In our family, we eat like animals. My 14-year-old son eats like a pig. I eat like an ox. My husband? Like a dragon. And, according to the Chinese zodiac, which assigns animals to specific birth years, our five-year-old daughter, Claire, devours her grub like a goat.

As a keepsake from our time spent in Guangzhou, China, while finalizing Claire’s adoption, we purchased plates from a street vendor, each decorated with an animal that corresponds to one of our birth years. My son’s plate depicts a plump, satisfied pig. The ox on my plate looks hefty and peaceful. My husband’s plate displays a fire-breathing dragon.

Not surprisingly, goat plates were in short supply when we were there, in 2004. With the average age of placement for Chinese infants at about 12 months, we were one of many families who were there adopting daughters born in 2003, the year of the goat.

We bought three plates, figuring we would find a goat plate somewhere else. Then, to pass the time it took for the Chinese government to process our paperwork, we ate. We tried Peking duck. We gorged on noodles. My son ordered a plain pie from a nearby Pizza Hut. To our amusement, it arrived covered with ham and pineapple. My husband, whose work involves frequent trips to China, taught our son how to order a fried egg to his liking. If you want it medium well, say to the cook at the egg station, “One egg, 80 percent.” His egg was perfect every time.

Our appetites were insatiable, and Claire was malnourished. It was obvious from the moment she was first placed in my arms. I felt I was holding a baby bird wrapped in five layers of clothing. Her hair was brittle. Her skin was dry.

We held our breath the first time we sat down to eat with Claire. I slowly lowered a small cube of watermelon onto her empty plate. She gobbled it. After I could detect no trace of it in her mouth, I gave her another piece. Gone. Then I tried cantaloupe. Followed by bits of tofu, pasta, and meat. She inhaled each bite, glancing up at me in anticipation of the next morsel.

For Thanksgiving, all five families in our adoption group celebrated the holiday of overindulgence at a nearby restaurant. In the center of our table whirled an enormous Lazy Susan, bearing platters of duck, noodles, and vegetables. We heaped the bounty onto our plates, and transferred it in tiny portions to our daughters, whose appetites would have done the pilgrims proud.

After our return to the states, we displayed our three Chinese plates on a shelf in the kitchen and pretty much forgot about them. But one day, while eating breakfast, four-year-old Claire turned to me and asked, “Where’s my plate?”

On his next trip to China, my husband asked a colleague if he could arrange to have a goat plate made. Before we knew it, designs were being e-mailed and talk of an entire set of dishes arose.

Today, were happy to report that a new plate has been added to our display. It depicts a hungry young goat, eyeing some tasty-looking leaves. Below it, at the kitchen counter on any morning, you’ll see Claire devouring Cheerios from her matching goat bowl. Breakfast never tasted so good.