Goats ‘n Glamour

goats galoremeet George

I have seen all sorts of crazy home decor in my many years in real estate, but one home has left an eternal impression. Everything seemed eerily normal the day I made an appointment to check out a standard two story home in Fort Worth. I was representing a young couple that had just started their home search, and the moderate level of enthusiasm was felt by all as we entered the threshold. The first thing that greeted us was the odd sour smell of soiled diapers mixed with garbage that had to have included remnants of a spicy dinner long ignored. We continued onward despite the pungent aroma, and did a quick scope of the lower floor layout.

With my nose still plugged, I marched upstairs and stood at the open landing on the second floor. There to my right, in all his regal glory, (I assume it was a he, but we shall never know) was half of a goat mounted on the wall. Not just a head like your standard rugged variety, but head, neck, torso and front legs too. So that’s what goat hooves look like up close. I had so many questions.

Why only half of him?

Is his butt in the other room?

Did he have a name?

Was he a pet?

Seriously, did they save the other half?

What did this poor mountain goat ever do to this family?

My client found a picture near the half carcass and there it was. Evidence. A man, his gun, and a goat whose soul had departed. Poor goat. Let’s call him George. This is his story.

George was sore that day. He had been butting heads with Jim about avoiding the purple bushes because he was sure that it gave him the runs. He sauntered off to the south side of the hill and found some tasty weeds to nibble on while he simmered down. He was chewing and daydreaming when all of a sudden he took a whiff of ripe human. (hadn’t showered in 4 days and we’ll call him Bub) He continued to munch while completely aware that Bub was failing terribly at hiding. George snickered. He was indifferent to the human variety as long as they gave him space. They were usually taking pictures, always his bad side, and were annoyingly loud. He did have to chase one human for tripping on the rocks near one of his kids, and gave her quite a scare. Oh, that was a good day. He was about to turn and look at Bub in the eye when BAM, a shot rang out and he felt an odd burning sensation in his rump.

The last words in George’s mind were, “Oh no he didnt.”

I am sorry George. No goat should have to endure this humiliating after-life.

George now hangs irreverently on this PETA-scoffing, bottom feeding, spicy noodle eating, lard bag’s wall. For no other reason than, “Uhhh, that’ll be cool on my wall.” (Bub grunts then scratches butt)

Needless to say, they didn’t buy this house.

Peace be with you, George.


Marilyn Monroe Moments


Hot summer days in Texas. Gotta love ’em. Not just any heat, mind you. A heat that comes from the ground up and from the atmosphere down in a miserable swirling convection. The moist (my least favorite word) heavy air makes you sweat profusely from every pore and also from places you didn’t know you could. Ladies, you can relate. As a woman, I pride myself on being able to make myself presentable when the occasion calls for it, and today was no exception. Hair, make-up, dress, heeled sandals were all up to par and I was truly ready to pound some pavement.

The goal was to invite as many neighbors to my Saturday afternoon Open House in Fort Worth. So door after door and driveway after driveway, I soldiered on. There were friendly neighbors, strange neighbors, scary doorbells, dogs mistaken for horses, and a home that smelled like cat pee. (I didn’t stop at that one) I made it all the way down to the end of the
street with just three more homes left when I saw a black SUV drive past with peculiar intention.

I started to mumble under my breath, “No, no, no, no. It’s early. Don’t stop. Oh crap, they’re parking.”

I immediately pivot and hauled my high heeled behind down the street at full speed. I began to visualize myself moving in slow motion. This was not a glamorous Bo Derek run in the sand with music playing in the background. It more closely resembled a lame survivor attempting escape from a zombie horde.

Rule #1 from Zombieland. Cardio        zombieland-rule-1

As if this graceful scene lacked substance, a giant burst of boiling hot air began to swirl around my legs and then shot up into my dress. My mortifying Monroe moment was not lacking an audience, for this street housed a good many over 60 retirees who pride themselves on their Saturday putterings. Ladies and gentlemen, I just gave the neighborhood a good old fashioned peep show. What was probably just a few seconds after a ridiculous failed attempt, my dress seemed to float in a bubble of hot air for what seemed like an indecent amount of time.

Alice in Wonderland, you have nothing on me with your lame tree trunk adventures. Floating on your laurels and a dress full of petticoats is not a hardship when compared to a mishap such as this. I’d like to join you for a drink of that labeled toxic elixir, for I have just traded professionalism with notoriety of the unsavory variety.

<sigh> Oh well, I wonder if I’ll get some calls?