Eid Mubarak!

From last year: A Bloody Faith.

I woke up in the morning. In the usual groggy mode I walked to the bathroom, turned on the light and picked up my toothbrush.

I sensed that something was amiss. I was not alone. I turned to my left--never have I gone from a state of being half-awake to full alertness more quickly.

A goat was standing there, staring at me. I politely yielded and tiptoed out of the bathroom. I went to my dad and uttered a statement that I hope to never say again.

"There's a goat in the bathroom!"

Read the rest.

Comments

[Cafe Alpha]

I used to have roommates from Kenya. They weren't Muslims, but they did periodically buy a goat or sheep, slaughter it (in our high-walled back yard) and barbecue it.

They never invited me, so I didn't see it done, but I did get to eat barbecued goat, goat liver (dipped in blood) and goat-head soup. Wonderful stuff.

I did get a laugh when I picked up a little furry pouch and ask what it was. The scrotum, apparently.

[Cafe Alpha]

Actually I think the soup, the only one I saw with a singed goat head in it, was a test they gave me when I applied to rent a room.

They wanted to know if slaughtering goats would freak me out, so they left the head in the pot and told me to help myself to the soup. It had fresh mustard greens from the back yard and was quite tasty. But there was a bit of smell from the burnt fur on the head.

[Cafe Alpha]

One woman, a very sexy who had a degree in psychology and took care of extremely retarded adults, was the one who was frying the liver after a barbecue and dipping the pieces in blood.

The liver would have been a bit dry without the blood, so it was better that way. But she told me that she's loved blood (as food, I think) ever since she was a little girl and used to shock her parents by asking them to pass her the bucket of blood whenever they slaughtered something.

I was a more sensitive kid like you, but people are different.