It seems that every time I visit my grandparents he has a new and interesting story to share. This last visit, he told me that once upon a time he had a pet billy goat that he lovingly referred to as "Billy."
My Grandpa told us that he loved that goat but if my memory has not failed me, the goat developed a bit of a humping problem and my Grandpa's father, my great-grandfather, said the Billy's life had to come to an end. Grandpa was not about to kill his cloven hoofed friend so his father was going to do the deed. As my Grandpa put it, the goat first had to be hit in the head with a sledge hammer "because that is the only way to kill a goat."
Um, I'm sorry. What?
But, after the first big blow to the head, the goat didn't seem to bat an eye and continued to run around the pen, I don't know, making the fence his woman or something. It was clear Billy was not going down without a fight so I'm pretty sure it ended with a shotgun. However, I have to hand it to the goat for fighting the good fight. And gettin' a little while he was at it.
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