I’ve been in a panic. It’s D-Day
at the Goat Rancher, and even though I’m only expected to show up on time
once every 60 days, I still haven’t got my story straight. I actually had
a rather curious tale all polished and ready for you, but someone who
loves me very much pointed out (rather late last night) that my particular
genre is comedy and I’d better leave the tragedies to more tragic figures.
So I scrapped my Little Tale of Horrors and sat down to panic.
Now, everybody knows negativity is not productive, and even I can pick up
on that truth after watching the clock tick away for awhile. My mother
raised me right (sort of) and though I did depart from it, now that I’m
old I’ve (mostly) come back to what I was taught: So, in spite of my
appreciation for fine cigars, I make the habit of checking, several times
a day, what God Himself has to say about my various attitudes. And
sometimes I even listen when He speaks.
So I reached for my Bible, cried “Help!” and flipped it open to, of all
things, the Beatitudes. The Beatitudes don’t have anything to do with
goats. I don’t know how to be pure in heart; I just wanted some help
getting a story written! -Maybe something along the lines of separating
the sheep from the goats. He never says just what He’s going to do with
the goats. Is sitting at the left hand of God so bad, as long as you make
it to the table?
“Shut up Jeanie, and pay attention!” whispered a Still, Small Voice. “Here
is your story. Your irreverent humor is a gift from Me and I will not
charge your blasphemy against you, this time.”
Hmmmm… Well, here goes. The Goatitudes
And seeing the multitudes of goats, she went up on the manure pile and
when she was seated the goats came to her and she opened her mouth and
taught them saying:
Blessed are the goats poor in spirit; the humble goats who stand still to
be caught, and lead nicely, and don’t knock down small children, or small
women,
For theirs is the eternal gratitude of their keeper and probably an extra
handful of feed, and a good scratch under the horns.
Blessed are those goats who look mournful; those bone-skinny, rough coated
does who give every mouthful back to their precious children, nursing fat
shiny triplets bigger than single kids twice their age,
For they shall be comforted with all the emerald green alfalfa they can
eat and free choice pellets and weekly doses of Probios, and a cool shady
place under the tree.
Blessed are the meek goats that really mean it, and aren’t just pretending
to be innocent before they get off a shot at some smaller weaker goat,
For you shall inherit a wide place at a large feeder.
Blessed are the goats that hunger and thirst for anything other than Mr.
Peterson’s rosebushes,
For they shall be filled with plenty of proper goats things, and shall not
be filled with lead from a twelve-gauge, and if goats actually go to
Heaven when they die, they shall doubtless be filled with rosebushes after
all.
Blessed are the pure in pedigree; the goats who do not teleport through
fences into some place they don’t belong and make illegitimate babies and
waste a whole breeding season,
For they shall someday see ennoblement and have their own website.
Blessed are the peacemakers; Those young goats who calmly and gently push
their way into the middle of a set-to between bigger, older goats, and
skillfully herd the imminent loser into a quiet corner for a little talk,
For they shall be called wise and amazing.
Blessed are those who are persecuted and washed and shaved and hauled
around to strange places to be paraded around and felt up and gawked at
every weekend all summer long for your master’s sake,
For someday when you are older yours shall be the kingdom of green
pastures and still waters and you will never have to get in that nasty
trailer again.
Blessed are you when the neighbors and ranchers revile and ridicule you
and say all kinds of evil against you falsely. Rejoice and be exceedingly
glad for great is your price in the market, and so they persecuted
Clarence Birdseye before you.
Blessed be the name of the Lord, for laughter, and for wonderful editors,
and for every other gift You bestow.
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