Ode to the Old Goat

Ron and I are blessed to have an Old Goat for a dear friend.  He was the first to call himself by that name, so I'm not being unkind at all.  He sent a gigantic box to our Jackson Hole cowboy cabin years ago. (Many of you know how little our tiny cabin really is!)  Inside the box was a life-sized, stuffed, mountain goat.  The kind you would see climbing around on the cliffs near the "Going to the Sun" road in Glacier National Park.  The gift card attached said simply, "From one old goat to another." 

There wasn't any floor space big enough to hold the stuffed version of the Old Goat, so he claimed a place of honor on TOP of the credenza that holds the television set and all sorts of treasures that live in the drawers below.  He spends every day looking  longingly at the Grand Tetons and must dream of all the beautiful rocks and crevices he'd like to explore if only he could get out there.

Our friend, the Old Goat, has had more than his share of heartbreak and loss in his life, but he never complains.  He jokes about being served too many cupcakes, but that is the extent of his grumbling.  At dinner recently, he caused us to embarress ourselves by laughing so hard at his account of a hilarious hair story.  Getting ready for an important dinner meeting with a famous lawyer, he inquired about the "in place" to get a hair cut.  When he showed up for his appointment, the hair person-in-charge asked him if he wanted "the works."  Sure, he replied, having absolutely no clue what that included.

Then for the next very long time, his head was dunked, rubbed, covered, dunked some more and then covered once again.  Then his hair was painstakingly snipped and fluffed.  When finally, his chair was spun around and he caught sight of himself, he wasn't quite sure if the image looking back was really of himself.  He'd gone from all gray to wavy, fluffed up chestnut brown.  Picture Wink Martindale.

Ron and I were laughing so hard, everyone in the tiny restaurant was looking at us.  He went on to tell us about the countless times he washed his hair at home and how the brown refused to budge.  Finally, in desperation, he inquired about what to do and he was referred to a first class spa-type establishment for a bleach job and then a gray re-do.  Other than having a bit of a funky haircut, he looked pretty much like he always looked, I thought.

He said he had pictures, but we've never seen them.  I resisted the urge to ask how much all this cost. 

Thanks, you Old Goat, for being our friend and bringing joy and laughter along with you.  We can't wait for our next get together..