goat life
The goat, the white goat who was raised in the kitchen, is tame (and nice) as the dickens, the "don't you have a horse treat for me" goat -- that goat ate the year sticker off my license plate. So it said 07 instead of 17. How long can I drive with that without getting pulled over? Even if the registration is actually current?
So we were out and went by the court house to see what we could do. After we divested ourselves of our pocket knives and made it through checkpoint charlie, we got to the tag office.
"The goat ate our tag."
"You'll have to fill out a police report."
Well, ok but (further explanation).
"Do you mean goats as in animals?"
"Yes, goats as in animals."
"What do you keep them for?"
"They are milk goats."
"You milk them?"
(milk and cheese talk ensues, along with the mandatory "there is someone in our church who does all that")
"No we don't sell it but I've got a boy goat for sale is you want to get started in it yourself."
We filled out and signed a form or two, gave them $3, told them we hoped we wouldn't be back but very likely would, and got our new year sticker.
And when we got home I smeared hot sauce on it.
No comments:
Post a Comment