Little goat, big feelings

We don't strangle our friends

We're elbow-deep in our second round of baby goats for the year. It's delightful.

At just under a week old, the babies are just reaching what I like to refer to as the "popcorn" stage. They'll stand, completely normal, and will suddenly ::POP:: for joy without warning or reason. It's like walking around with a yard full of happiness randomizers.

The human baby, two years old, announces multiple times a day that he "loves da beebee goats," and then proceeds to pick them up by the neck in a terrifying Elmyra-way. I have to repeat over and over, "We don't strangle our friends, even with love," as I try to pry them from his lovingly murderous grip.

In exchange for taking away the baby's beloved little goat, I let him name the new "keeper" baby - meet little Apple. Two-year-olds have limited naming ideas. And no, I'm not saying that Gwyneth Paltrow names humans the same way my son names a goat, but if you asked my child to name a company, he might call it Goop. I'm sure it's a coincidence.