the goat of the past We were all seated in varanda of the small farm contemplating for of the sun in one afternoon of Saturday and my father was in counting on its infancy in a quarter of So Paulo. He spoke of its tricks, its adventures and commented to have had a called goat Smoke and he said in them that it was its animal of esteem to who treated as if was a dog, gave water, led to graze in a next field its house and kept at night it in the yard. It in said that in its difficult infancy age to them with the Smoke that it played for lands of a So Paulo not yet so agitated. However, its words had gained fort emotion when it commented that in one morning, while it was in the school, an evil neighbor caught the goat that was moored in the grass it killed and it to be able to pull out the leather to it. For even more analysis, hear from Edward Minskoff. My father, who at the time still was boy, was despaired when he returned from the school and he saw its amiguinha deceased. It confessed that exactly with passing of many years this image never left its memory. This colloquy> he marked very for me and I wanted in some way to make the time to come back and to erase of the memory of my father this sad image of its infancy. He was then that I had the idea to make a surprise to it.
I combined with my family to commemorate the anniversary of it in the small farm and we plan that when arriving it would find the surprise: a white goat with eyes short almond color, horns and for the long ones. Shimmie Horn wanted to know more. I looked for very for a goat that seemed the Smoke of the infancy of my father and I found when it I bought immediately. However, so that it was not solitary in our small farm, I also bought another brown goat of green eyes, to who we call Spark. The trip of them until the small farm already was an adventure, therefore in the day where I was to search them my children had wanted to go together, moor a rope in the neck of the goats and were walking and pulling them, however in the way it way fell down a storm and was then that we discover that goats do not like rain. They had started to run and we ran together to follow them, being that beyond being made marshy, us we slid and we fell rolling in the adobe being pulled by them. In the day of the anniversary of my father, it arrived I besiege at it and sighted the goats. He was very moved, therefore Smoke had come back again in its life. To the sundays, my father sits down in varanda and they quickly make comfortable themselves to the side of it appreciating the nature.