Poverty Is Not an Accident

Poverty Is Not an Accident
Nelson Mandela

Sunday, July 17, 2011

I'm sick about the goats.

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they've not been seen in over a week. there's alfalfa fields out there, but no water. there are also feral dogs, coyotes and many people who eat goats. read this: http://livinginthehood.blo​gspot.com/2011/07/i-killed​-my-goats.html
I killed my goats.

i'm too sick to write it again. It's my fault; I trusted people here. big mistake
 no, if they were seen by a decent person, that person would have called animal control. either feral dogs or coyotes got them or they've been stolen and probably eaten. Or that nasty landlord killed them.
 you know what I sacrificed out there in Belen to keep my animals safe: no sewage, running water, heat, no car and so far from groceries, the mean neighbors, the filth. Well, I lived like that in Fort Sumner for nearly 2 years, before that. And I was TORTURED out here, by TWO landlords in TWO MONTHS, trying to find secure housing for my animals. I love those goats like best friends, like family. They trusted me and I let them down. I can't forgive myself.
I can't even TALK to anybody out here about how I feel. They'll just use it against me, call me crazy or satanic or something else stupid. I've never been so lonely in my whole life. This place is evil. And I don't USE that word! I'm a atheist, so I don't get next to that demonic crap. This is HUMAN evil. They're very warped, cruel and cold.
my head knows how much I've done. My heart sees those trusting, funny, loving, SMART, silly, tender eyes of theirs and just TEARS inside my chest
I mean, it's visceral, this pain. I can't even go up and LOOK for them. It's five miles. It's too hot for me by nine in the morning. I can't walk or see well. The roads are gravel washboard and go for MILES up in that settlement. I can't carry water; it's too heavy. And NOBODY will take me up to even LOOK for them!
and the guy who took me up there so i could get them picked a fight with me and got REALLY abusive, simply because i said, "Please, Ray, don't argue with me all the time" He contradicts the simplest comments; I'm afraid to speak around him. He threatened to beat me, right in front of the feed store owner and a neighbor who ran over to see why he was screaming. He stranded me there, seven miles from my house, two miles from the goats. I hitch hiked to the goats place. The couple had even volunteered to bring my goats down here to their new home, very close to where I'm living. But they were gone. So the couple brought me back here. I've asked SIX neighbors, practically the only people I know in town, to take me up to look for them. They're ALL afraid to get involved! Either that, or they won't do it unless i pay them. I have no money left for the rest of the month.
I got the goats, by the way, for milk. I got the chickens for eggs. Out of 25 chickens, only 7 survive. I can't keep them here and that man wants them off his place.    
I'm having nightmares when I doze off: they're hanging by their back legs, kicking and struggling, as their throats are slit.

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