Sammy the Goat

Driving down a two-lane road near my house Saturday afternoon, I spied a fat, black goat who had sauntered into the roadway. He walked into my path and stopped cold. Dumbfounded, but steadfast, I parked the car, flipped on the hazards, exited my car and approached the animal. The goat brayed but remained statue-still as I reached for his collar, a thin strip of black leather to which five letters appeared affixed. "SAMMY," read the bejeweled nameplate.

Slowly I led Sammy from the road to the shoulder as a woman walked down the road from up ahead. She and another woman had pulled over ahead of me; one went to knock on the door of a nearby farmhouse and another came my way. We coaxed Sammy up the road and toward the house.

The second woman emerged and lamented: Sammy's owner was not home. Undeterred, she quickly scooped him up and carried him across the yard and into his pen. His likely escape from captivity thwarted, Sammy returned to domestic life, a collar ringing his neck and his foolish dreams dashed. Three humans were kindhearted enough to lead him home -- but coldhearted enough to ignore a goat's yearning to roam free.

 

100 more years bad luck for the Cubs.

 

PETA will be protesting outside your house this week.