Last Blast, or, Goat Farming in Harmony

This was our last pack-of-3 hurrah. Friday, Bree, Foster and I left the cares of city life behind for a weekend of seaside walks, wine tasting and window shopping in Cambria and Paso Robles. It's a trip we've been planning for months, complete with a scenic drive and an inn that caters to our 4-legged charge.

Escaping the beginning of oppressive LA summer, we made our way north. It was a lovely meander up the coast with a stop-over in Santa Barbara for the dog to walk and us to eat. The Cambria Shores in was fantastic and extremely dog friendly, with Foster enjoying the rare chance to sleep in bed with us. Or rather, on us.

We tasted wine (and bought too much, and joined a wine club); we walked along the beach (and Foz confronted, and overcame, his fear of boardwalks); we had extravagant picnics overlooking oceans and vineyards; we watched a flock of vultures have an extravagant picnic eating deer carrion in a vineyard; we saw elephant seals (and took too many photos of them); we got over-run with squirrel-like beach creatures, who may or may not have been rabid, but were certainly fearless; we drank more wine.

Somewhere along the way, as we made our slow drive back to the heat of LA and the Black Hole of our kitchen, that what we really needed to do is start a goat farm in Harmony, CA. Current population, 18. Soon to be 21 if we move there. Plus one dog.