So we've been out of gas to cook with since Friday and have yet to find any on the island.  While the situation has had me wish for ready-cooked food.... I wasn't really expecting that wish to come true.

Our dog, however, felt obliged to come up with a solution to the "uncooked food" problem I suppose, and decided to bring a cooked goat to the house over the weekend.

Yes, I did say cooked goat. 
Ok, fine, perhaps "roasted and really, really dead" is more appropriate, but who's counting.

So on Sunday, while the boys were in St. Martin attending a birthday party (what a bunch of lucky kids) I hear Lola saying: 

"Uh, Mom, there's a goat leg in the middle of the porch!?"

And yes, I could actually smell it, before I could see it, I just couldn't clearly identify the source of the smell of DEATH!



How that little dog got that goat leg, which is longer than his own body onto our porch (which is up 9 stair steps) to begin with I don't know, but who am I to question those things.  I then properly dispose of the gross thing (toss it behind our fence) and keep packing up stuff to go to the beach.  Fast forward a few hours, the girls and I had a great time at the beach and shortly we're back at the house.

But wait, what's that?.... oh yes, it's the unmistakable smell of DEATH.... AGAIN!!!

I guess it was short-sighted of me to not suspect a goat body, to go along with that goat leg, but hey, we just moved here not too long ago, how would I know these things?!
So right on the bottom of the steps lay the "roasted" goat body, that at some point accompanied the goat leg (which is now behind our fence).



Cute, eh?
Or as 3 year old Lola said with a grin on her face (because she knows she's making a joke and she's damn proud of it):

"It's not gross, Mommy - it's tasty and delicious!"

(hurl)