Curry or Bacon

The far from idle threat of becoming curry has hung over Maggie, Juliet and Bravo for a while now. The Doomsday Clock was set five minutes to midnight the day they cleared the "goat proof" fence and decimated the tomato harvest. It advanced to four minutes to midnight when they made a return trip and consumed the fig tree and grape vine. An extra minute was taken away when, in their panic at seeing me looking a bit miffed they bolted through the back of the greenhouse and broke all the glass of the rear wall. It stuck at 3 minutes for a few weeks until the truly horrible discovery that they had ringed all the fruit trees of bark and had the ultimate sanction been available that day we would have been 3 rugs and lots of Baltis better off.
So the clock has ticked away, always one minute to midnight as no matter how sorry they were these goats were beyond redemption. Several times the services of Steve the mobile slaughter man were nearly called but snow and my good nature prevailed so an alternative resolution was sought.

Thanks to the wonders of the web we have been in touch with a very nice lady who runs a goat rehab centre. Here naughty goats go and learn the error of their ways while living in woodland. The final details have to be arranged but it looks like the Rock HQ 3 will be spared and live happily ever after, never ever meeting a poppadom or mango chutney. Whats even better is this extraordinarily generous soul who wishes peace and love on all animals, even goats, is going to give Rock HQ in return two Oxford and Sandy Black maiden gilts who will be fed and pampered, as pigs should be as they are nothing like naughty goats, and provide Rock HQ with lots of litters of potential sausages and bacon.

The world turns and is a better place. Karma. Except to goats.