Whining for Buttermilk

Sister has this thing about goats and, frankly, it is starting to alarm me. 

 

Two Goats Posing for a Picture

You see, every time my family and I go out east, and we pass the goat farm on Route 25, Sister calls out “Can we get a goat?” Then, at some point during the trip, she inevitably goes out (sometimes accompanied by Ma and Pa and even Aunt B) to feed the goats bottles, scratch their heads, and take pictures of them under the guise of buying pie (okay she does usually buy pie, but seeing that I get very little of it come dessert time, I say it’s as good as not getting any pie at all). And this week, Ma announced that she saw a sign outside some farm stand saying that they had goats for sale (she made sure to announce this when we were safe at home and refused to tell Sister where the sign was—thanks Ma).

Love the Hair Cut!

Splitting One Bottle Four Ways

But as I said, this desire for a goat is rather alarming to me. It’s not because they look evil as Aunt B says nor is it because Sister read me a news story about an overly friendly black goat named Voldemort that chased a paperboy up a tree in some Utah town. No, what alarms me is that not only does she already have a name for the goat she wants (Buttermilk), but she offers up some alarmingly valid reasons why she should be allowed to have one. I’m kind of afraid that Ma and Pa will eventually give in to her whining (and she is particularly good at whining—she’s had, after all, years of practice). Here are her reasons for getting a goat:

1. Free goats milk and cheese: I like cheese—can’t argue with this one. 
2. Free lawn care: the goat will keep the grass nice and trim.
3. Watch goat: nothing brings fear to potential intruders like a “Beware of Goat” sign.
4. A playmate for me: when I want some little creature to head butt me I go visit my bff Mecki. 
5. A playmate for her: hey, I thought that was my job!
6. A goat and I have a lot in common: Sister refers to the two pictures below to prove her point.

The Goats

Me

So there you have it; the reasoning behind Sister’s yearlong campaign for a goat. Hopefully, Ma and Pa will stay strong and continue to tell her that she can visit the goats, but that she’s not allowed to bring one home (though if I were them I’d periodically check her car’s trunk for a little brown and white floppy eared animal that answers to the name Buttermilk).

A Potential Buttermilk