Grandad had a small house he rented. I remember the bright red paint that gave off a certain sweet smell in the hot sun. I remember the screened-in porch, a barrier from the bugs that beat on the fabric, looking for a way to get near our bright lights.But the real job was the neighbor’s yard. It was a cornucopia of boyhood wonders. My brother and I would swing on the apricot trees, play hide-and-seek in the garden and touch the farm equipment.
But the most fun was the resident billy goat – Sam. The best thing about Sam was being able to feed him almost anything. We tried the tin can, just to see if he would. He put it in his mouth, sucked whatever he could off the inside, and then spit it out. We gave him dirty carrots, candy bar wrappers and milk cartons, all of which he curiously chewed, but didn’t always swallow.
Image via WikipediaThere was no stopping Sam.
Sam was prone to wander, never really happy to stick around where he could be found. He didn’t care what the owner said. He just looked at him with his sideways slitted eyes, cocked his head, and did his own thing.
He did nothing as far as I could tell except get into trouble and do his own thing. He was a bully and fighter at times, but certainly had no commitment to the betterment of the property.
Sam had all the responsibility of a house cat and none of the cuddly charm.
I know some people like Sam. They have no ties to the community. They have an appetite for destruction, but somehow escape consequence. They butt heads and bully the flock.
I have some billy goat tendencies of my own. While my hygiene is better, I tend to pick a fight when a kind word would do. I strut my grounds with little regard for others. I consume entertainment that I know has no eternal value.
How about you? Know any billy goat Christians? Comment here.
Please, share with a friend if you feel moved.
Read all past issues at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidrupert
Read all past issues at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidrupert
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