I’ve decided, based on videos readily available on Facebook, that I need a baby goat as a pet. When that baby goat becomes a rambunctious teenage goat, I might be less inclined to think it’s cute, but I could deliver said teenager to someone who could transform the beast into a feast. Nah, I’m not sure I could do that. The attachment I would develop with the creature simply wouldn’t permit it. So, now I’ve convinced myself a baby goat is not in my immediate future. That didn’t take long.
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Juan, I like your tale of your grandmother; a no-nonsense woman who appropriately dispensed of sentimentality when it had no place, Perhaps, though, it wasn’t the sentimentality she sent packing; perhaps she dispensed of the softness unsuited to a world in which sentimental attachments build bridges to starvation.
I remember my grandmother taught me something about cabrito and something about herself.
I think it was Easter morning, but my two uncles (her sons) were hesitating about cutting the cabrito’s throat that tied to a mesquite tree hung from its back legs bleating like a baby. Of course, we as children had chimed in about not cutting the kid’s throat, because we had come to know this goat for the three days prior.
My grandmother (Kickapoo Indian) in a fit of discontent over her sons’ lack of decision took the knife from one of my uncles, and in a singular movement cut and swiped the kid’s throat so that the blood poured like a faucet into a deep, wide bowl she placed below the kid before she moved on the act.
The wailing stopped and we stood there awed by her indiscriminate move.
Whenever I go to the Indian buffet I look at the platter next to tandoori oven chicken, goat in cream sauce. Nope, can’t do it. It’s weird. I have no problem eating beef or Buffalo or venison or elk or lamb. I have no particular attachment to goats, nor any revulsion to the animal on the hoof. But something stops me.
If I had a teenage girl and I wanted to get rid of, I might send him to a dairy farm to give some marvelous milk and cheese.
Oh, wait. Did I say him?
We have a deal, señor cabrito whisperer.
Wait! You get the baby goat and then, when it’s older and much less cute, I can pick it up so that I can take it to a farm where it will have enough room to run and play and make weird noises with other goats for the rest of it’s life. And when I get back, to make the sting of the loss just a little better, I will have some wonderful cabrito that I just smo… ummm… I mean that I just picked up! Yeah, that’s it! I will have bought it at the cabrito store!!! Do we have a deal?