Important papers had disappeared. Priceless memorabilia had been chewed on. This was the last straw – so to speak.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Ron said, “but the goat has to go.”
Anita glared at him. “I told you, he said he was from the government.”
“Also, I think you need help. Goats don’t talk.”
“Fine. Tell him, Billy. Tell him what you told me.”
Ushered angrily from yet another house, Billy the Goat laughed to himself. Yet another marriage on the rocks, and he’d even had a week’s worth of great eating. Trophy bases and vinyl records are the best.