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Growing up, cleanliness and order were never priorities in my house. My family of five lived in a van until I was about four, my siblings and I sharing a chest of drawers for a bed. As fucked up as that is, it’s still a little bit adorable, admit it.
Once we settled into a bit more space, that space was decorated in the classic “insane petting zoo from hell” style. At one point, I shared my bedroom with seven chickens.
With thirty-seven cats, three dogs, five screaming peacocks, two horses, an angry little pony, six goats, and a very energetic hoarder to manage them all, my childhood home could turn the strongest of stomachs.
I have fond memories of our unneutered male pygmy goat “Bill” rising proudly from the open trunk of one of our many broken down cars and chasing the school bus. Every morning, with his little…
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