California, the land of goats

We’re getting ready for a cross-country flight to San Francisco, and in preparation I’ve been showing Charlie pictures of our friends Sofi, Zach, Molly, and baby Clara. We’ll be staying with them, and they have a cute blog with plenty to keep Charlie interested.

His favorite post, though, is the one about Slide Ranch. In that post, the pictures show Molly playing with goats on a spring camping trip. Somehow Molly and Clara and California have become synonymous with goats.

When I mention that we’re soon going to be flying for six (long, long) hours to California to visit Molly and Clara, he adds, “‘Goats?”

I have to hem and haw. I can’t truthfully say no. You never know, when you live with an animal-loving two-year-old, when you might run into (or go out of your way to find) some goats. However, goats were not a specific item on our agenda when making these plans a few months ago.

“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe we’ll see goats.”

That seems to satisfy him. For now.


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