by Dave Ellis

My wife wants a goat. It took a lot of courage for me to say that. She would like to have a living, breathing, garbage-disposal-of-an-animal walking around our backyard. She thinks that we would be able to milk it and use the milk for cheese and, well, milk. I told her if she waits long enough, historically speaking, I will turn into an old goat. I’ve even shown her pictures of my grandfather for proof. She still wants a four-legged one.

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