I shall tell you all about the goat.
When I was in my younger years maybe 10 or so...my Mom used to often traumatize me in the disguise of doing normal things, not really on purpose, but off and on during my childhood. I now traumatize my own children in return...the circle of life. Anyway, we were on our way home from church-I think- and I was in a nice summery dress and pantyhose and sandals. Funny how I remember what I was wearing, but not all of the exact details. Hmmm, it must be a result of all of my trauma. Okay, we stop by my Aunt's house -I think- and there is this goat, a nanny, that has wandered a few streets over to her house(Aunt's house). We stop and my Mom is always so kind and thoughtful-that was NOT sarcastic by the way- that she decided that the poor critter needed to be returned home. See, this is where the trauma starts. We were in a CAR! Yes, that's right, a car-as in not a truck-as in where does one put a GOAT in a car. Which leads to another very good question-I'm glad you asked- HOW does one KEEP a goat in a car....I know the answers to all of those very good questions. First, you have a young tender pre-teen girl dressed in her Sunday best. Second, you must know what field the goat came from. Third, you must have some power over this sweet girl to convince her that it is the best thing for her to sit in the back seat with a BIG-STINKY-FRIGHTENED goat, and hold it still. Than you just drive over a few streets, find the house it belongs to, and go to the door...wait about five billion years for someone to come to the door...and than just return the goat. That's it! That is the story of the goat...I lived and that's all that matters in the end I guess. Next I will tell you about the waterfall and who the goober was.