In March of 1995 we planned to visit my brother in Las Angeles for Spring Break. That meant finding friends to take care of our animals while we were away. Brian, a co-worker at Forestry, volunteered to take care of my fifteen Angora goats. He assumed the responsibility of letting them out of the barn and feeding them in the morning, and putting them back in the barn and giving them some oats in the evening.
Returning home from an international trip is always an ordeal for us. Not only do we have to make the flights from wherever we were, to Vancouver, we then must catch another flight to Prince George. After all that, we have to drive two and a half hours, home to McBride.
When we finally got home from our Las Angeles trip, it was dark and we were tired. When we pulled into the driveway, I was surprised to see that the light in the barn was on and I assumed that Brian had just forgotten to turn it off when he put the goats in for the night.
After getting out of the car and unloading our suitcases, I walked up to the barn to check on the goats and turn out the light. When I got to the barn, I noticed that there was a note on the door. It said,
“Call me about the goats,” followed by a phone number.
Then when I opened the door and went into the barn to check on the goats, and got a terrible shock—there were no goats. The barn was empty.
I rushed back to the house and told my wife in desperation, “All of the goats are gone!”
I was in panic mode, I remembered the note on the door, and figured that calling the number on the note would give me some explanation as to the disappearance of the goats. I dialed the phone number, but the voice at the other end of the line, didn’t know anything about the missing goats, they had just noticed the goats one day when they had driven by the house, and wondered what kind of animals they were.
Still in a panic about what happened to all of my goats, I grabbed a flashlight and rushed back outside into the dark, hoping I could spot them somewhere. I soon did: They were all just standing in the barnyard. They stood perfectly still and silently in the dark barnyard, wondering why they they were not in the barn eating their oats.
Much relieved, I opened the barn door and let them in to fed them. All of that fear and distress vanished, as I watched them eat, but I still wondered why Brian had not put them in the barn earlier.
An hour later Brian called me with an explanation: That afternoon his mother-in-law had fallen and had broken her leg. They at the hospital, and hadn’t had time to put the goats in the barn for the night.
Suddenly all of the mystery that had arisen when we had gotten home had been explained, and I was able to settle in for a peaceful night of sleep in my own bed, after a long stressful day.
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