Bought a beer yesterday to kill the slugs in the garden; it was Callie's favorite brand.
Some of you met her here, and knew she was sometimes amusing, occasionally aggravating, destructive when unsupervised, and always her own "person".
Frequently stolen from a living history museum to attend frat parties in Waco, her owners gave her to us before she decided to join the fraternity full time.
At those parties she developed a taste for beer (and cigarettes, which she ate). Free grazing one day she discovered Butch visiting us. He liked beer too. She snuck up and stole a long-neck off the ground by his chair. Tipped it up and finished it, before he knew what happened.
He became a special friend as long as he let her have the dregs from a bottle. Providing it wasn't that cheap, nasty beer. She had her standards, even though she was a goat.
Age crept up on her, and she's been grazing in Heavenly pastures for almost two years. She's been eating their gardens and dancing on the tops of their cars, too. But, as the old song goes "In Heaven there is no beer...."
After we fill a pan in the garden to exterminate those slugs, I've asked Art to pour the last of that "barley pop" over her grave. I can see her licking her lips, and flicking her tail, working to get those last few drops from the bottle. Enjoy, Callie!
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