Another Bad Day

Today was a bad day. Today I killed a goat. Well, not exactly. I did not kill the goat, per se. But I did pick him up from the goat enclosure, carry him to the truck, drive him to the “spa” (yes, that’s the local euphemism for the slaughterhouse, or as the French – and so by extension, us colonials – call it, the abattoir), and finally coaxed him out into the waiting arms of his killers. He knew something was up and so he didn’t exit very willingly.

He was a pretty cute goat. But he had to go. I guess.

goat-anatomy-ABGA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Greg said that this ‘felt more like killing for killing sake’, what with no bacon to look forward to! Misu said that this would be the cutest animal she will have potentially eaten at some point in the future! Mazy asked if I liked goat? And dad? Mom? Ember? Harp? And Ember just sorta muttered something half-way intelligible but not really…but we all agreed that it definitely sounded like it could have been something deep and meaningful if only she’d had a better grasp and command of the English language…any language really.

He had to go. We keep telling ourselves ‘he had to go’. And we got him to kill him. Just to see if goat was maybe something we wanted to raise. The motto of WooHoo Farm being, of course, “If you don’t want it, fine! We’ll eat it ourselves.” And so we couldn’t in good conscience go around telling everybody to piss off if they didn’t like what we had to offer if we weren’t actually going to eat it ourselves. This boy goat was meat from the get-go. And boy goats stink, apparently. And are aggressive – of this I have experience being chased by a billy goat when I was but a wee lad. I would have had no trouble driving that stupid goat to the ‘spa’. No trouble at all.

But this little guy never chased nobody. Though I did catch him trying to hump one of his sisters once.

I drove him there anyway. Then I had a short chat with the owner of the place about the strange van Greg insists is a viable farm vehicle, though pulling a plow may not happen as he had so earnestly hoped, and then I drove back home. All this before 9 o’clock in the morning.

I got home, had an indeterminate number of tequila shots with Greg, and then went to work.

Moral being that no matter how bad your day, Tequila can always help.

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