(click individual photos above for captions)
My sister believes I’m jealous of the bleating horn-things, but she’s mistaken.
Essie experiments with a new hobby every few weeks—this past summer, she plodded her way through interpretive sunning, yodeling, and competitive chewing. She’ll move on again before we can blink; commitment has never been her pasture. So naturally, she wouldn’t understand a passion that’s throttled me since my calf days.
Even the word: gate. It’s short and beautiful. It floods my tongue with satisfaction every time I shout it! On one side of a gate, there’s the land where I’m grazing, and on the other…well, who knows what wonderful adventures await? There might be premium hay! Or fascinating hoomans! Or impossible creatures I’ve not even dared to dream up!
“She crossed every gate known to cow “: that’s what the great poets will sing about me!
And the beautiful entryway I watched the bleating horn-things frolic past yesterday? I cannot bound the gate steps with ease like they do. But that’s a puzzle to be solved, a mystery I simply haven’t Sherlocked yet. I’m patient. I notice the details others miss, and I will traverse this Goat Gate! For glory! For all of cow-kind!
I can almost taste the golden grass.
This story was based on a writing prompt from @PolymerMonkey, which was itself based on “The Goat Gate,” a painting by her maternal grandmother, Lavinia Stephens. The Goat Gate was an actual gate on Lavinia’s property; Laura played there as a child.
My thanks to them both—Laura for suggesting the prompt, and Lavinia for creating such a lovely image (Lavinia is not aware of this painted story, but I have turned it into an art print and mailed that to Laura. Yay for art inspiring more art!)
Want to see everything I’ve created in the same place? Because you can do that!