I leap out of the truck before it has even stopped and start calling the goats. They arrive, and I start to count, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…Mom, Dad we are missing twelve.”

We keep calling the goats until my throat is sore and dry. That is when I start to worry and feel queasy. So we start trekking through the forest.

We have been walking for a good thirty minutes. I hear a “Baaahh” in the distance. My heart leaps, and I charge up the hill. Maybe, it’s Ginger.  “Hurry up, guys! I think I hear Ginger!” I yell down the hill.  They are so slow.  I become frustrated and sit on a stump to listen to the squirrels chatter.

When they finally stumble up the hill, we continue on, stumbling over boulders and fallen trees.  We climb over the rise, and I see Mocha. I try to put on a happy face but I’m honestly disappointed. She is an ugly goat and never comes when she is called. Besides, I like red-headed goats, not solid brown goats.

I see a little brown bundle in a teepee-like structure of sticks. “Well, at least she has a baby,” I reason.  I am the one who “gets” to carry him home.

After about twenty minutes of walking, still no goats.

After a few weeks of trekking through the forest and finding nothing, I make up my mind. “We have had just about zero luck finding these goats. I want to make flyers,” I announce.

“Go for it” Dad tells me. After I am done, my family and I, jump in the blue Jeep Liberty to put flyers around the neighborhood. My sister and I have to stay in the car while our parents put out the flyers. I slouch in my seat; this is frustrating. I made the flyers and have only gotten to actually get out of the jeep and put a flyer in a mailbox a couple of times.
My flyers worked! Our neighbor Dave called Dad and said the Coxes that live down the road found our goats. Then Dave asked our criminal neighbors if they were theirs. I’ve decided to call them the criminals, because they steal from people. Last, year they stole walnut trees from someone’s property and then sold them.  These neighbors then said yes, the goats were theirs and hauled them away. After Dad finishes, I feel my face get red with anger.
Dad calls the cops, who arrive shortly and we show them to the criminals’  house. The criminals have obviously moved the goats after we called to ask if they had the goats.  Dad asks, the daughter, “Have you seen any goats around here?”
She answers “Yes” and then her mom calls her inside the house and locks the door behind them.
A tall police officer knocks on the door and asks the mother,” Can you please come out of the house, so we can ask you a few questions.”

She replies,” The door knob is broken, I can’t open the door.” The two police pound on the door until she gives in. When they finally get her to come out she tells the police,” They are my husband’s goats from five years ago.” None of the goats are even that old. They put her in hand cuffs and ask us to leave. I later found out that she spent the night in jail for impeding the investigation, and after the mother and daughter came out, the daughter said she hasn’t seen any goats. She is a terrible liar.

A day later, we are trudging through the woods again. The goats supposedly got away, and the son who stole them has “offered” to help us find them. These people have no knowledge about animals whatsoever. He is chasing them around with a four-wheeler, which will scatter them.

Mom, Dad, Isabel and I, decide to split up to find the goats more quickly. As we are walking Mom receives a call from Dad; worry registers on her face. I know something is up. “Girls, Ginger has been injured badly. It looks like a bullet wound in her leg.”

My eyes prick, and before I can stop them, hot tears stream down my face. I am officially having a meltdown. “Why did it have to be Ginger?  We have plenty of other goats it could’ve been. “I hope she doesn’t die. At least Grandma is taking her to Dr .Burger, our vet.  Back at home, I start to calm down. Taking all of this in is difficult for a nine year old.

When my family and I head over to see her, I am hit with relief and then sadness. Yay, she isn’t Ginger. But she is Ginger’s older sister, Buttercup. A huge chunk of her back leg is gone.  Also, Buttercup’s baby Blitzen is missing. I hope he is okay. But now, I wonder where Ginger is? I wonder if she is okay.

A few days later, I’m slouching on the couch feeling sorry for myself, when the phone rings. As Dad takes the call, I stare at him in anticipation. As soon as he’s done, I leap off my spot on the couch. “Dad who was that,” I practically yell.

“An employee at Camp David found some goats that weren’t his in their goat pen.” he tells me before I can ask again.

As we drive to Camp David, I ask every five minutes “Are we there yet?” It seems like I’ve been on this bumpy dirt road forever. Hopefully Ginger will be there.

When we finally arrive, I see Milkshake and her snow white twins, Snowflake and Snowball. They are skittish, obviously traumatized by the experience. It takes a while to catch them. I am content. They are three of my favorite goats. I try to ignore the disappointment in the back of my mind that we didn’t find Ginger.

A week later, I am heading to bed. Dad receives a call. Who calls at 8:00 PM?  Someone found the four more of our goats. “Can we go get them?” I realize it’s a stupid question after I say it. We are all in our pajamas. There is no way we are going to get them right now, it is pitch black outside.

“We will go get them first thing in the morning,” Dad assures me.
“Okay,” I agree. I honestly want to go right now, Ginger could be there. I sleep in late and as soon as I get up, I grab a bag of cereal, rush out the door and climb into the jeep. All four of us drive for about five minutes up the road, until we reach an old western style house, with a tall deck.  Sure enough, under the deck I see Cinnamon and Oreo. They look healthy and not to skittish, except Oreo has a “new” rusty ear tag in. That is going to be a pain to get out.

“Isabel, look its Ginger!!” I yell. We both charge toward her and I give Ginger a huge hug. Surprisingly she doesn’t jerk away. I caress her soft orangey fur for a few moments, relishing having her back again. “Hey girl, I missed you so much.” I whisper into her thick fur.

I run and grab feed out of the Jeep. Dad jogs over, grabs Ginger by the horns and loads her into the Jeep.  She immediately starts devouring the expensive organic cereal I left in the back seat. I am definitely going to get yelled at.

With the rest of the feed, I lure Oreo over. She shoves her face into the bucket and Mom grabs her. Oreo joins Ginger in the back of the Jeep. Cinnamon is a whole different story. Now that she is alone she panics and darts behind the house. After we chase her around the house a few times she jumps onto the deck, shoots under a chair, toppling it over, and Dad grabs her. 

The husband says,” I think there was another goat here this morning. We heard some screeching down the road. Maybe you should check it out.”

All four of us cram into the front seat of the Jeep. I sit in the Mom’s lap with Isabel, while Dad drives.  I can’t believe the goats have more room than us. They are getting white hair all over the two back seats and trunk. It’s kind of funny, but I can’t laugh because we are still missing four goats. I crack the tiniest smile when I turn around to find Ginger nibbling on my pony tail.
We find the fourth goat on the side of the highway. My heart drops and tears prick my eyes. I stare at the motionless heap of white fur on the ground in front of me. Ginger’s beautiful mother Persephone is gone. “Why did they have to steal our goats? It’s their fault!” I yell.  How could all of this be happening? She even had rope tied on her horns. I can’t believe these people. They are monsters!
When we make it up our steep rocky driveway, all of the goats are fed together. Ginger starts calling loudly for her dead mother. She calls and calls, willing her mother to answer. I can’t believe she is gone either.
The goats being stolen and Ginger panicking is way too much for me to handle.  Along with my sister I burst into tears and never-ending sobs. “I don’t understand why the police won’t do anything about it. They don’t care?” I gasp between sobs.

A few days later, the criminal dad called Dad and said he “found” three goats in their root cellar. My neighbor, George, goes with Dad in case the criminals are dangerous. We really aren’t sure. His wife comes to the house and we all sit in silent worry. I knew it! They had our goats all along.

When Dad and George come back, I realize all twelve goats are back except Persephone. I see Prancer; he looks great and well fed.
Then, I see Marshmallow. “Oh my gosh what happened to her” I gasp. Her once silky white fur is ragged and dirty. She is literally skin and bones because she suckled Prancer and kept him alive while he was separated from Buttercup.

Then there is Buttermilk, her blonde ear is half way chopped off. They went way too far with her! “They must have tried to put an ear tag in and then cut her whole ear off!” I exclaim and angrily storm off.

.“Ugghh!” I yell as I lean up against the red truck and start to cry. Balto tries to cheer me up. He pushes his wet nose under my hand and whines a little. This time, it doesn’t help. I miss Persephone. I can’t understand why people would do this. Why would they steal my goats?

Some people don’t understand the bond between a person and an animal like a goat. She has a part of my heart and so does Persephone even though she is gone.

Now, aged thirteen I don’t tear up at the thought of Persephone. I get a warm feeling that Ginger has healed too, and has a great life as she cares for her twins Hazel and Basil. I do still get angry that our criminal neighbors didn’t get in trouble for what they did. Another benefit of this experience was that I realized how much my parents love and care for me. Thank you, Mom and Dad for being there every step of the way through that experience. You have helped me so much throughout the years and have shaped me into the person I am today. Thank you for making me strong.