Monday, 6 March 2017

The Arrival of Suzzy...



I really don’t know if people keep goats as pets, but I do. This sounds a little bit strange right? When I tell people I have goats as pets, they get all disgusted. They call me weirdo and many other stuff, but I never stop talking about my goats. I’m very proud of them. You see, they’re not like every other goats, trust me.


They’re well trained. You see what the bible says about child training, “train up a child in the way he should go and when he grows he would not depart from it”? Interestingly, it’s applicable to goats, because it worked for me. Don’t worry, you’ll get to like them if you spend just a few minute with them.

The sun radiated steaming rays that afternoon. I just took a shower and was half asleep on the sofa in the parlor, the TV was on, and the reality show being aired was getting boring. It seemed like sleep got a hold of me at that point. Just when I was about to transcend into the realm of the natural state of rest and become unconscious, I was disrupted by the bleating of a goat. With my red saggy eyes, I dragged my feet to the window to check how a goat got into my compound. Dad was trying to fix one of the hind legs of the goat to a pole. I had mixed feelings about the presence of the goat, I have phobia for animals (all types of animals). I was scared it’ll get lose and get to the house, climb on me, scratch my face with its hoof, pee on me… I had lots of imaginations going on in my head. Then, I was also excited because, I’d get to eat lots of meat if the goat was killed. I really do like eating meat, all types. Ranging from beef, to pork, to chicken. I’d probably try snake meat one day, maybe horse as well.

The goat behaved like every other goats, the continuous bleating, the black faeces and most especially, the smell! It really did piss me off. One day I got so pissed that I angrily asked my dad when we’ll kill the goat. To my greatest dismay, he told me she was pregnant. “Pregnant”? I thought she’d be killed soon? Why did you get her? Well, my complains weren’t going to change anything.

I decided to accept the occurrence as my fate. First and foremost, I gave her a name “Suzzy”. I guess it made me feel at ease a bit, going around her. We give her food on a regular basis, sometimes we even give her cooked food from the kitchen. She grew fatter and fresher. She also changed in character, as she became well behaved. She cries less, stays at a place, doesn’t rush her food. She doesn’t even eat the food on the ground, it has to be in her plate. Can you imagine? I became fond of Suzzy so much that when I went out, I got fresh peels of yam and plantain from roadside sellers. This would get most people embarrassed, but I did it whole heartedly because I wanted to give Suzzy a treat. I loved seeing her eat, I derived pleasure from it. I couldn’t wait for her to give birth.

To be continued…

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