When he asked me if I would move into a camper with him, I said can I have a goat?
I have a long stemmed passion for animals. If you have read any part of this blog you will know that. I have a weakness for fuzzy things. Things that nuzzle and burrow and look adoringly upon you. Once Josh asked me what I would do if I didn't have to worry about working, if I could do anything... I said, I would take lots of pictures, write lots of words, and own lots of animals. Therefore, for today's Polaroid I will bring you a bit of history concerning me and goats.
This picture was taken during a family vacation, in which we visited a petting zoo. I expound upon the vacation in this post. This, however, was not my first encounter with a goat. When we were young my brother and I were homeschooled and had a rather unconventional childhood. Our parents were kind of hippies to be completely honest. Instead of visiting a regular doctor we went to an Amish gentleman name Solomon J. Wickey. Instead of taking medicine we took herbs. Instead of drinking pasteurized milk we went regularly to the dairy to by our milk before they pasteurized it. We raised our own chickens and our own vegetables. And instead of having a pet dog we had a pet goat. Well, two pet goats. Sadly the first goat we had, a little billy goat named Spunky, did not live long. He developed pneumonia and passed away. While he was alive he got his kicks from butting my brother in his sensitive spots. It was kinda funny as Evan would run around screaming, trying to escape the goat. After Spunky we got Molly, aka the best goat in the world. Molly was black and had floppy ears. We got Molly from the Amish who said she would be producing milk. My mom wanted goat milk (see, hippies). However, the Amish lied (gasp), and Molly did not produce milk and therefore Evan and I gained another playmate. Molly would play hide and seek with us. In the tall grasses behind our country house we would duck down and hide. Molly, the clever girl she was, would stand up on a stump in the middle of the field and look down for us. She would find us and come running after us. Molly's bleat was quite unique, it went something like this, "Mmmm-baah." If you ever see me in person ask me about it and I'd be glad to show you how it went.
02.27.2007
Reader Comments (3)
uh, yeah, how'd that bleat sound again???
Where is Solomon J Wickey?
I would like to go see him, too
Solomon was an amazing man. He was located in Central Indiana (for Indiana is divided in to sections-- Northern, Central, and Southern, I'm not sure of the town, I only know that my parent's knew how to get there.
I'm not sure (I doubt very much) if he is even practicing anymore, last I hear he had passed his practice, his blessed wisdom, down to one of his sons.