Dearest Godfrey- I do hope this letter reaches you, last I heard you were Canada bound, but your Ma says that you are living in Woolamaloo, are you? As you know with you and Alice gone your Ma was lonely with no one to yell at and sad- Arthur Bosomsworth came courting, The Grunting Garden Gnome is now your stepdad..
His memoirs are prominent in the town bookstore, on Tuesdays he signs copies of it “When I was a Lad in The War”. Alice came home for the wedding, of course to play with The Uncle Lou Band.
Arthur has threatened my chickens, for pecking about on “His” land .I have spoiled the donkeys with sweets soft and hard, to bray at dawn on the edge of his yard. Of birds I now have 53, how loud happy free pheasants and turkeys can be!
My precious goats scaled the gate and ate, his cherished army uniform off of the line- hung within goats reach to air in the spring sunshine. All they left were some buttons, a ribbon or two and the evidence all goats leave in the grass, from The Grunting Garden Gnome- I prepare for his wrath.
Write to me soon, oh do, and tell me how you have ended up, living in Woolamaloo? Love Beatrice.
Beatrice Dear, Godfrey here, hope Arthur was not too nasty to you. Greetings from Woolamaloo, when last I wrote was from Tasmania, said Id’ be off to Canada soon, but I had a serious mishap and lost, my employers truck to a liquid Manure Lagoon
It disappeared as I leapt clear in a turgid, green foam of loss, so to repay Clive, a cab I drive in the big city chaos.
I am driving the wealthy, the down on all luck, I, am driving to replace the dairy man’s truck, so far my cab has lost one door and has had both mirrors sheared off by a bus, I dread to add up the cost, and all because I swallowed a moth, a moth while driving and looked down to spit, I lost the truck in the Lagoon of poo, one day I will get to Canada, by way of Woolamaloo.
“FEH, muttered Godfrey as he sat on the rail, of Woolamaloo Post Office reading his mail. Arthur Bosomsworth was a grumpy old bore, in disturbing white shoes, he would walk down the school hall and fart,he ate beets every day and did not appreciate Godfrey’s sense of humor or art.
We were missing a goat, Beatrice wrote, only 20 goats came for their dinner grain we were missing Naughty Dubnyk again. Since Arthur moved next door things had been tense, she dreaded the confrontation as she crossed the fence.
Bosomsworth answered the door with a glare, Beatrice said good morning, I know you don’t care, but I am missing a little white goat. A nice friendly goat not the one that ate your old coat, or the brown one that butted you in the behind or the pair that engaged in conception, on the lawn at your wedding reception. I am missing Dubnyk who loves to roam free, if you see him wandering please call me.
Arthur pointed with his cane out over the lawn, to the garden where stood a jolly white goat, Dubnyk stood deep in what was a prize crop of beets..When I was a lad in the war Arthur spewed, we would have eaten that beast Bar-B-Q’d, Next time he is missing he grunted and emitted wind with a wheeze, you will find him wrapped in brown paper in my deep freeze!!
Dubnyk had been a tethered goat all his life in collar and chain, kept alone to mow gorse and weeds, no warmth or shelter for Dubnyk from the cold and the rain.Since rescued by Beatrice he had a spirit not to be contained.
She led her goat home over sewer grate, and gate that he had scaled to escape. Beatrice took a deep breathe and thought-what would Godfrey do if he was here, not in Woolamaloo? Years later she applied his 17th wisdom to many animal escapades. AND HIS WISDOM STATES- WHEN IN THE COURSE OF YOUR DAY COMES, THAT FOR YOU THE BEETS OUTWEIGH THE CREAM-BUNS. REMEMBER ONLY GOATS UNDERSTAND THE MEANING OF LIFE.EAT, SLEEP,PLAY, AND STOP AND SMELL THE TOMATO PLANTS ALONG THE WAY… and good neighbor Beatrice and her naughty goat did just that.