There are no goats in our menagerie, but seeing these words on a tee shirt still made me laugh. I am often dirty, as in the shower floor runs black. If it isn't the muck from the chickens that gets me, it is the brown earth of the garden. When I drive home from an hour of digging potatoes I am reluctant to hold the steering wheel with more than two fingers. If I were clever I would place a bucket of water by the fence to splash in before I leave but apparently I'm not. 

Getting muddy is not something people often aspire to, but my uncle once told me that if your uniform isn't dirty you aren't in the game. 

The past few months have been grimy, as Team Odhner was captive in the search to find the Real Ben among the weeds. He is gone for now, and there are reminders in every room. The lavender spray a friend gave me to help him sleep soundly is on the counter, the Rescue Remedy bottle stands empty. The kindle John got for him to listen to John Michael Talbot as a soothing technique waits on his bed next to a long list of strategies to calm down. The shoes with laces are parked by the door. Last night Mercy sat in the rolling chair by the computer. His chair. I was startled at first to see her, but then I remembered. Ben is not here. 

The social worker gave permission for us to bring two siblings to visit, and the pent up anger came spilling out. They were indignant to have been ostracized, and although he could not have articulated it, Ben felt forgotten. The reunion was epic. The six of us went out for dinner, and then drove up the long, stately driveway and knocked on the locked door. The sheer number of us brought commotion. One patient gasped.

"Ben! You have a big family!" If they only knew how big.

Benjamin jumped as high as he did when he met Buzz Lightyear at Disneyland. He smiled and kept smiling for an hour. 

We understood that not all of us could invade the limited visiting space so the twins and I waited outside on a bench. As people walked by us I wondered. Are you a captive, or a keeper? 

I do get dirty when I feed the chickens and pick tomatoes. It is inevitable. But the water is waiting for me when I get home. Because I am, I have learned, both captive and keeper.