Got Goat?

Kurt, Amy, Aaron, and Alex, we love you and we’re with you -- all of our strength and well wishes. Kick some ass, Kurt, and keep getting better.




So now, let’s see . . . we’ve got a dog, a beat-up old truck, a machete, a choreador, and now, oh yes, a goat! With all of this cultural accumulation the time is nigh when you may indeed call us Ticos. But not to hurry (this culture wouldn’t allow that), our extranjero status is still intact. Until we have an additional goat, several chickens, a few cows, a pig, a pet parrot, and the intention to keep them as food not pets, we cannot be respectfully called anything but gringos.

But we are gringos with a goat. A large, one-year-old goat the color of snow with amber eyes and arching rearward horns that Wilder has named Lalena. After a night under the old fly shed where the previous owner’s horse used to reside, she’s currently out mowing the grass. Such an aesthetic contribution will also reap more productive rewards, and ultimately help produce organic fertilizer for our gardens. Muy bien! But she’s not just a working goat (if doing what comes naturally can be called work), she is quite a sweet creature and slowly becoming a member of the family. Kill and eat her? I don’t think so! Goats are friends, not food! (Though I know a few Trinidadians who might disagree with me there.) I might be able to milk her . . .Nah, I couldn’t do that either. Too slavish! (For me or the goat? Surely both.) So Lalena will live the high life with us here, eating and sh*%ing, and being as happy and domesticated as a goat can be. She so far seems happy, if her soft bleats and gentle nibbles are any indication. Hopefully she’ll forgive us the current tether once her half-acre parcel of grassy paradise is fenced off. Us Ticos? NOT.