I called Patrick today and asked him to get me a goat from his neighbourhood. Any goat. I didn't care anymore. He came a few hours later by bike. He brought the goat on a taximoto. The poor thing was so scared that it literally pooed itself.
We tied a rope around its ankle and let it go in the garden. I thought that would be that, after all, a goat pretty much looks after itself right? How hard can it be?
But it bleated at full volume for the rest of the day, barely stopping for breath. This thing is loud. You can hear him all the way down on the main road.
We tied a rope around its ankle and let it go in the garden. I thought that would be that, after all, a goat pretty much looks after itself right? How hard can it be?
But it bleated at full volume for the rest of the day, barely stopping for breath. This thing is loud. You can hear him all the way down on the main road.
But he's my goat, and I’m very happy to have him. The intention is that we'll eat him at my leaving party in May, but I’m not convinced I’ll be able to go through with it.
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