When my daughter Molly was four, I took her with me to a choir rehearsal. Practicing for a Messiah performance, we were paying particular attention to “All We Like Sheep.” Molly listened to us sing that line repeatedly for several minutes. Finally, in exasperation, she whispered, “Actually, some of us prefer goats.”
One thing for sure: Molly was no sheep. We used to say that her stubbornness had a bright side: nobody would ever be able to lead her astray. And nobody did. Her husband calls me a contrarian. It may run in the family.
In any case, I’ve recently read two delightful accounts of life with goats. Thanks to friend