My owner, a gentleman by the name of Mr. William Sianis, was a kind enough soul, albeit an opportunist. Never one to miss the spotlight, he was flamboyant and prone to anger. He valued me above all else, for I was a novelty, a curiosity and of course a money maker.

“A goat?” Mr. Sianis would say. “A goat gives milk. A goat gives cheese. A goat is a friend!  What is not to like in a goat?”

He was in fact so fond of me that he named his establishment after my species: The Billy Goat Tavern. It was quite a catchy name and drew in much business, especially since he often propped me upon a bar stool and fed me beer.

In those days, you see, we had no such organizations as PETA nor the ASPCA. Animals were mere servants to humankind. If occasionally we rebelled, who could…