After the reality of my last post (and thanks to all who commented on it ever so eloquently) I thought I'd send you all to sleep with a tale from olden times.
My goat story is short and sweet and half forgotten. Once upon a time a brunette and her husband moved to Arizona. They started off in Sedona, but it was a little too commercial for them, so they left the red rocks, rode through the valley of Cottonwood and up into the mining town of Jerome.
In Jerome, the houses were old and seemed about to tumble off the side of the mountain. One twisty road led up to the town and then back down. Chickens ran freely about yards, we had a shower in the rose garden, meals were cooked on wood stoves. Someone gifted me a goat. I woke up one morning and struggled to understand what I was seeing, my goat was giving birth. I hadn't considered it's gender until that very moment, nor the reason I was given the goat.
My goat's name was Luna. I learned how to milk her and make cheese. I also had a dog named Chutney. I was rather boho. I baked bread in a wood stove and sold it to the town. Once I baked a 4 tier wedding cake in an empty house where vines grew through the windows and up the walls of the kitchen.
In retrospect it seems odd I lived in a house that had a corral in the yard and that someone gave me a goat to go in it.
But that's how I rolled until I settled down and became a blogger.