My little goats are growing fast and in need of naming. Thanks to all who made suggestions for the kids, both Fatty-fats and Shiraz’s. The response from my hubby when I relayed the names you folks have proffered to him was, “What creative blogging friends you have!”
In light of the fact they are going to be eaten, we have decided on the following names for the boys:
Saddam (cuz we all know why he should be eaten);
Salam-i (which speaks for itself);
and Sinbad (cuz if you sin bad enough you deserve to be roasted on the spit!). But does he look like a sinner?
Well, there it is. Wish me luck over the next few months that I’ll actually muster up the courage to do this. I’m already smitten with all these babes. Working with them and thinking of them as my food is a difficult paradox to reconcile. This is the part of being such a small farm that is difficult: I kn0w each animal, and am working with each one, e.g. imprinting, haltering, human therapy, breeding. I want to do so much with so many of these animals; I’d like to be able to teach these fellows to pull a cart, for example. I know that taking the time and bonding with them so deeply will have its cost in the end. Unless, of course, I can justify keeping the cart goats to get to the store now that gas prices are on the rise… maybe I could start picking people up from the airport in the W-e-e-e-e-e-l-co-o-me wagon.