Monnica and Patrick see us off at the corner next to a green, closed-down sports store where Ben, with whom I’ve only spoken on the phone, is going to meet us. Joe is with us too, speaking of the rugby tickets he’s just bought for 80 Euro to see Ireland and Australia in one of the last games at Cork Stadium. The first two are setting off in a rental car for Patrick’s family history to imbibe from baptismal records.
Once Ben arrives, he takes us through incredible countryside to the Magpie Cottage Dairy, where the goats stand outside and favor us interestedly in the beautiful weather. Ben’s here for a few weeks finishing his parents’ kitchen, and the parents – Phil and Chris – run the small place, which just won second place at the World Cheese Awards. They’re English, settling down in Ireland when Sussex got too dangerous.
The males eye the female goats wantonly from across the field, trapped by their own pens. Occasionally they let out a bleat, and the ladies don’t pay them half as much mind as when Ryan and I bring food. Running with Dusty, one of four greyhounds, he almost skips side-to-side to play with me, and I’m running full tilt. There are two Irish wolfhounds, four pigs, chickens, and Fred the horse.
Here, we eat our first home-cooked meal since Rachel sent us off. It’s delicious and a wondrous departure from peanut butter, sausage, bread, apples, cheese, and sardines.
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