I’m becoming obsessed with the idea of getting some goats. On my to the vet’s office, I pass a pasture with about twenty five goats. They have climbing stands in the middle of their pasture (think big, goat sized cat trees) and invariably there at least seven or eight of them playing ‘king of the mountain’ on it.
I also still regret not liberating the goat that Sean and I met at the Keady livestock market. He appeared to be someone’s 4H project or pet – he was practically dog like in his hope that someone would come and pet him and scratch his head, and when Sean and I walked away from him, he bleated forlornly until I walked back to give him more attention.
My desire for goats is tempered by the knowledge that, if I did get goats, I’d likely want to get ‘meat’ breeds, rather than milk breeds, and I’m not sure I can eat something that climbs trees and follows me around like a dog.