Boston and Bacon

April to August has passed in a blur; will someone please slow down the train? I traded my goats babies for cold hard cash and have been drowning my guilt in glass after glass of rich raw goat milk. The doeling went to her mother’s previous owner and the boys found new homes as weed eaters. Here’s hoping for a better boy to girl ratio next year. It might be better to dam raise the boys next year. Goat roast would be a hurdle, goat roast that we bottle fed might be an insurmountable hurdle.

Elora has been fascinated by pigs for a couple years. We admit to encouraging it. If your daughter asks you for a pig will you give her a Barbie? It’s hard to say no when your child’s desires are in accordance to your own. (I think there is a spiritual lesson there…)

The pigs are named Boston and Bacon, the theory is that if we keep reminding ourselves of the pig’s purpose in life eating them won’t be too traumatic. Truly it would be best to not endow them with names- they are quite personable- and names only add more projected personality. This is our first project of deliberately planned meat. More on this later, when my brain is working better.









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