as soon as the sun was over the hills. I gathered the little goats up and one by one I carried them to the cabin. One morning I overslept. The sun was high in the heavens when I arose. I hurriedly dressed and made my way to the goat camp. A tragedy met me. The villainous wolves had been there and wantonly killed my baby goats. Bonnie Bell's little body lay before me. The blue ribbon helped me to identify her. Only two little goats were left alive. I took them home with me and cried my heart out in my mother's arms.
That all happened many years ago, but my love for Bonnie Bell lives on in my heart of hearts. Whenever I see mountain goats the vision of her fleecy white form and soft hazel eyes shining out from the little white face comes up before me, and in fancy I hear the silvery beat of her little hoofs as she hurries down the trail on her wabbly legs to meet me.
