If the beard were all, goats could preach

March 24, 2011 at 4:45 pm (Uncategorized)

A kid has moved into my kitchen.  And by this, I mean a baby goat, rather than one of the more human variety (although I seem to have reached a more zen place with the children here, so it might not be the total disaster it once would have been).

I was making my morning coffee, settling back into a semi-dozing state after a morning run before noticing the mother goat standing at my door bleating her brains out at me.  Thinking it was probably just one of those little idiosyncrasies put into my morning to annoy me before being fully caffeinated, I turned back to my water to see a small lump of fur staring at me from behind my stove.  Current inventory of kitchen:  One stove, one gas tank, one table, one bicycle, various garden tools, one mouse who likes to steal my chickpeas, and one newborn goat.

I shooed the unsteady furball outside to its mother, who quieted down a bit before going to wash dishes.  I returned to the kitchen to boiling water, an obnoxiously bleating mother, and the kid napping behind my stove again.

This happened about three times over the course of an hour before I realized that I hadn’t seen the kid nurse all morning and he seemed to be avoiding his mother more than anything (although I would have avoided her too, listening to the damn bleating in my ear all day).

And so I spent the day repeatedly happening upon this tiny thing looking weaker and weaker all day and picking him up or shoving him towards his mother in the vain hope that either he would eat or the mother would simply be quiet.  Terrifying, really.  Following this goat around all day is possibly the most traumatizing thing that has happened here.  And given my last few months, that’s saying a lot.

Finally, around six o’clock last night, I found one mother and nursing child outside my garden fence.  The kid was still alive this morning, looking more and more lively.  And in my kitchen again.

Best news:  My lettuce, spinach, and basil are all ready to be eaten.  Which mean they’re making incredible salads with green mangoes (that if I slice up and close my eyes, I can almost pretend are apples) and ripe magoes.  Holy Moses.