I was making my breakfast this a.m. when it occurred to me that there was
something very familiar with my breakfast. Not as much familiar to me, but to my
spunky goat kids.
The goat kids drink their goat milk, nibble on a bit of hay, and dive into the
grain. After the munching is complete, you know they are finished with their
meal, by seeing the little goat kids turning their grain dishes over and stepping on
them, showing me that, no, they are the tallest in all of the land. The next trick
they do is to play chase a tail until someone is forced to jump real high onto a
Mama’s back and teeter totter across their spine, waiting for a opportunity to jump
down for a clear landing.
Ok, my turn, I drink my coffee, pour my granola into a bowl add goat milk , stir it
around, slowly eat my granola as I catch up on news on the computer. Drink
another cup of coffee. Place my bowl upside down in the dishwasher.
I grab a coat from the hook and I am off to start chores in the barn.
Wait a minute, I did eat almost the same breakfast as the goat kids. I am not
running around, jumping as if the world was mine.
Maybe something is amiss? Or maybe they do eat better than I do?