I suppose that pretty much any able-bodied person would be capable of sneaking onto a farm and stealing a goat. But stealing 60 of them? That takes some effort.
I wonder if they have already been broken down for parts?
I wish someone would steal my wife’s sheep. I’ll leave the gate open for you.
You can send me one. I need a sheep.
Maybe the goats weren’t “stolen”…perhaps they were commandeered by the First Earth Battalion so men could stare at them.
If she fails to get pregnant, she may just be under the wether.
Which explains why this only happened so recently. Up until around 2 years ago, the Battalion didn’t notice the typo in their orders and were staring at goatse. Turnover was high.
Nobody needs a sheep.
What is someone going to do with 60 pregnant goats? Plus, they found the trailer they were stolen with but not the goats. So someone had a goat-stashing getaway trailer somewhere? Whoever did it definitely wasn’t kidding around.
But they will be in a few weeks.
Birria.
This happened about five miles north of where I live. These people’s weed-clearing goats were a common sight around here. They were probably regarded somewhat as pets rather than farm stock.
I didn’t know what that was, so I looked it up. People are willing to commit a felony order to make a stew?
But. I swear I do. They are so cute and flur-ffy and shit. I want one with a bell on his collar. Please.
ETA, Gato, do you give them haircuts?
I believe they were unpopular with cattlemen because they eat the roots of grass.
My sister had ten or so as “pets” that kept pasture grass trimmed. They need to be sheared, and that’s a pain in the ass. At first, someone would shear them and pay a small amount for the wool. Then wool price went down and they’d shear them for the wool as an even trade. Then prices dropped further and she had to pay someone to shear them. She eventually got rid of them.
Isn’t Hal Briston still around?
I have a couple of goats at home who are in constant “danger” of being “stolen”.
I smell something. It smells like dirty lies parents tell their children. Like “Gertrude the goatess went to live on a happy farm and get married and have kids of her own”. “No, sweetie that’s just good BBQ Momma made for you, now eat up!”
A goat pulling a cart with my Mother and Aunts bolted, frightening the children.
My Grandfather barbecued him.
I had a calf for a pet. I fed that thing and took care of him til he was taller than me. He still loved me the day they carted him off to the slaughterhouse. I never did put 2 and 2 together for several years. My oldest brother was picking on me and let it slip. I was never so mortified. My Daddy told me we didn’t eat Brownie, it was another cow. I believed that lie for a few more years. It’s enough to turn a kid vegan. Too bad I like meat so much.
The Silence of the Lambs.
Readers of this thread will have to separate the sheep from the goats.