excuses, justification, mitigation, apology

Dear all,

Please accept my sincere apologies for the prolonged absence. My summer research did not go as well as I would have hoped. The suspected mermouffloi were nothing but bog standard local sheep. That was a blow. And then this happened.

I promise that from now on I'll be more active in the blogosphere.

Warmest regards,

MT

Maybe Maybaaaaline?

As winter draws near (at least in the northern hemisphere), one might think that this is the time for caprines everywhere to start settling in somewhere warm. In these short winter days and long winter nights, many sheep might be tempted to hunker down, stay in, and, well, ruminate. Even given a thick warm winter coat, wind and rain can wreak havoc with a ruminant’s hair-do, and does nothing for the smoothly-complexioned sheep trying to maintain a youthful look.

Happily, science may now lend a hand. While geneticists seem content to meddle with sheep and goats in order to benefit humankind, science now gives something back to the ovicaprid suffering a bad-hair day. Or a no-hair day, if they’re recently shorn. Yes, image conscious caprines can now fight the signs of aging with their own range of skin-protecting products. We think these would nicely complement other products suggested by a reader (as always, though, consult the labelling carefully to make sure that products you're using don't combine to create some new, deadly chemical soup that would melt the face off of an unsuspecting ovicaprid). Bafflingly, our extensive phone-polls of high-street cosmetic retailers drew a blank; the spray does not, for now at least, appear to be easily available to the walk-in customer in the city centre. Wrinkly sheep may need to import the stuff from Australia for the time being. The market responds to demand, though, so next time you’re out, don’t hesitate for a minute to ask: ask for the sheep spray! Cold, prune-like ruminants the world over will thank you.

Goatferatu

Gather round. Stir up the embers and light the candles. And as the shadows cavort across the walls like convoluted grasping fingers, listen. For on this All Hallows’ Eve, the skein between the worlds grows thin, spirits are unleashed, and strange things stalk the moonlit world. And, as with all our “human” festivals, the goat is at the heart of it.

Yes, goats have their own terrors. Ancient enemies who envy and hate, who would hunt down and feast on their living blood, and make of their fleece grisly trophies. It is not only Carpathian peasants who need fear the Vampire. For out of the outermost dark, from the horrid chill of the empty space between stars, comes Something – how can we know what? – Something comes in search of the warm blood of the goat.

El Chupacabra. The Goat Sucker.

This fiend roams the Americas, from Maine to Chile, insatiable in a goat blood-lust frenzy, as implacable as Dracula, as fearsome as the werewolf, as cunning as an alien lizard/kangaroo UFO-pilot abductor beast: fanged, fork-tongued, reeking of sulphur, red-eyed, monstrous and screeching, hopping mad… It wants blood. A chicken will do. But it has an insatiable and particular penchant for goats. Unfortunate and defenceless ruminants have been found, dead and dehydrated, the tell-tale double puncture wounds in their neck. None are safe. No weapons – silver bullets, a crucifix – are mentioned as effective against this evil goat-sucker.

It roams free still. Its thirst is unslaked. Its hellish desires unquenched. Outside, in the dark, it is on the trail of warm goat scent. Full of hate, it crouches, waits, ready to pounce, hiding in the bushes, in the dark. Out in the night, beyond the tiny circle of flickering and uncertain light cast by your computer screen, beyond all the temporary lights you vainly strike against the encroaching darkness, El Chupacabra draws near. Fetter your livestock. Bring them inside. It may help, perhaps, for a little while…

Wordless.

If there has been a slight lacuna in posting, we apologise. Even now it is an agonising effort to type these few halting words. For the whole delicate, complex and finely balanced machinery of the OVM G.O.A.T.S offices, usually such a buzzing hub of nuanced and highly textured semiotic debate, has been struck dumb. Before a dozen screens in central command, our operates sit, and stare, aghast, at - but wait. Few of you will be able to stand this. Gird your loins, I beseech you; restrain your wrath. The OVM has no wish to see outrages committed on the cultural commissions and embassies of the fine Italian nation. Sedate youselves, and remain calm, before you view

this.

The moral high ground?

We know that goats love climbing to the tops of things – and, occasionally, fellow ruminants, too.



But the goat may also have a claim to stand on the moral high ground. Goats, and sheep, make splendid parents. And although proverbial for lechery and unseemliness, it appears that, really, the old he-goat simply loves his mother. Perhaps a little too much.

Goat Curry

Petrines Gjestgiveri

Serves 4-5

Ingredients:
3 pounds / 1.5 kg goat, cut into 1-inch / 2.5-cm cubes
1 lime
1 large onion, sliced
6 cloves garlic, finely chopped (about 3 tablespoons / 45 ml)
2 teaspoons / 10 ml salt
1 teaspoon / 5 ml black pepper
1 teaspoon / 5 ml thyme leaves
¼ teaspoon / 1 ml finely chopped Scotch bonnet pepper
2 tablespoons / 25 ml canola or vegetable oil
1 teaspoon / 5 ml sugar
5 green onions, chopped (about 1 cup / 250 ml)
2 teaspoons / 10 ml curry powder
2 potatoes, peeled and cut into ½-inch / 1-cm cubes

Method:

First, secure your goat, and deal with appropriately. Squeeze the lime juice over the goat; let it sit for a couple of minutes and then rinse with cold water. Drain off excess water. Place the goat in a sealable container and add the onion, garlic, salt, black pepper, thyme, and Scotch bonnet pepper. Wearing rubber gloves, rub the spices into the goat with your hands. Marinate, covered and refrigerated, for 1 to 2 hours.

In a large pot over medium heat, heat the oil and sugar, stirring until the sugar is brown. Add the goat with marinade, green onions, and curry; stir thoroughly. Cover the pot, reduce the heat to low, and simmer the goat slowly in its own juices, stirring occasionally, until the goat is nearly tender, about 30 minutes. If the meat is tough, pour ¼ cup / 60 ml of water at a time down the sides of the pot, not directly onto the goat (or you will toughen the meat).

Add the potatoes and ¼ cup / 60 ml water; stir thoroughly. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes or until the potatoes are cooked but not too soft. Crush some of the potatoes to thicken the sauce, if desired. If there is not enough sauce, add ¼ cup / 60 ml water and simmer for another 5 to 10 minutes.

Serve with rice and a salad.

Tragedy!

Where would the BeeGees be without goats? Nowhere, apparently; and immortal Shakespeare’s oeuvre would be considerably reduced; all episodes of EastEnders would end happily; and much of Western theatre and literature would not exist. For it can be argued – and I do argue it, I argue it forcefully, I argue it with conviction, I argue it passionately – it can be argued (with justification) that the goat gave us an entire dramatic form.

You know of course that our word tragedy comes (from Late Middle English, through Old French and via Latin) from the Greek τραγωδία. But perhaps you have forgotten that this word means – yes! – song (or ode) of the he-goat. Etymologists appear baffled and somewhat skeptical: ‘the reason remains unexplained,’ confesses the hapless dictionary-entry writer, clearly unacquainted with either tragedy or goats. The Song of the Goat, then: not the plaintive and solitary yodellings of the least popular member of a team, but an entire dramatic form, arising from among the ancient Greeks in honour of the god Dionysos, an inveterate cavorter with goatish satyrs. Mention of divine and celestial goats takes us in entirely different directions, but we must restrain ourselves. The Dionysiac Festival (isn’t this interesting?) was where theatre was born; was the white-hot crucible in which was forged the dramatic forms of the western world; was the origin of all we now see before us on the flickering screens of TV and film.

There seems to be something enduringly serious about goat-inspired art. Perhaps we should not be surprised: goats are no sort of joke. And here we see them at the origins of the best of the most high-minded and profound of dramatic arts. So the next time you watch a weepie or read a satisfyingly tragic tale, thank the goat. Whether we need also be thankful for the BeeGees I leave to your own best judgement.

Readers' Goats

Has a goat (or related caprinae) butted its way unexpectedly into your life? Have you had an encounter, alarming or exhilarating, with a ruminant wild or domesticated? If so, we at the OVM would love to hear your stories and see your pictures. We will feature them here, at Readers’ Goats, intermittently and at whim, for all of us to enjoy. You can share your experiences – and we encourage you to do so – by emailing the Order: just visit the Order’s profile page from the links to the right and hit the email button. We’re eager to hear from you.

Today’s Reader’s Goat is in a category we love: goat-themed objets. How and in what ways are sheep-goats immortalised as material things? Avid reader Ewe spotted these ovi-caprid masks at a roadside flea-market (coincidence?) and sent us her pictures. “These masks,” writes Ewe, “intrigued me strangely. Sure, we all have tons of sheep and goat knick-knacks about the house, but this I could actually wear! I suppose the mask-makers must have been really in touch with their inner ruminant – or maybe just wanted desperately to be one.”

Two caprinae, side-by-side, in harmony.

Sheep close-up

Thanks, Ewe! Any more ovicaprids trouvée? Send them in!

Do androids dream of electric sheep?

Top ten films for, about and by goats.

That is all.

What tangled webs we weave

Caprinae appear to exert an extraordinary fascination on the imagination of genetic scientists. The lure of goaty DNA is too much to resist, it seems, and meddling in it is common. First to achieve international fame, of course, was the clone Dolly. Long since given over to the tender ministrations of the taxidermist, she stands now in mute, stuffed but proud immortality in a glass cage in the foyer of an Edinburgh museum, with a view of the koi pond. In our first post we alluded to the manipulations of goat mammery glands, whose altered emissions protect against nefarious chemical attack -- not the first instance of militarised goats. Our enthusiasm for this project is tempered only by a nagging sense of logistical practicality; surely some sort of “gas mask” would be easier and lighter to carry than a mature female goat strapped to your back probably in some sort of complex webbing which would enable swift teat-access?

Udder manipulation does not stop there. A story from last year reminds us of plans to develop the web-spinning goat, able to squirt strands of spider’s silk from their genetically enhanced glands. More progress, perhaps, and another example of the goat in the service of humanity.

Yet at times we are visited by a vague sense of unease. Is all this entirely wise? Given the tendency for goats to climb to the tops of trees, the addition of web-slinging abilities may be ill-thought through, creating a wholly unintentional sort of canopy-dwelling aerial über-goat whose motives and movements we could only guess at. Should these genetically-enhanced goats ever turn feral then we may have more on our hands than we bargained for. It is testimony indeed to the noble and selfless character of goats that this has not yet happened.

Goat culture-shock

Summer: the time not only for some of our members to disport themselves on Mediterranean beaches and secrete themselves in pampas grass hot on the trail of a zoological coup, but also for festivals. Our eye turns inevitably to the Festival City: Edinburgh. And, with a sense of sick shock, surprise, and a little sadness, really, we note the profound lack of sheep-and-goat themed entertainment on offer in the world’s largest conglomeration of annual international cultural festivals.

Of the Edinburgh International Festival itself, one might hope for some goatish cavorting in the production of Euripides’ The Bacchae (there is little Classical Greek drama without some goatery, we find), though, bizarrely, this is not mentioned as a selling point. The programme otherwise reads depressingly as if the organisers somehow thought they could write the goat out of high culture altogether.

We are aghast, after thoroughly interrogating the Edinburgh International Jazz and Blues Festival, Book Festival, and Film Festival sites, to have our searches returned with a contemptuous ‘no matches found.’ Has the world gone insane?

With trembling fingers we move to the Fringe. Here, at least, there is some hope, though a sheep-theme is more prominent by far than anything goaty (too edgy?). For the parsimonious, free stand-up comedy is provided by Bringing in the Sheep. We are keen to see anything by The Black Sheep, and like the succinctly titled Men With Bananas (Using Eco-Horror Movie Clips) Demonstrate Handy Survival Tips For Dealing With Rampaging Frogs, Zombie Sheep, Gigantic Poisonous Shrews, Marauding Snails, 6ft Killer Chickens And Radioactive Weasals, Preparing You For... Nature's Revenge, which also promises ‘horror and nudity.’ A production of the Mystery Plays intrigues us, as we are told ‘audience members can interact with the ensemble whilst being surrounded by sheep,’ which sounds lovely.

Thus is the sheep associated with trifling and comedy. In contrast, the high-minded seriousness of goat-inspired drama is brought home by the Polish thespian troupe, Song of the Goat/Teatr Piesn Kozla. Their show, Lacrimosa, is, thrillingly, billed as

a poetry of violence, a metaphor for totalitarianism and the blind rage of a single person placing themselves on an equal par with God.

We expect nothing less from a theatre company inspired by ruminants.

Though afterwards, you may need to go for a drink.

Thanks to an Edinburgh Hon.Mem. for the Fringe links!

breaking news

My dear fellow OVMs. I spotted the elusive mermoufflon on the lovely island of Syros. Or at least that was my first impression and I sincerely hope that I was not carried away with overexcitement. I am returning to the sighting spot tomorrow and plan to secrete myself in the pampas grass until I manage to get a good picture and post it here exclusively. Wish me luck.

Troglodyte sheep invents art-form

There is no doubt among members of the Order that ovicaprids have inspired great works of art. Countless artists have drawn upon their grace, dignity and power, using them as a sort of ruminant Muse. What, though, of the ovicaprids’ own urge to express themselves?

Some glimpse into the creative yearnings of the sheep, at least (we are not told what breed), comes from Indonesian province of Pacitan. For there, we were deeply fascinated to learn from a BBC Worldservice programme, lies the Tabuhan Cave. This cave is called the Cave of Music, for the rock formations therein possess the strange quality that, if struck, they produce a pleasing and tuneful note. Local villagers come to the cave often and so hammer upon the stalagmites and stalactites as to produce a haunting and beautiful music.

Reader, it was not the villagers who discovered the properties of this cave. No; it was not until (many years ago) a shepherd and his flock took refuge there that the discovery was made. For a forever nameless but magnificent sheep came into sharp contact with a stalactite, thereby emitting a sonorous tone and filling the subterranean chamber with unexpected music. A happy accident, many would say; a chance encounter of a high-speed sheep and an immobile rock formation, a random blunder which only serves to illustrate, if anything, the clumsiness of this ruminant. Well, we do not think so. That sheep knew what she was about, and, at a single stroke, expressed herself, created a new musical form, and secured a substantial tourist-income for her village for decades to come.

The villagers still make music in the Tabuhan Cave, though there are fears that their ancient art may be in decline. Whether sheep are permitted to attend – or occasionally perform – is not at the moment clear.

The OVM salutes...

…those noble members, agents and operatives who have recently left for field operations. You know who you are. Rest assured that we here at the General Outreach, Advice & Teaching Service (GOATS) of the OVM will strive to continue our work of education and enlightenment, and will be monitoring your progress. We know that you will fulfil you duties without a single whiff of disgrace.

The Command & Administrative Protocols Reconnaissance & Intelligence Department stands by in case of emergency. Remember the code word. Remember those you are serving and protecting; and those with whom you aim to deal and destroy. Remember to avoid giving subtle signals which may blow your cover. Remember the values of the goat.

May the moufflon go with you.

Goat couture

We tend, not doubt, to associate goats with the idyllic countryside and verdant pasturage. But more and more of us are choosing goats as pets – or, as we prefer here at the OVM, Platonic Life Partners. And as many of us are city dwellers, the urban goat is increasingly common, enhancing the pleasure of many.

Sharing your life with an urban goat, however, brings with it a whole new set of challenges. A goat is not just for Christmas. You cannot simply shut up your goat in your penthouse all day, not least in case, driven by its natural lively sense of curiosity, it happens upon some of your more tactless condiments while rummaging through your cupboards. Goats are social animals. They need to see and be seen. And for the urban goat, image is important. They need to look good. What’s better than Spandex for a sophisticated metropolitan goat? Remember, too, that a goat just can’t have too many shoes. So if you have an urban goat, for heaven’s sake accessorize. Because they’re worth it.

Standing on the shoulders of goats

We go back a long way, we and the sheep/goat. It has been some ten thousand years since we – together – took our first trembling and tentative steps along the exhilarating, adventurous roller-coaster road of domestication. And before that, we hunted down and ate the wild goat like, well, an animal. Only the dog has been with us longer as a companion. Yet what do we understand about our common history? About the hopes, dreams, fears and aspirations of the ovicaprid? So little.

In these early posts we are setting out our aims. We are trying to define our parameters, visioneer our ambitions, limn our remit. We will, of course, bring you news (we now know, for instance, of the sad fate of Rose, the Sudanese matrimonial goat). But part of this project is an unsheepish determination to plumb vigorously the long story of our intertwining with the goat and sheep, and to demonstrate just how much it is we owe the ovicaprid. The goat, as we will show, was with us at the birth of civilisation and state-formation; had a hand in the invention of writing and bureaucracy; and even accompanied us into the afterlife.

We are all standing on the shoulders of goats.

The logic of goats and the goats of logic

I concur fully with the concerns of my esteemed colleague, Moufflon Tony, as he draws attention in a previous post to the deficiencies of logic on its own to fully appreciate the goat and our relationship to ruminants. While awaiting his finely textured analysis, I venture only to say that perhaps we should be on the trail of a phenomenology of the goat.

But it seems that the goat itself may be useful as an analytical tool. The versatile ovicaprid may be used as an elegant machine (if such heartlessness can for a moment be forgiven) for information processing; merely by nodding, the goat enacts a gripping drama of data flow. Viewers of a sensitive disposition should note that the footage linked to contains graphic images of cardboard innards.

Thus does the goat again serve humanity.

The innocence of goats

Such is their childlike wonder at the world that goats tend to fall over when they are surprised. This flaccidness in the face of the unexpected is hard-wired into their central nervous system, it appears. And in these jaded and cynical times, is there not a lesson there for all of us?

But I wonder. Many of the goats of my acquaintance are distinctly unflappable. Just what is it that may so surprise a goat?

Just one of the kids...

Φοβού τα πυροκέρατά μου

A few words about our motto. It is read "fovou ta pyrokerata mou" and translates as "fear my horns of fire". It refers to an inscription on the Early Bronze Age moufflon figurine pictured above found in Western Cyprus by the International Expedition in 1953. As soon as they had exposed and lifted it, the archaeologists were left speechless to discover that by pressing on the moufflon's horns, the moufflon produced fire through a complex mechanism of flint, wick and fuel (which had amazingly not evaporated despite it being in the moufflon for thousands of years). The inscription was read by expert epigraphists on site and the language seemed like a precursor of classical Greek while it also anticipated its modern transformation. There is universal agreement among experts in Cypriot archaeology that the moufflon, whose pyrokerata the addressees of the inscription are meant to fear, had made the mechanism himself and used it as a symbol of status and power. Many exciting studies on state formation and social stratification have been based on this find. Apologies for the quality of the photograph. It was taken in 1953 after all.

Is everything goat or is every goat not a thing?

It has come to my attention that a group of philosophers are working on a project aiming to prove that Everything is Goat. I have great sympathy for the colleagues' intentions but I fear that the project is rather ill-conceived not least because they tend to oscillate from the analytic to the synthetic in a rather unwarranted manner thus undermining the consistency and coherence of their argument. My position is, briefly, this: I believe that logic and metaphysics can only fail us in our (common) aim. The starting point should be an ethics of recognition and I envisage this blog, and indeed the OVM, as an attempt to establish this moral knowledge of the other (goat) by drawing on a diverse range of intuition, insights, and experiences. I hope to be able to say more on this soon.

Ancient Prejudice

May I quote Catullus?

Carmen 69
Wonder not, Rufus, why none of the opposite sex wishes to place her dainty thighs beneath you, not even if you undermine her virtue with gifts of choice silk or the enticement of a pellucid gem. You are being hurt by an ugly rumour which asserts that beneath your armpits dwells a ferocious goat. This they fear, and no wonder; for it's a right rank beast that no pretty girl will go to bed with. So either get rid of this painful affront to the nostrils or cease to wonder why the ladies flee.

Let us be clear. It is not our intention, here at the OVM, to engage in smut. Nor do we advocate relationships with goats which may be unseemly. But, friends, it is not against this which we must struggle? The Latin poet (84-54 BC) did not begin it; it did not end with him. This anti-goat prejudice, here encapsulated in the lines of a poet – himself called goatish in his pursuit of lithe young Roman maidens – stinks to high heaven. It is the odour of anti-ovicapridism; the stench of ruminant disdain.

Friends, has this not gone on long enough? Is it not time to love the goat? To embrace, however metaphorically, the sheep? And to revel in the perfumes of our noble mammalian cousin?

Blog launch

Allow us first to introduce ourselves. We are the Order of the Vigilant Moufflon. The purpose of this blog is simple. To observe and record the activity of goats the world over. We hear you ask why. That too is simple. It has long been our philosophical contention (insisted upon mainly by our esteemed member Moufflon Tony but still to be tested empirically, hence the blog) that, despite the surprisingly long-lived theory of the great Charles Darwin, goats are humans' closest relatives in the wonderful extended family that is the spectrum of species. They can be romantic; they have a dark side; they are accomplished scientists (as our other esteemed member, Ruminant, has always maintained); they are just as sensitive as us to matters such as death and its effect on socialisation processes. So this is a call to all enlightened goat lovers out there: Keep the scientific evidence rolling in. To everyone else: Watch this space and be prepared to be amazed at those wonderful creatures.