Well, technically, it is my goat. I bought it didn’t I? And for the record, none of this would have come up if someone would have taken the time to send me a thank-you note. Forget donations. I’m straight micro-loans now.
Pa said not to do this–name birds and such—but he’s gone fourteen years now and I do mostly as I please. We weren’t much for sparrows or ‘keets. We were canary people, long as I can remember. They died quick—first whiff of that bad air. Sparrows were fighters, and my people liked an early alarm. [...]
You know your son’s a werewolf, and you know exactly when the full moon occurs. Why then do you not chain him up in the garage with either half a cow or a live goat, thus sparing everyone his rampage? The trick is to have something to occupy his need for bloody mayhem. Something he’ll [...]