It would become known . . . in the history of Martindale Island . . . as The Great Goat Caper, and it involved the stuff that great novels were made of: Drama, treachery, intrigue, and conflict.
Using paper cut-outs to represent the little girl, myself, and the goats I communicated to her the idea of sneaking up on the animals and committing what could rightfully be called a “kidnap.” The clandestine nature of the plan set off something of an alarm in her, but I persisted in an earnest defense of the abduction. She slowly warmed to the scheme and then entered into a sort of conspiratorial attitude as I explained how we would need to conceal her presence . . . with her walking mere inches behind me . . . as we neared our prey.
I then went outside and cut down a large number of tree limbs and, hammering them into the ground next to the cottage, erected a goat pen . . . not too large but not too small . . . with walls about three and a half feet high and a gate. In time I would add a covered shelter, but this would do for the time being. We then gathered up quite a few berries and greens and, with a bowl of water, put them into the pen. I then grabbed a forty foot length of rope and we headed out to the goats’ favorite socializing spot.
As we made our way toward our destination we practiced . . . with some giggling . . . our “shadow walking” and soon we were within sight of the herd. I handed the rope to the little girl . . . as I would need both hands . . .
and we approached the goats slowly. With the little girl hidden behind me, I was sure that . . . to the goats . . . it was just another visit from “that two-legged animal.” Be that as it may, we moved closer to the herd and I spotted our prey . . . a she-goat with two little ones nursing . . . and, looking as innocent as altar boys, we moved in for the capture.
We were about twenty feet from our quarry when . . . the little girl was spotted! I didn’t know which goat sounded the alarm, but an immediate communication of fear began to spread through the herd . . . and I bolted at my target. The she-goat tried to run, but it was too late. In a moment I was on top of her and had her locked securely in my arms. From behind me came running a . . . little angel . . . hair and dress flowing . . . and carrying, with a bit of a struggle, the coil of rope.
We tied the rope around the she-goat’s waist. Oh, the pitiful bleating of that she-goat! “The indignity !” “The betrayal !” But it was all to no avail.
She was now our prisoner. We let the rope out to its full length . . . and waited. In about fifteen minutes’ time the two young ones returned to their mother and the gang of us then made our way to the cottage.
In the pen, I tied the she-goat to one of the poles of the wall and offered her some berries . . . which she refused. The little girl thought the two “kids” were adorable and tried . . . as they scurried around the pen . . . to pet them.
I went inside, grabbed a cup and a stool, came back out, entered the goat pen, and sat down. And then . . . I milked a goat.
I showed the goat’s milk to the little girl and then drank some of it. I offered it to her and she drank some. She liked it. Somehow I communicated the importance of a child drinking milk as opposed to an adult . . . and she drained the cup dry, which I was glad to see.