Old Goat Sanctuary–
A Classic ZippityZern Essay
A short train ride from “Africa Land” at Disney’s Animal Kingdom takes
you to the children’s petting zoo. It’s one of our family’s favorite places on
earth, because it is our family philosophy that you can never pet too many
goats, and that place is crawling with goats. In fact, that’s our family motto,
“E Pettacus Goaticus Maximus,” which
roughly interpreted means you can never pet goats enough.
Except that you can pet goats enough, also too much.
Actually, it’s possible to pet the goats so much that their hair starts
to fall out, their teeth get loose, and they develop palsy. This is known as
over petted goat syndrome, and it’s devastating—for the goats.
To avoid over petted goat syndrome the Disney folks provide their goats
with a kind of sacred animal sanctuary made of ropes and signs. In the petting
zoo the goats have designated areas roped off for their protection and peace of
mind.
Helpful signs hang from the ropes that explain, “Please don’t pet us while
we’re behind the ropes. We’re resting,” or “Keep back goat killers!” Something like that.
It can be highly amusing to watch seventy or eighty children take out
after the one brain damaged goat that wanders or is pushed out of the
designated “resting” area—right out into open, unprotected terrain because an
absolute orgy of goat petting can ensue. Like I said, the children’s petting
zoo at Animal Kingdom is one of our favorite spots on earth. It’s like Mad
Max’s “Thunder Dome” for goats.
Except when over petted goat syndrome hits too close to home.
My husband and I have been married for forty years, in defiance of stacks of people who said, “It will never last.” Not only has it lasted. It burns brighter today than back when my new husband wooed me on
our honeymoon by saying, “I’ve waited twenty-one years, and I’m not waiting
another minute.”
Yikes. What can I tell you? We were young, dumb, and virgins.
Now we’re old-ish and still pretty dumb, but I feel safe in saying that
my husband finds me as much fun as those kids find those goats at that petting
zoo—even after all these years. Which is great. No, really, it’s great—except
when it’s just too much. So taking a clue from the Disney goats, I’ve had to
create an island of protection, peace, and rest for myself amidst the sea of
unrelenting “romance” that is my dear husband of forty years.
Yes, friends, I’ve had to designate my walk-in closet as my own
personal SANCTUARY.
Our grown children are horrified, 1) because their parents still admit
to indulging in “romance,” and 2) because they are related to us in any
fashion, genetic or otherwise, as evidenced by the following conversation:
Our oldest daughter asked, “What is Dad talking about that your closet
is sanctuary, and he’s not allowed in there?” She managed to look baffled and
confused at the same time.
“Goats,” I said.
“What?”
“Goats. You know, goats,” I explained helpfully. Confusion exploded
across her face.
I sighed and continued. “You know goats. Disney goats. The “Don’t pet
us, we’re resting,” goats. Those signs for the goats at the petting zoo.”
“You make Dad stay out of your closet because of the goats at the
petting zoo.” I could tell that she had put it together, but she still didn’t
get it.
Frustrated, I asked, “Do you want my hair to fall out and my teeth to
get loose?” I tapped my teeth for emphasis. She frowned.
“Okay, listen!” I knew that I just had to come out with it. “It’s like
this. If I’m not careful your father is going to pet me to death.”
Her horror was audible. She
screamed.
“What? You asked! I can’t help it if he’s crazy about me!”
It’s true. It’s all so very true. My daughters are horrified. My sons
are horrified, but for different reasons. The boys comments run more along the
lines of, “Gee, Dad, that’s just wrong. I hope my wife never gets the sanctuary
idea.”
Boys and girls, girls and boys, and goats—old and otherwise.
Linda (Do Not Disturb) Zern
