I live in Edmond, OK where I am employed by the University of Central Oklahoma. I am easily inspired by common things at times, as I was in the true tale of “The Girl and The Goat”. However, I may need a bit of help when it comes to dancing in a pasture full of bleating goats, dry grass and moist dung. Anyone want to give me lessons?
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The Goat and the Girl
I saw a young goat trapped in a fence last night. Having put her head through the fence to nibble on what she had been tempted to believe was greener grass, she had gotten caught by her tiny horns. Who knows how long her plaintive bleating had reverberated through the hot August air before anyone other than the pasture animals noticed.
As I walked toward the fence, her bleating got louder. Seeing me she struggled harder to free herself, twisting, turning, pushing her butt into the air and her nose into the dirt, but she could not get loose. Realizing what was happening, I hurried back to the house and informed the owner that his young goat was in distress, but he showed no urgency. Apparently this goat had gotten herself stuck before and would just have to learn that it was the same grass on one side as the other. She could wait until he was ready to tend to her.
Perhaps I’m a sucker for anyone’s crying, or simply impatient when I see a need. Either way, heading toward our vehicle to go home, I again stopped at the sound of the incessant bleating and made an instantaneous decision. I pulled off my cotton sweater, exposing bare arms that always remained hidden in public, and strode directly to the goat pen. Another couple were standing there, watching the poor animal struggle as the other goats milled around her, unable to do anything to free her. I quashed all qualms about showing my ugly arms, or dirtying my dress and unlatched the chain on the gate.
As I stepped into the pen, the observer said, “You must have done this before.”
No, I hadn’t. I was simply responding to an innocent being in need during the time our life paths crossed. Despite my anxieties over what I looked like or whether I knew what I was doing, I couldn’t just stand there and watch her suffer. I could try to help. I could at least provide some comfort. After all, I replied, “It’s just a baby goat!”
Treading through dry knee high grass and moist pellets of goat dung in my Sunday dress, I briefly wondered at the sanity of what I was trying to do. Kneeling down beside the terrified animal and placing my hand on her as she panicked and jerked, I again wondered if I had chosen to do the right thing.
Gently, I traced the line of her head and the length of her sore neck, found where the tiny horns were trapping her, and guided her through the fence maze a bit at a time until she was finally able to pull herself free. I had to laugh as she kicked up her heals and danced in the pasture, as if saying “Look at me! I got myself free!”
Wise men and sages would say there is a moral to such a story of this, but to me the moment of inner reflection far outweighed any of the many morals I could draw from this simple story. Many times in my life I am the kid with her horns stuck in the fence. Sometimes I’m the person that hears the trapped goat. Either way, it really doesn’t matter. What does matter is whether I realize which one I am at which time, and am willing to do what is required to reach the goal of freedom. When that happens, then both the goat and the girl can dance in the pasture in freedom.
essay by catherine white walls, all rights reserved
September 16, 2010 at 1:16 pm
Cayt,
Keep up the writing. You are so good at getting your point across to people. We all need to stop and help others in need. That is the only way we can expect any help ourselves. Any one who has gone through what you have gone through in your life and can be there for others is amazing.