You seemed like such a good idea. We put out more money on you than we ever have on any animal. We went through milking-school in a trial by fire. We got the hang of it and visit you at least twice a day. You have all the fresh green browse you could possibly want. We buy you hay. We bring you grain and sometimes even bananas. (Bananas, goat! Bananas!)
The first week or so was pretty rough, I’ll admit it. I know we didn’t get much milk out of you then as we would have liked. I know we were clueless, clumsy milkers who squirted more on the floor than any place else.
But you bounced back! You were giving us a quart a day. That was just fine for a dwarf goat, and just fine for us too. We were learning to make cheese. We had goat’s milk yogurt whenever we wanted it. We were getting along just fine, my girl.
But then things changed.
So why do you build me up, buttercup baby, just to let me down? What is with the drop in milk supply? Why do you run from us so frequently? Why do you insist on giving us a morning work out through the field before finally giving up and coming to the barn?
And just when we are getting most frustrated, then you decide to stroll to the milk stand and munch sweetly while we get our measly cup of milk from you. Somehow you trick me into thinking that you’re not so bad, after all. And you’re cute and maybe we should keep you.
But then off you go again a week later, giving the same run-around shenanigans you were before.
Dear goat, please build me up, build me up, buttercup, don’t break my heart. Please come to the milk stand in the morning without a fight. Please give us a little more if you will. And maybe we can be friends again?
Your Doting Caretakers.
P.S. I still like you, I really do. I still like milking and I still like the idea of having a dairy goat. Maybe we can still make this work somehow, baby.