Okay, we weren’t really farmers. We started with five farm animals and ended with three. I’ve been growing some vegetable plants in glass jars on my balcony, but so far I only have a 28% survival rate. Growing things in the desert is hard.
On Christmas, our neighbors invited us over for cake and conversation, and surprised us by gifting us with a baby goat and four baby chickens. We had nowhere to put these animals. The goat ran free inside our walled area for a couple of days until we had the supplies to build a pen. Every time we wanted to use a car, someone had to stand watch and keep the goat from escaping.
He was a very cute goat. My mom wanted to name him Billy, but my dad vetoed that and decided on Guillaume instead. (Because it’s the French version of William, geddit.) Look at this cutie.
He didn’t get a lot bigger, but he did get fat, and grew horns. And also testicles. I never got humped, but I did get into a couple of fights with him. He’d butt my leg and I’d kick him, and then stomp menacingly until he ran away. After bringing him food and water, too. So ungrateful.
Two of the chickens didn’t make it, but the ones that did were pretty cool. The rooster was pretty, and the crowing was only slightly annoying. Hopefully our neighbors felt the same way.
You can’t really put goats and chickens in a boarding house, and we’re going to be away for five weeks this summer. My mom talked to the neighbor that gifted us with these animals, and now they live in an air conditioned garden. So Guillaume and the nameless chickens are living the good life. Until they get eaten or something.
Daisy M. Hall 