We were in Norway for this:
Did you spy the handsome American pastor at the
Norwegian-Sri Lanka/Tamil wedding?
Oh yeah. I’m in there too.
But we also got to see this:
A moss covered home & The Pulpit
And we got to play, fully clothed because we didn’t bring swimsuits (it’s Norway, duh…cold), in these:
But what I didn’t expect was this:
Just call me The Goat Whisperer!
Let me backtrack. My husband and I got married many moons before this picture. At least 4 years worth of moons.
At this point, we pretty much knew that children were not on our horizon. So, I did what any woman does when she can’t have babies—I had animals. Yes, my husband is a wild beast, too…Rrrrah (that’s a growling sound)! But I am talking cute and fuzzy ones. Like rabbits.
In Norway…Well Norway, God bless Norway, gave me a gift. A baby goat!
What’s better than having a baby of your own?
A precious baby goat bleating at you to “Come and pick me up.” I promise that is what it was saying to me when I saw it all alone on the side of the hill in the wild fjords of Norway (Yes, my imagination often runs wild. Whoops).
I scrambled up that hill and engulfed that goat into my arms. Together at last—me and my goat.
Nuzzle. Nuzzle. I held that goat tightly against my chest and just kept nuzzling it. I knew that this goat was going in the car with me, on the ferry with me, and back to Poland with me.
The problem is—I was nuzzling the goat. But the goat wasn’t nuzzling me.
In fact. The goat wasn’t even happy that I picked it up.
And, before I knew it, my baby (yes, I bonded that quickly) began to head butt me. Me!
And then I saw her. The real mother.
Goats can be scary chargers.
So, I gently released
my baby what shall now be called the rebellious kid, and backed away-quickly (if you know me, I don’t like to move quickly).
My former captive kept bleating at me…I guess I finally understood. Goat language is a little more difficult than I originally thought.
It was saying, “Back off, crazy lady!”
How in the world did I ever misunderstand that for, “Come and cuddle me!”?
Needless to say, I gave Norway back her goat and returned to Poland with only my beastly husband. One wild animal would have to suffice in my life for a while longer…
Then it happened. Nearly two years later we had our own kid-she didn’t bleat or headbutt.
And, guess what—I was now the charging mother!