…are NOT the Monchichis, but instead, goats.
Yes, you read that correctly. Let me explain.
‘Twas a sunny day in San Francisco, and Daisy and I were awaiting our friends to arrive to play tennis. Note that we’re in the heart of the city, right around the corner from Buena Vista Park; This is NOT in the boonies. I notice a dog scampering up the hill (which is insanely steep, as you’ll see from the other photos) and couldn’t believe he wasn’t falling down as he vertically ascended. Next thing I know, I hear a thudding sound coming from above – at the top of the treeline it appeared to be a herd of cattle running about. Cattle. In the middle of San Francisco. Um, ok.
Upon further review, we saw that they weren’t in fact, cattle, but instead, goats. Yes. That’s right. GOATS. Next thing we know, the goats are running down the hill.
GOATS. RUNNING DOWN A HILL. IN SAN FRANCISCO.
They were eventually herded into the back yard of the house next to the tennis courts, and before long our serene, beautiful morning was tainted by the pungent, unmistakable scent of eau de goat.
Makes you kind of wish they were Monchichis after all…
