_ November ended
with action. Running flat out on the side of a rocky rise is not usually my
idea of fun, but when I can hear my dog barking just on the other side of the
next ridge, it’s a whole different story. I stumbled suddenly, stopping just
before I tripped over the baby goat that lay at my feet. I bent down, touched
it gently and was satisfied that it was alive. The dogs were still barking, so
I continued forward. I scrambled for grip, Jessica yelling out for me to be
careful as I climbed the ridge. The dogs had cornered a goat; the mother of the
little baby I’d passed. I turned back, whistling to Sparkie, and then the baby
leapt to its feet. Sparkie was immediately in front of it, and I dashed over.
“Grab him!” Jessica yelled, and I flashed a frustrated glance over my shoulder
as she ran towards me. I reached the baby and picked him up. He was tiny,
absolutely gorgeous and fluffy and white. We had to release him though, and
last I saw he was standing alongside his mother as we headed home with four
panting dogs and the last of the daylight disappearing on the horizon.