Wednesday, 14 September 2011

miss doolittle



One day, if I ever marry a old rich man win the lottery and get the huge house with a massive garden I plan to have a pet goat. I don't really know exactly why I like them so much but I do, especially the weird eyes.

When Son was a lot younger we used to spend a fair bit of time with my friend Carlene, she had a boy the same age as him so they could bugger off and do whatever ten year old boys do and she and I could gossip, smoke and drink brandy coffee.
We figured it wouldn't hurt if you put it in your coffee.
Well until you've had about six anyway.

One day I went round there and she had a goat at the end of her garden, I was straight out there making friends with it. For weeks every time I went to see her (which was a bit more often once she got the goat) I would take it food, it didn't take long for it to recognise me. Her garden was on two levels and the goat lived in the lower bit furthest from the house but as soon as it saw me it would stand by the fence waiting.

I was very fond of that animal.

Carlene was Jamaican, and an amazing cook so we would often go for dinner.
This particular Sunday there we are tucking in. . . .
"What have you done to the mutton Carlene it tastes really nice?"
"It's not mutton it's goat".

Yup. Bitch fed my friend to me.
I'M A CAPRICORN THAT'S FUCKING CANNABALISM.
I thought I was going to be sick.
And as I ran to the toilet, which was at the back of the house and meant going through the utility room, there was the remainder of it on the freezer waiting to be butchered.
I was very very sick.

Not goat . . . and I'm starving just looking at this.

Given a choice even before that I would not eat goat, the other thing I have no desire to ever try is rabbit. When I was a child my Dad kept rabbits, they were pets but he always used to tell me that we were going to eat them. We had two females and they were allowed to breed a couple of times a year but for some reason they would only ever have two, until one year my favourite produced six babies.
Dad insisted that these were going in the pot.

I wasn't having that.
My Dad worked shifts so he wasn't always home in the morning and when he wasn't there I used to feed the rabbits before I left for school.
So I decided (I think I was about 8 at the time) that I was going to find them new homes. I put the baby rabbits, who were a couple of weeks old at this point so tiny, in my bag (how my Mum didn't notice I don't know, I guess she was busy), took them to school and gave them to my friends.

How could anyone look at this and think . . . dinner.

When I got home from school I made sure it was me that fed the others so nobody else went and looked.

Later that evening there were a few knocks on the door.
Concerned parents returning the new pet their child had brought home from school.

I didn't get into trouble, but after that my Dad agreed that no rabbit would ever make it to the cooking pot. Actually I don't think any ever would've, he loved those rabbits as much as I did, I remember when one got injured and died and Dad cried more then me and the sister.

Although Dad has since shattered a few animal illusions I still had from my childhood.

When I was very little, maybe 5 or 6, we went on a family holiday to a big house on the coast in Devon. Dad and the uncles went fishing a few times and me and my cousins wanted to have a go, I remember how excited I was when I pulled (with a bit of help) my line out of the sea and there was a fish on the end of it.
Years later Dad and I are talking about fishing (well he's talking I'm pretending to be interested) and I said that I still remembered the only time I had ever fished, and that I had caught one.
"No you didn't, I bought that fish earlier and put it on the line for you"

Hmmm.
It get's worse.

We had this huge black cat called Bobby that was forever catching birds.
One day Bobby had caught a baby sparrow and trapped it behind a bush in the garden. I rescued the bird, it had a damaged wing but there was no blood so I knew it wasn't badly hurt. At the time Dad was decorating our front room so he let me keep the bird in a box in there. I used to feed it mashed up cereals and seeds on the end of a matchstick and for a wild bird it became really tame. I could get it to sit on my hand, and got it to start flying as well.

I knew I would have to set it free, and it was getting to the point when I knew that would be soon.
One day I came home from school and the bird was gone, Dad said that he had opened the window and it had flown away. I was a bit sad as I had wanted to be the one to let it go, but I was also really happy that I had saved this bird and got it back to health.

Again years later.
Somehow the bird came up in conversation.
"Do you remember the sparrow I saved Dad ?"
"No, don't think I do."
"Yeah you do, I had it in a box when you were decorating the front room"
"Oh that one, yes I do, the one that Bobby got in and killed."

I love my Dad very much but BASTARD !!
What the fuck.
And I thought I was a cunt.

I didn't mind finding out that Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy were really him, in fact I had my suspicions long before I knew the truth but why did he have to tell me that ?

Which reminds me of another time illusions were shattered.
When son was little Dad used to take him to his works Christmas party for the kids of employees.
One year the man who normally acted as Father Christmas let them down at the last minute, so there they are with 60 kids and no Santa. Being rather short and rotund Dad volunteered to step in, but in case Son decided to look for him (highly unlikely when he was busy tucking into sausage rolls and cake - he's his mother's son) Dad told him what he was going to do.

So they have the big build up to Santa's grand entrance, you know the kind of thing . . . sleigh bells and HO HO HO heard in the background.
Some guy with a microphone is doing the whole "listen kids . . .guess whose coming"
IT'S FATHER CHRISTMAS !!!!!!!!!!!!

And a voice from the back shouted . . . .
"That's not Father Christmas, that's my Grandad".

Family trait or what ?

The inspiration for this came from reading one of Drone's rememberies posts, after you've left me a comment telling me how fucking amazing I am pop over there and have a read.


19 comments:

  1. An old friend of mine is Italian, and when they would get together for family functions, there would always be a cute goat there. The kids would always go out and play with it all morning and have a wondrous time. Early afternoon, everyone was brought inside to watch a movie. Unfortunately, the goat had to go back to the farm where he was from, so the kids couldn't play with it any longer.

    Later that night, they enjoyed a wonderful goat dinner.

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  2. Goats can be kind of cute, but their eyes weird me out, not attract me to them. I didn't have many animals growing up so I don't have many things like this, but my stepdad did keep some rabbits. One of them died recently, it was very, very, old, especially for a rabbit. I think he's doing better now but at first he was so depressed that my mum had to take care of the ones that were left, he just couldn't do it.

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  3. That was some funny stuff. Dad was just keepin' real I guess.

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  4. OMG! You are fucking amazing! Now I am going to go read Drone's blog :D

    just kidding. I mean, I am going to read it but that's not all for my reply.

    This reminds me of the time my neighbor tried to get me to eat squirrel. Or the time he ate the cow meat fresh off the bone of a new cow carcass. Coffee doesn't taste as good once it's already been in your stomach.

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  5. Your Dad is Father CHristmas and the Tooth Fairy?! Holy Crap, that's amazing! Although he's not doing his job properly; my kids haven't gotten gifts in years.

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  6. Your dad is hilarious and awesome. Though I'm afraid to say I've eaten goat and rabbit and I'll eat it again.

    And I fully intend to eat additional non-traditional eaten animals too.

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  7. Very funny post! Your blog never ceases to entertain me! :)

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  8. Jesus, I wouldn't be surprised if your dad told all the kids who thought he was Santa that he didn't exist and that ultimately they would all die.

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  9. HA! Goats are awesome! But yeah I've eaten them too. (tasty) I guess I got over animal cuteness when I started helpng my grandad kill chickens on his farm for dinner. Yes I also killed some rabbits for him to sell the meat. (Tasty)

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  10. Totally hilarious post! I particularly love the reminiscing of memories with your dad. I reckon all Fathers must have come from the same Prpe School. I have held so many "urban legends" close to my heart only to be told later on by my own Father he was just totally have a ball taking me for a ride. Along with Father Christmas, the Tooth Fairy, Prince Charming, and even Stephen King's freaking clown "IT"!
    By the way, if you ever come to China, never, ever, ever ask your host, what kind of meat they are serving. Otherwise, you will claw your way out of the Great Wall.

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  11. Haha this is great! Thanks for update!

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  12. @Maxwell, that's terrible.
    @Mark, that would be my Dad too. It's kinda sweet that he cared that much.
    @Chuck, too real I think.
    @Dotchi, I think I'd move, I'd worry about my cats.
    @Flip, he's not been well but I'll have a word.
    @Dwei, he is - both. Maybe you should blog about it when you do.
    @Krouth, thanks - Sammi does the same for me.
    @Tony, he might've, there were some crying kids at that party.
    @Rafa, from you that doesn't surprise me.
    @PB, there are more to come I think. A series about Dad, he'd love that.
    @D22. Thanks.

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  13. If you're not going to eat your goat I suggest you get female one so you can milk it.

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  14. omg dirty!!!! my dad threw a cat out the window and had told me it ran away, but it was actually that he got made that it peed on the couch.

    family.

    yeah.

    but i agree with you in the sadness ... i want a goat that won't be food. it will just be a dairy supplier. when it passes away, i'll bring it as food for some waiting animal.

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  15. Whenever my father got tired of whichever dog we happened to have at the time (they were all named 'Duke'. Even the girls), he'd take them for a ride to "New York State." As children, we always envisioned New York State as being this blessed Doggie Xanadu with countless fire hydrants and butts to sniff. Then, we got older and realized we sprung from the loins of a Canine Serial Killer.
    Yep, good ole Dad. He loved dogs. Until he tired of them. Then he got rid of them. Then we got another dog. A vicious cycle, that. We did have a cat once, Peaches. Until we left her alone with one of the Dukes.
    More importantly: there's no Santa Claus (Father Christmas)!!!????
    Oh, the humanity!

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  16. That was a lot to read but I finished the whole post by myself. I don't even know what to comment on there was so much info.

    Goats should be ridden, not eaten.

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  17. Wow! That sucks ass. I can't eat goats either... or pigs. I feel bad just eating chicken. But goats??? EW!

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  18. Damn, I hit the post button too soon...

    And yes, we moved. The cats went to homes away from the crack head neighbor.

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  19. @GB, Thats the plan.
    @Andrea, Thats terrible. But I like your plan.
    @Al, I must be sick because that actually made me laugh. Did you have any naughty siblings that were sent away to relatives ???
    @PTM, I like that idea.
    @Dotchi, Glad to hear that. Do you think the neighbour was related to Als Dad ?

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