If you were a girl (or two) who really really really wanted a goat (or two), you would start a little business selling eggs. You would go out twice a day -- rain, snow, or shine -- and you would pamper your hens because happy hens lay lots of eggs.
You would call your business Daisy Family Eggs, and you would make little labels for the egg cartons. You would ask all your friends if they wanted to donate to your cause in exchange for farm-fresh eggs from happy hens.
You would faithfully collect the eggs from the nesting boxes and wash them -- even when they were extremely poop-covered. When you squabbled with your sister about who had to wash the most poop-covered eggs, you would sit down and write out an egg-washing policy that involved flipping a coin to see who got to choose the first four eggs, then alternating every four eggs after that and keeping track from day to day. Happy hens must have happy keepers.
You would track how many eggs went out and how much money came in using a ledger designed especially for you by your grandfather. You would open all Valentine cards with one eager thought: How much can I add to the goat fund? When you were doing your history lesson, you would hear about the Virginia Company and that would make you ask questions about stocks, and you would find out about something called the stock market. You would insist upon trying the stock market out for yourself and would invest birthday money from last year. You would do research and choose your own penny stocks based on things you like (Google and Apple computers), and you would watch your stocks tick up and down and up and down. You would cheer when it was up. You would pout when it was down.
You would count your money often. You would balance your ledger carefully. You would check out the Nigerian dwarf goat farms online that were showing off their newborn goats. You would ask your mama, Is this farm close to us? Is this one?
You would get your daddy to stop by one of the farms. You would meet two baby does there. You would fall in love. The next day, you would go back with a one-hundred-dollar bill as a deposit for those twin baby goats. You would name them Buttercup and Clover. You would hold them and smile and wish you could take them home right that minute.
You would. And you did.
In June, Buttercup and Clover will be coming home to live with two girls who really really really wanted a goat (or two).