I know I’m supposed to continue the story of the escaping goats, but I must share what happened this past week.
You may remember from the last article I wrote that I own (now owned) a bull named Rib Eye. The day he was born he couldn’t stand up to nurse, so he would have died unless I stepped in. I put him in the seat of my truck, took him home to Wurtsboro and bottle fed him in my kitchen all night. By the next day, he was standing and walking around. From that day on for the first few months, I would bottle feed him several times a day. If I had to go away, he came with me. He even spent Purim in Queens in my parents’ backyard.