My hometown has a small petting zoo at the regional park. Every summer, when we go home to visit family, my mom insists we head to the park for some fun and specifically, to feed the goats.
Coincidentally, my dad also likes to spend a day at the park for some fun and specifically, to feed the goats. Because my parents are no longer together, the kids get two days of fun at the park and consequently, the goats get very well fed.
My son couldn’t be convinced petting a goat is a good idea. After some excited persuasion, he conceded to chucking his cup of food into the pen. The goats were more than happy to eat the cereal and the delicious waxed paper cup.
My daughter, like the precocious niece from Finding Nemo, struck fear into the hearts of the goats answering the centuries-old philosophical query, are the cages to protect us from the animals or to protect the animals from us? Clearly, the goats felt safer with her on the other side.
About 50 years ago, a family of Ukrainian farmers needed goat milk. They were directed to a family of Mennonite farmers in the next community over. That’s how my mom and dad met.
Without goats, I wouldn’t exist.
What’s your existential conception story?