Close to a cow's milk, though a little sweeter.

[ Of course they always used theirs right away so it didn't have time to take a turn and taste bad. He thinks maybe he'll get a few goats when he returns home. The carving knife stops mid-carve as he realizes what he's just thought. Going home has had nothing but a bittersweet feeling attached to it, knowing what he'd be missing here, but for a moment he saw more than just curing himself of his rage. He began to see building his life again. The knife moves again. ]

Goats are a better value. Smaller, easier to feed, unable to trample you.