11-10-2006, 04:26 AM
Quote:Heh, I was a farm boy, and we raised beef cows. My mother and sisters insisted on naming them, so I would try to keep their perspectives by naming them realistically. My favorite steers name was "Tender"... and he was, and then there was kabob, guts, bullion, and many others.
And that is all fine and good.
Aside from intelligent conversation, my goats provide me with all of the butter I could ever care to slather on my fresh baked bread or anything else, milk by the gallons, and cheese. The loss of a goat would be more than the loss of a pet, it would be a drop in production. I really love cheese. On everything. And everything tastes better with butter. Grilled cheese sammich production would take a hit, and the consequences would be disasterous, as I am told I become unbearably cranky with out my afternoon snacks. And what would I put on my tostadas? What would I drench my fireplace popped popcorn with?
Killing a dairy animal is stupid. You get more out of the animal during its life of production than you would eating it.
And completely off topic...
You would think with all these cheese and butter that I would be a big ol greaseball right now. An old man gasping and wheezing for breath. High blood pressure.
Nope. A few years ago, my cholesterol was over 300. My blood pressure was known to sit at around 210 over 180.
I have since become a vegetarian. Well, mostly. I stopped buying most of the store bought dairy. I avoid pasturized stuff now.
My blood pressure is now at 110 over 60. My cholesterol registers at 70.
I probably eat a pound of fresh butter a day and who knows how much cheese.
I owe my life to my goats.
All alone, or in twos,
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad buggers wall.
"Isn't this where...."
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad buggers wall.
"Isn't this where...."