A “Small” Story

Nothing makes me happier than when people tell me their own stories of small.

Yesterday, after a book party, a woman approached. “Would you mind if I told you a small story?” she asked.

Would I mind? I’d be thrilled!

“My name is Mary,” she introduced herself as she sat down on the sofa next to me. “And I have a story of small from many years ago.” She continued, telling me that she had always loved a particular brand of goat cheese, and one day had asked if she could visit the farm where it was produced. “Certainly,,” the owners replied.

“When I arrived, they gave me a tour of the farm, which was very interesting. But then they asked if I wanted to see the baby goats.”

“Sure,” she said, and followed one of the goat farmers to a small barn where a group of tiny goats were frolicking.

“Would you like to hold one?” the farmer asked, and Mary replied, “Oh yes.”

“And let me tell you,” she turned to look me straight in the eye, “I have never felt anything as wonderful as holding that tiny goat in my arms.” As she said this, she made a cradle of her arms and held it to her chest.

“Baby goats are lovely,” I said.

“More than lovely,” she replied. “You know, ever since then, whenever I am feeling a bit sad or discouraged, I close my eyes and resurrect that moment when I held a baby goat in my arms. And I always feel better.”

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