Nebulous Mooch

Just a few days ago, some friends were telling me about an interesting camping experience they had. Apparently, a hedge hog got into their tent in the middle of the night and got its head stuck and a bag of dog treats. Everyone at the table was laughing like this was the funniest thing ever, but I was shocked and horrified. I was thinking that I didn’t even know they had hedgehogs in England and that I needed to be a lot more careful when I went for walks in the countryside. I wouldn’t want to be attacked by an angry hedgehog.

It wasn’t until a few days later when I realized my mistake. I thought a hedge hog was this:

I wouldn’t be laughing if I woke up in the middle of the night and found this in my tent with me. I would be running for the hills, and I’d never go camping again.

I was wrong though. A hedgehog is this:

That’s a lot less threatening.

I know the intelligence of the average Nebulous Mooch reader is quite high so you most probably already knew that, but I was home schooled for my first three years of school and I don’t think my mother covered animal names very thoroughly. (If you don’t have anyone else to blame, blame it all on your mother. That usually works.)

Warthog photo by Tara M.

Hedgehog photo by SarahMcManiman

About six months ago I decided that when I finally owned my own house I would get some chickens and a goat. This may be shocking to some of you considering my general fear of animals, especially animals that flap, hop or have horizonally slit pupils like the devil.

All of this aside, I thought goats and chickens could be a good addition to our household. We could have free eggs whenever we wanted and I like egg. We could also have free milk for making kefir and yogurt and butter and cheese and whatever else I can make with milk. I even picked out the ideal goat breed. Nigerian dwarf goats would be my goats of choice. They’re suppose to get make enough milk to feed a family and they’re small. I would have two. They would need to keep each other company.

My passion for raising goats has waned recently. Not because I realized I’d have to milk them every day–imagine me milking a goat–or because I’d have to clean up after them, or because they’re smelly and they make that goat noise all the time, but because I tasted some goat yogurt.

I bought some goat yorgurt. I like to try new things. We can eat some yogurt on out exciting Candida diet to try to get some probiotic into our systems. We can also have a moderate amount of grains so the other day I had oatmeal for breakfast. I mixed it with some goat yogurt and blueberries. Ladies and gentlemen, don’t try this at home. It was disgusting. Goats don’t make the same nice tastey yogurt like that cows do. Instead, goat milk makes something similar to goat cheese. Goat cheese is good, but it’s not good in your oatmeal.

Anyway, I’ve had it in for goats ever since they ruined my oatmeal. I’ve decided there will be no goats for me because I just can’t put up with that kind of unpredictability in my dairy products.

I’m still considering chickens. I’ve recently found out that you can tell what color eggs a hen will produce by looking at her earlobes. I didn’t even know chickens had earlobes. Maybe they have lips too.

Photo by Just Chaos.