Pet

Pygmy Goat Justice
By Steven C. Grant

I had a dream the other day about pygmy justice. The sweetest goat in the world, little Jack, our Jackie, finally turned on Charlie, his incredibly overbearing, and much, much, bigger half-pygmy, half-alpine brother. Jack's head, maybe, reaches the bottom of Charlie's shoulder. Jack can stand on his back legs and just touch Charlie's withers with his front hooves. Charlie probably has 50 lbs on Jack and he uses every ounce of that to his advantage; pushing Jack away from the grain, the hay, the minerals, the water, or too much attention from the humans. If Jack wants his ears scratched he'd better hope that Charlie is on the other side of the yard pulling down the laundry.

Jack is the sweetest pygmy goat in the world and just wants to sleep a little, eat a little, take a walk in the meadow with his sisters, and relax in the sun. Charlie wants Jack to play. Play for Charlie means chasing Jack all over the back porch with his sharp horns while Jack bobs and weaves trying to avoid six inches of cold keratin being shoved into his ribs.

In my dream Charlie was hogging all the food, as usual, while the other three goats were scraping around the yard trying to fill up on autumn leaves and the few last blades of grass surviving the first few frosts. Charlie had his head buried in his bowl and didn't see Jack take a running start at him from the other side of the shed. Jack may not have horns, but his head is still a big blunt tool and he knows how to use it. He whacked into Charlie right at the barrel under his ribs. He didn't quite knock him down, but you could see it was taking every bit of Charlie's willpower to stay upright. Goats don't show pain unless there's no other choice, so Charlie let out a low "wooomph" as the air shot out of his lungs and tried to steady himself so he could whirl around and shoot back. Of course, by then Jack had danced out of the way and was quietly enjoying his triumph over a sprig of fresh bark ripped off a nearby apple tree. Jack knew his triumph would be fleeting, but a few sweet moments can sometimes compensate for an eternity of punishment.

Unfortunately, it was a dream. I carried their feed out the next day and Jack, Ella and Sally ate as fast as they could, trying to finish before Charlie cleaned out his bowl and headed for theirs. Charlie still gave them a few thumps as they filed out to wander in the meadow and he still waited until one of them found some tasty bramble before he rushed over to finish off the newest find.

There isn't a lot of justice in pygmy land. There's a lot of pain and suffering on the bottom and a lot of grain and sunshine on the top. If you took a vote no one would want the world to work this way, but at this point, the big goats are the only ones on the ballot. Once power gets concentrated it's the one substance that doesn't seem to have any natural solvents.

It doesn't make sense to whack Charlie when he whacks the other pygmies, because that just re-enforces his view that big people get to whack little people. He's quite comfortable with taking a few shots to give out a lot of them. It's a lot like the scrum at the entrance to the Holland Tunnel in New York City. Every sane person knows that it makes no sense to fight for position, honk at everything in sight, rush the line, and send songbirds flipping into the night at the slightest offense. But, if you're the most polite person at the party you're never going to get a dance; you'll just keep falling to the back of the line.

How do we, all people of good will, invent systems that pit us against each other in races that go naturally to the swift and sure while pretending that everyone's track shoes are created equal? We've created a system of pygmy justice where only the tallest pygmies can reach the bar successfully and pour their glasses full. How do we help those who are the least among us when we're so convinced that people who try so hard, might find, they get what they need?

Jack probably dreams the same dream that I do and wakes with a little pygmy smile. He knows the reality so well that the dream's diaphony doesn't upset him. In sleep there is respite, even though Charlie will clobber him on the head and insist that the games begin whenever Jack naps too long. Being the sweetest pygmy in the world, for him, the dream is enough. And, if he hit Charlie too hard, he'd have to take his place. Jack would rather serve in hell than rule in heaven.

Copyright 2007, Lotus Pond Media

Steven C. Grant is the Director, Business Development for Lotus Pond Media and the co-author of two children's books about pygmy goats: Meet the Goat Kids and The Goat Kids Explore the Woods. You can read more stories about the goat kids at http://www.goatkids.net, enjoy family photographs, purchase goat kids memorabilia, and sign up for the Pygmy Talk forum.

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