I hadn’t planned on stopping at that farm auction.
I was on the way back from my mom’s house, having just packed the last of her sweaters. The grief was thick, and I was gripping the steering wheel like it could hold me together. That’s when I saw the sign: “FARM SALE – TODAY ONLY.” Something inside made me pull over.
The place reeked of old hay and exhaust fumes. I wasn’t there to buy anything. But then I saw them—three baby goats, barely old enough to stand, huddled in a pen. One brown, one white, one speckled. Shaking. Alone.
The guy watching the pen called them “unsold leftovers.” Slated for feed.
That word hit me like a punch.
The night before my mom died, she’d whispered something through her oxygen mask that I hadn’t understood then:
“Don’t leave the soft things behind.”
I thought she meant keepsakes or her dog. But in that moment, staring at those fragile kids, her words echoed loud and clear.
So I did something completely impulsive—I scooped them all up and said, “I’ll take them.” No plan. No farm. No clue how to care for goats. Just blankets in the backseat and sorrow in my chest.
They curled into me like they already belonged. That’s when I knew: Mom didn’t mean possessions. She meant these moments—this tenderness.
Back home, my apartment was chaos. Espresso, Latte, and Cappuccino (yes, I named them after coffee) turned everything into a climbing gym. But for the first time in weeks, I was laughing again.
Reality, though, hit fast. I needed to find them a proper home. A few calls later, I was sitting on a stranger’s tailgate, goats in tow, defeated.
Then came Sam Griggs—a weathered man with a rescue farm and a heart big enough to take them in. “I’ll keep them,” he said, “but you have to promise to visit.”
So I did.
Weeks passed. I visited. The goats remembered. I laughed again. Healed a little more.
Eventually, Sam asked if I’d adopt a sweet, elderly donkey named Daisy. At first I hesitated, but something about her felt… like Mom. Calm. Kind. Constant.
A year later, I learned Mom had left me a small piece of land in the countryside. With Sam’s help, I turned it into a peaceful place—a little sanctuary. Daisy thrived. Then came the sheep. And soon, I found joy in the routine, in the simplicity, in caring.
Mom’s final words made sense now. She wasn’t talking about animals, not really. She was telling me to hold onto softness, to fight for compassion, even when life gets hard.
So here’s what I’ve learned: when something small pulls at your heart—follow it. Don’t wait. Don’t second-guess. Because those gentle, quiet choices? They might just save you.
If this story touched your heart, consider sharing it. Let’s make the world a little softer, one act of kindness at a time. 🐐❤️
