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Molly Mae
More articles by Catherine Lugo

Molly Mae

Molly Mae the goat stands at the other side of the barn, watching me warily. She has very alert amber-colored eyes and I dont' think I've ever seen them blink. Do goats blink? Her unblinking amber eyes are like glass marbles; I think they're beautiful-with their black rectangular pupils. Her eyes are always darting from one thing to another, always on guard. It's really funny to see her dart her eyes from side to side as she backs away from me; I have yet to be able to pet her or touch her in any way. A hard pill to swallow since I was hoping for a goat soul mate.

In my heart I know that I haven't spent enough time with Molly. I know if I pull up a chair in the barn and just sit for several hours every day, she'll get to know me; I'll get to know her. And I do hope it happens before she has her baby; she's due in February....maybe the baby will come on my birthday....(we could celebrate together- a bale of hay alongside a birthday cake in the barn?) I'm going to get the chance to do that all important bonding stuff with the baby that I never had the chance to do with Molly. I'm sure the baby and I will be soul mates.

I wonder about people in agricultural countries that spend their lives herding goats. Somehow they learn to communicate with them; they become one with their goats; they communicate. I admire them because I can't communicate with even one goat. One day I started to wonder-just what might it take for me to win Molly over? I made her my "pet" project and after weeks and weeks of baby steps and backsliding, I've gotten her to take bread from my hand and she once came up and "tasted" my finger. That's as far as we've gotten. Daily, I go to the barn, put her food in her dish, she backs away, I set the dish down and turn to go, determined not to be hurt by this latest snub; tomorrow's another day.

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More articles by Catherine Lugo
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