I drink goat milk… I prefer it to the cow variety, it tastes whiter somehow, and fresher.
We do have the more conventional kind delivered but more often than not there’s a carton of “Goat” (as she calls it) on the table at breakfast time. There is also a bottle of milk (hurrah for milkmen who deliver on a milkfloat to the house), but it’s not as appealing as the Goat. There are no pictures on the glass and no “turny lid”. The Goat carton, however, has lots of writing, and a white screw up lid and most importantly a picture of a goat, as well as a cartoon image of a goat (I think of a ram which is rather confusing … or maybe there are female goats with big curved horns).
Hope likes a bit of goat on her cereal; she eats very carefully with her spoon, and then at the end picks the little bowl up and has a “sip”. When she’s finished her sipping she demands to hold the carton, she turns it round prods the photo of the goat and shouts, “Hope see Goat”, or “Look a goat”, or “Hopey like Goat, meeeehhhhh meeehhhh”.
This weekend we visited relations, we had a happy time in paddling pools, walking around castle ruins, rolling down grassy slopes, walking the dog and feeding the ducks. Hope wolfed down a hearty portion of chicken pasta while sitting with her Granny watching Peppa Pig (a big treat she’s normally denied by her mean old mother at home), and then she asked to take the dog for a walk. That normally means she holds the lead on the park areas and someone holds her hand and grabs the lead if the dog speeds up, and she sits on my shoulders and I (or someone else) holds the dog.
We headed out, down the road, along the main road and up a little lane, she sang, she skipped, she ran “very fast”, she grumbled when she couldn’t hold the lead “me do it”, and she danced. She made us stop for bicycles, pointed at cars and got very excited about seeing some orange roses and also a large mound of horse poo, “don’t touch it Mummy, big BIG poo”.
Then we heard bleating, meeeehhhhh meeehhhh, she joined in, her Uncle joined in and pointed beyond the 5 bar gate to a field, “Oh Hope, look at the goats!”, I said to her. I was carrying her at the time, her face close up against mine. She looked intently ahead, listened to the bleating sound and then broke into the broadest of smiles and kissed me.
“Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!”, she hugged herself and let out a little happy squeaky sound, “Mummy, Hopey bit happy”.
Which I have of course put straight to the top of my “I’ve never been happier” moments.
… and incase you’re wondering this isn’t a sponsored post and we drink other varieties of goat as well as the one pictured, but that’s the brand the milkman delivers!!!
