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.

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