When I was a little boy—around ten years old—a new neighbor moved in next door. The five families who had lived there before had to move out because the house had been sold by the Treuhand for a “good price.”

The bank director now owned a house that was about three times as big as ours. He lived there alone for about eight years and had three different wives during that time. However, throughout that entire period, he owned only one goat, which would bleat right outside my window. When the director started going on vacation more often, I was allowed to feed Gusti every day. The goat, who was very stubborn and could devour potato peels at an incredible pace, outlived not only three partners but—as far as I know—also the old neighbor’s next two moves.

Over five years ago now, my parents decided to keep goats as well. Of course, the lead billy goat had to be named Gusti again. Whenever we called out “Gusti,” all three goats would actually respond to the name. Although, of course, Luise and Lotte knew very well what their names were—or so we believed, at least.

Later, when we were thinking of a suitable name for a leather brand whose product line also includes Goat leather, only one name came to mind:

Gusti Leather