This is my goat. He's had various names including Goaty, Harry, Mr. Goat, and Squirt (because he was white like the soda Squirt...don't ask). I've had him since I was seven years old and he would be the first thing I'd grab if there were a fire. My dad bought him for me as a gift for doing well in school. Sure he's lost some luster and fluffiness over the years and his gray horns, nose, and hooves are slowly flaking away so the interior material can be seen, but that's only because he's very well loved and has been there with me from childhood to teenage years, from my singledom to my current soon-to-be newlywedness, and will undoubtedly be there when I have my own kids all the way until I'm a old prune. By then all his stuffing will probably be gone and his head will hang even more limply than it does now, but he'll be there nonetheless. I cherish his matted fur just as much as I did when it was lustrous and flawless and fluffy as a long-haired cat; maybe even more now. And yes, I still hug him at night and talk to him when no one else is around to talk to.
Who needs teddy bears when one has a raggedy old mountain goat like this?
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