Goats Coats and More

The Missing goats “Ben, I need you!” yelled Dad from the door of the red barn hoping Ben could hear him calling. Strong gusts of wind may have drowned out his voice. Ben was riding his scooter on the driveway when Dad called. He enjoyed this time in the afternoon. Homework and chores were done and he could spend a few moments on his scooter. He had filled the cat food dishes, checked the litter box, and had even spent time with his younger brother, Nat. He wondered what could be so urgent for Dad to call him to the barn. Dad called again, “Ben, I need you.” The windy day that had the markings of a hurricane had caused the gate to the goat pen to be blown open. “Dad, what is wrong?” Ben asked as he ran toward the barn. The urgency in Dad’s voice troubled Ben. “I can’t find the goats. I believe the strong wind has dislodged the gate and the goats are gone,” suggested Dad. “Where they would have gone is the next question.” A gust of wind almost blew Ben off the path to the barn. Signs of an impending downpour were evident. If the goats were not found soon, they could drown in the swollen creek that wound through the nearby woods behind the house. “Ben, come with me down the path to the house next door. If the goats are going in that direction I will need you to help send them back,” said Dad. Ben and his dad rushed toward the house next door hoping they could find the goats. Pushing through the branches of the trees in the wooded area would be difficult, but Ben and his dad looked there. No goats were there. Ben and his dad headed back to the meadow on the other side of their house. “I say we check across the street,” said Ben. “Those goats can travel fast when they decide they need something to eat. You should see them come running when I take them their grain food in the afternoon.” “Watch out for any trucks or cars as you cross the street,” said Dad. Ben headed toward the old school yard across the highway from their house. Checking for oncoming traffic from both directions, he dashed across the street. “Dad, look over there down the gravel road in front of the old school,” shouted Ben. “I think I see a couple of goats. Maybe, the rest of them are nearby.” Dad ran ahead of Ben down the gravel road. As he rounded the curve near the old school he could see the rest of the goats enjoying the grass behind the school, unaware of the impending storm. “Ben, see if you can get behind the goats to help me chase them home,” called Dad from the end of the gravel road. Reaching the grassy area Ben could help nudge them towards home. Having the goats cross the highway safely would be a challenge. Ben picked up two sticks he found beneath a nearby tree. Rapping the sticks would motivate the goats to head toward home. Dad saw Ben’s strategy. He began clapping his hands while Ben rapped the sticks. The goats obligingly headed down the gravel road back toward the house. As they reached the road, the goats paused. They seemed to realize their safety would be compromised if they dashed across. Dad’s clapping and Ben’s rapping stopped long enough to wait for a break in the traffic. “O.K. goats, head for home. The storm will soon be here and you will be in the middle of a hurricane, “ shouted Ben’s dad. The hand clapping and stick rapping encouraged the goats to start across the road. “Getting ten goats to go in the same direction at one time might be a challenge,” said Ben “but here we go.” The goats haltingly stepped onto the road. “If they can get across before any more trucks or cars come,” thought Ben, “ everything will be fine.” A drizzle of rain began as the goats bumped each other trying to get across the road. The slick road caused a couple of the goats to slide sprawling in the middle of the road. “Come on goats,” chided Ben. “We are almost home. Now go!” Ben gently touched the rumps of the two fallen goats, which caused them to jump up and head home. “Dad, I think we can get them in the pen before the storm hits. Clap some more,” said Ben. Dad responded and the goats moved as Ben had anticipated. Down the driveway beside the house and toward the red barn they scampered. As Ben held the goat pen gate wide open, his dad directed the goats back inside. Ben slammed the gate shut. “It’s closed good this time,” shouted Ben, “and not a moment too soon ‘cause here comes the rain.” A loud clap of thunder rolled across the heavens and the rain began to beat down on their heads. What a great story Ben would have to tell his mom and his sister of the adventures with the missing goats.