Chronicles Of A Family Farm
I think the question of how our son feels about the goats after meeting them last night for the first time is answered most effectively by his response to Winter farting.
“That was an elephant in the rafters!” he proclaimed confidently, while pointing upward. The boy is passing the blame on behalf of the goats. Yeah, he likes them.
He’s going to help me feed them this afternoon. I see 4H in his future.
To explain the origins of the scape-elephant:
A couple of months ago, I happened to rip some gas that had a trumpet-like quality to it. As farts are the height of three-year-old boy humor, he is quick to accuse or inquire about the origins of any suspected flatulence, and he turned to me and asked, “What was THAT?”
Remembering an old Bill Cosby skit in which he describes his father using deflection to avoid blame, I employed his method: “Did you see that little elephant? It just ran under the table!”
Ever since, our boy has assigned fault to the imaginary diminutive pachyderm on my behalf.
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