Chef John Malik

a writer trapped in a cook's body

The Things You do For Love

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“Too many broken hearts have fallen in the river

Too many lonely souls have drifted out to sea

You lay your bets and then you pay the price

The things we do for love, the things we do for love”

10 CC from their hit, The Things We do For Love, 1977

 

She wanted goats. Why?  I’m not sure. Because they’re cute, because they’ll devour our poison ivy, she wanted another challenge, maybe because our little farm didn’t have enough quadrapeds. Maybe she considered them a substitute for the Alpacas we’re not going to get though she really wants.

I see them as a gateway drug to the Alpacas. If we’re successful with the goats, she’ll try to convince me Alpacas are next on the list.

The end result is this past Friday we drove to Honea (honey-ah) Path to pick up two Tennessee Fainting Goats. Both males, brothers. Because goats are herding animals and they can’t live solo. They need goat companionship, at least that’s what she told me. They looked so innocent and goat-like at the real farm where they grew up.

After their 45 minute ride home in the back of our Ford F150, these cleft-foot whirling dervishes wanted nothing to do with our so-called bucolic pasture and goat-proof fence.

435 goat-hauling horsepower

Cats, chickens, our turkey, the goat chow, the neighbors, the goat water bowl, the apple tree and all that delicious looking poison ivy was no match for these two. In the space of three minutes it was all scattered to the four winds and in no time they were free. They spent the weekend ravaging through the vast kudzu playground of Piedmont, SC.

All weekend we received Bigfoot quality reports from our neighbors. Text messages, app notifications, whispered phone calls.

“We just saw them under our boat”

“I think they’re behind our tractor”

“We heard bleating behind our shed”

Off we dashed to the F 150, dropping our sanity in favor of a cup of goat food and a couple of ropes. And all we found were a few droppings and a muddy foot print or two.

“Look! Behind those leaves! Is that them?”

A distant bleat, a gray shadow blending to green then nothing.

Then on our Monday morning dog walk they taunted us right out in the open. They appeared on a neighbor’s driveway. I bolted once again for the F 150 while Amy made her best goat call.

“Baaaaaaa” she said, hoping to say in goatese: “You’ll be safe and happy with us. We have poison ivy.” And the goats rewarded her lousy imitation with curiosity.

“Your toes were eaten by sharks?” They responded. “We don’t believe you but take off your shoes and we’ll come take a look”

Their curiosity got the better of them and soon they were in the rear of the Ford. Perhaps exhausted by their weekend at Bernie’s of Piedmont, perhaps hungover from their fill of kudzu, they tolerated the ride back to Tin Roof Farm where they’re now tied up until they can come to terms with their new home.

And the Golden Grove neighborhood may breathe a sigh of relief. Their gardens are safe and the Maliks are no longer knocking on doors and asking, “Uh, have you seen two little goats?”

They might look cute, and looks can be deceiving

And that was our Father’s Day weekend in Piedmont, SC.

Yeah and about that fainting, we have yet so see it happen.

Now get to work on that poison ivy

 

 

 

 

 

Author: ChefJohn

Cook without tattoo, writer without a pen

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