I Love Goats
I was raised by goats.
Not really but that’s what came out one time early in my husband’s and my relationship when I meant to say, “I was raised with goats.” But even that’s not right for I have no childhood memories of running around the barnyard playing goat games, as kids (meaning baby goats) tend to do, or of kids sitting around the dinner table with me and the rest of my family.
What is correct and what I should have said is “My family had goats when I was growing up.” But if I’d have said that, then Mark would be without his joke, which he uses at every opportunity. A new friend of ours says, “I was raised in Boston,” and Mark chimes in, “Did you know Elizabeth was raised by goats?”
I love goats. As young ones they are adorable with their knobby knees and floppy ears, and they’re pretty darned cute as adults too. Well, not male pygmy goats. We had one for a short while, and I didn’t like him at all. He had an odor and his eyes were an evil icy blue, but that’s a different story.
When I was in eighth grade we had just one goat, Robbie. (He gets a mention in My_Lost_Summer.) In the springtime, I would let him out of the field and he would wander around the yard while I lay in the sun and did homework. One day after I’d finished some algebra problems, I took a nap in the cozy warmth of the April day. I woke up to Robbie climbing into my lap while chewing on my homework! It was salvageable, but I had some explaining to do to Mr. Combs (who also garners a mention in the book) the next d
ay.
In 1999 my dad and step-mom retired to the Georgia coast, and up the road from them…IS A GOAT FARM!! I walk up several mornings when we visit. This past May there were babies! This one looks like Robbie. I love goats.
Not really but that’s what came out one time early in my husband’s and my relationship when I meant to say, “I was raised with goats.” But even that’s not right for I have no childhood memories of running around the barnyard playing goat games, as kids (meaning baby goats) tend to do, or of kids sitting around the dinner table with me and the rest of my family.
What is correct and what I should have said is “My family had goats when I was growing up.” But if I’d have said that, then Mark would be without his joke, which he uses at every opportunity. A new friend of ours says, “I was raised in Boston,” and Mark chimes in, “Did you know Elizabeth was raised by goats?”
I love goats. As young ones they are adorable with their knobby knees and floppy ears, and they’re pretty darned cute as adults too. Well, not male pygmy goats. We had one for a short while, and I didn’t like him at all. He had an odor and his eyes were an evil icy blue, but that’s a different story.
When I was in eighth grade we had just one goat, Robbie. (He gets a mention in My_Lost_Summer.) In the springtime, I would let him out of the field and he would wander around the yard while I lay in the sun and did homework. One day after I’d finished some algebra problems, I took a nap in the cozy warmth of the April day. I woke up to Robbie climbing into my lap while chewing on my homework! It was salvageable, but I had some explaining to do to Mr. Combs (who also garners a mention in the book) the next d
ay.In 1999 my dad and step-mom retired to the Georgia coast, and up the road from them…IS A GOAT FARM!! I walk up several mornings when we visit. This past May there were babies! This one looks like Robbie. I love goats.
posted by Elizabeth Evans Fryer at 1:23 PM
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