Eulogy For a Goat

Back in March of 2005 I thought I’d delve into the new, exciting world of “blogs.” In the 12 years since, I’ve posted hundreds, if not thousands of misguided rants, solipsistic rambles, and the occasional half-baked insight.

Through all those years of posting, including atop the very webpage you are gazing upon now, there has somewhere been a photo of an audacious, feisty, and floppy-eared goat standing in front of a manure spreader.

That goat’s name was Petunia. Until this afternoon, the proper verb form would have been “is” Petunia.

But now she “was.” And what a goat she was.

Cantankerous, wary, strong-willed. Cunning, wily, and stubborn. All the great qualities in goatdom, plus those soft-as-silk floppy ears. To be perfectly honest, both this current blog and my previous effort, “Burque Babble” have tried and pretty much failed for a dozen years to equal the goatly mordancy which came so naturally to dear ‘ol Petunia. She was the Mort Sahl, Molly Ivins and H.L. Mencken of goats, rolled into one slightly, and then more than slightly, rotund hay-belly body.

Needless to say ‘ol girl, you’ll stay on as mascot here and be with me as long as I have any need for things like mascots, a high standard of orneriness, and the eternal lovely memory of a furtive caress of your silky, floppy ears.

Happy Trails, Petunia.


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