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The reason I love goats

Duncan the Goat

This is Duncan the Goat. He lives at Lester’s Farm, but Chickie and I visit him as often as we can. I would take him home with me, if I could.

I think my fascination with goats can be traced back to pre-natal times. See, when my mom was pregnant with me, we lived around the bay (all that means is that we lived outside of “town”, or St. John’s). Neighbours of ours had baby goats a couple of weeks before my due date. Apparently, my older brother LOVED these goats. No problem, right? Goats are cute. And they are. But, see, my dad excused my mother’s absence on the fact that she was gone to get him his very own baby goat.

Now, I have a healthy enough self-esteem, but really. A goat? Surely I was cuter than a goat. Even a black and white goat, which is what he was promised. But no. I didn’t measure up to the promise of a goat. I’m not sure he’s really over it yet.

Surely this must explain my lifelong desire to own my own goat. Yes, folks. I am pathetic enough to spend my life pining away for a goat. But seriously. Just look at that face.

Cheers!

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One Response

  1. […] with goats, but for those who don’t, before you start thinking that I am completely loco, just look at this face. Dare you not to […]

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