Plenty wrong with having a goat
American tourists think it is quaint for a flock of sheep to halt traffic in Ireland.
In Sicily, an old guy herding his goats through town is a Kodak moment.
So what was wrong with having a nanny goat hiding out in the flora of one of Southeast Decatur’s finest neighborhoods?
Dog-gone-it, it’s not supposed to be there, that’s what was wrong. Besides that, it’s difficult to produce a good reason unless you want to count the gardens, flowers and shrubbery that were at risk. You might add Decatur Country Club greens to that list.
Sighting the goat became a status symbol and a talking point, though. Every spotter had a story, like Bruce Pylant who sent the following e-mail Sept. 28.
“Thought you might be interested in these pictures taken in our backyard
today. The goat seems to be feeding on the neighborhood flowers and other
plants! If you zoom in on one of them, you can see the critter peeking through the
limbs at me!”
Sorry, Bruce, bad picture.
The publicity over not catching the goat chafed animal control officers because they take their role seriously. And it might have been all of the armchair experts telling them how to nab Baasheba — a reader named her — put them off a bit.
Like the police who played an auxiliary role in the goat caper, animal control folks were conflicted.
Police Chief Ken Collier chuckled and observed that about half the people wanted the nanny caught and the other half rooted for her to escape the dragnet.
Our grandsons Wright Deas, 6, and Trey Buckingham, 5, said they should come to Decatur and help their grandmother seduce Baasheba with a bucket of sweet feed and then cart her off to the Blount County farm.
Then came the Friday event that ended goat sighting.
The boys were disappointed when I reported Baasheba’s capture and her exile to a farm at Oak Ridge.
But better to Oak Ridge than to Blount County.