The humble, shaggy-coated goat is an integral and indispensable part of Greek island life. Indeed - clambering up and down precipitous cliff-faces or sitting insolently in the middle of the road - it is a feature of the landscape…
And it is also both a part of centuries-old culture - the rightful child of the great god Pan and cousin to the horned and hoofed faun of ancient mythology - as well as part of every day life as providers of milk, yogurt, cheese --- and goat stew.
Consider this seemingly picturesque scene of a pretty little boat bobbing beside the jetty with a cargo of goats…
A second glance reveals the stark reality as one goat lolls over the side with its throat slashed open, while the others, hobbled to prevent escape, shiver in anticipation of their imminent demise so that their goat-bells tremble in a faint, predictive death knell…
As an island race, we British also once lived cheek by jowl with out daily food. Nowadays, Mr Sainsbury, Mr Tesco and the other kind grocer-men thoughtfully look after such things for us, thus shielding us from the bloody truth about life and death and the true cost of food…
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