Conversations With Goat
I was awakened a few nights ago by a terrible baying sound. Well, my wife was awakened by the baying sound; I'm too deaf to be awakened by a jumbo jet. Anyway, she pushed me and rolled me and asked "why is your goat in the house?"
I finaly heard the bay. It wasn't Goat, just one of his nannies. I rubbed my eyes and scratched her head, "How'd you get in the house, girl?" She bayed again and I could tell it was serious. She was running back and forth between me and the door like she wanted me to follow.
Well, as most of you knkow, I'm still recovering from a broken leg, but I got up to try and follow anyway. My primary mode of transportation these days is with my handy dandy knee scooter that I've knicknamed "Roscoe." (Thanks again, Sara. Roscoe has saved my life.) I hopped up on Roscoe and followed the nanny goat to the back door where she started pawing on it. By now I was getting worried, nanny goats didn't usualy act like this.
It took a while to get out of the house, but when I did I knew trouble was afoot. The goat barn that I had built so many years ago in the back yard was a sight to see. Inbetween the cracks of the boards and out of the windows and doors lights swirled and flashed. Bright beams of blue and red shone out of the barn door and puffs of smoke crawled out, snaking through the grass in my yard. The radio was playing full blast (I'm surprised the neighbors didn't call the police). The Villgae People were singing a lively song encouraging me to join the navy for some reason.
The ground was wet so it took me a while to scoot over to the barn. December in Texas had brought the autumn rains and the ground was soft with the consistancy of wet soap. My scooter got stuck more than once and by the time I reached the barn the village people had given up on trying to get me to join the navy and now they just wanted me to go west.
When I finaly made it to the barn, I was almost blinded by the disco ball hanging up in the middle of the rafters. I surely didn't remember installing a disco ball in the barn. Well, maybe I did, but I distinctively remember taking it out for a comic con. Beams of light from every bale of hay hit it and they were reflected in brilliant hughes of whites and all kinds of colors. I scooted over to the stereo and cut off the music.
"It's about time!" My goat yelled from somewhere in the fog machine haze.
"Where are you?"
I couldn't see much of anything. I tried to scoot through the haze towards the sound of his voice but I was becoming lost.
"No! To your left, your left."
I turned Roscoe's handlebars and scooted to the left.
"By the pole."
No sooner had he said that than a stage with a pole in the center came into view. Oh, no. No, no, no. Please. I really didn't want to know what was going on here.
"Watch it, asshole!" Being focused on the spectacle in front of me, I didn't see my goat laying on the ground and I had run over him with my scooter.
"Goat! What are you doing on the ground?"
"I fell off the stage."
"Why in the name of all that is holy are you on a stage?" I didn't want to know the answer, but it was going to come anyway.
"I was practicing stripping."
"Okay," I finally broke, "you going to tell me why you're practicing stripping?"
He looked up at me with his big goat eyes and then turned away. "Well, I know you broke your leg and you're not working and the bills are late and it's right here at Christmas time. The chickens, the kids, the dog; we're all worried about you. I just wanted to do something, ya know? I wanted to make some extra money for the family."
I got down off of Roscoe and sat down beside him. "It's going to be okay, Goat. We've got a pretty good support system. We're going to be okay."
"I was just trying to help. I know how hard it is for you not being able to work and all. I was just doing whatever I could."
"I know, Goat, and I appreciate it. I really do. Ive made some arangements and we're not going to lose the house."
"Or the barn?"
"Or the barn. Now, take your pasties off and get our goat as up. You have a lot of cleaning up to do."
"Um, I don't think I can get up."
I looked at him curiously. "Why not?"
"When I fell off the stage I think I injured myself."
"I broke my leg!"
So, now me and my goat are just sitting aorund watching reruns of Star Trek, each with a broken leg in a boot and waiting to get back into the swing of things. He told me to tell ya'll "Merry Christmas."