|"Do you have my baby goats?!"|
Anxiety is an interesting animal. It's not domesticated, for one thing, even though it lives in my house. It is very quiet, sometimes invisible, but then, for no reason at all, it will jump up from under the couch or out of the closet and pounce, claws unleashed! This morning, while I was vaguely surprised by one such attack, the effect was unusual. My heart was racing, adrenaline pumping, but I wasn't emotionally involved. It was a physical attack, but not an emotional one. I have never had one like that and it was quite curious.
But later today, when I was giving everyone their dinner out in the "barnyard", I couldn't find Molasses or Cinnamon and I was truly upset. I had images of baby goat thieves staking out our backyard and waiting for the opportunity to strike. Baby goats tied up like hogs in the trunk of a car, bleating and crying for help. Ransom notes delivered under the cover of darkness. Did I have hoof prints for comparison? Did I have recent photos? Did they have distinguishing marks? All such hysterical notions vanished when Cinnamon sensed my fears and hopped down from his perch atop a straw bale under the back steps. He bleated at me and ran up to me. "I'm here! Look where we've been hiding! Isn't it fun?!" If I was his mommy I would have spanked him! But I was so glad to see him that I let him carry on as if I hadn't been concerned at all. We Goat Grannies have to play it cool, you know.