase a time or two myself, almost always while pursuing something innocuous that mushroomed and turned on me. I too, landed in a pile of indignant yips. God, help us to learn from our tumbles, like Chalmer. And teach us to chase the right stuff. Respond Home |
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