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It's three hours past midnight,
In the towns and countryside,
With alliteration and small lights,
a goat group glibly glides
It's been a long weekend you see,
in this favoured tourist spot,
the visitors, they were too free,
bits of food, they did drop
So now the
local council man,
cranks back black iron gates,
and unleashes forth a herd that can,
devour all in their wake
But what of cans and wrappers there?
and emptied noodle pots,
a goat who'll eat such must be rare,
and for this business we need lots
If we think, we'll find a way,
Said the council man on his break,
With his drawing board that day,
designed a goat pulled rake
Little wheels on either side,
and tines that pointed down,
For litter there's no where to hide,
But in the gutters of the town
But that's another story, involving a trained army of rats.
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The poem's a lot better than the idea. |
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This does seem to work in some places though. I was in Addis Ababa before christmas, and it's fairly commonplace to see herds of goats roaming the streets who pounce on anything vaguely foodlike, (including the bark on some pieces of timber I was trying to buy) Apparently the owners of the goats bring them in the morning, or the start of the week, in the knowledge that they will find plenty of food, this means the owner doesn't have to worry about feeding them himself, later he comes back and escorts them back to his land, on the outskirts of the city. |
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And armies of pigs used to do this in large US cities. |
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Yuck, A whole new set of abstract cookies , for bacteria' s feasting delite . |
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