When I was eight years old, there was nothing I wanted more than a goat. I wanted to bring one home, set him up in our back yard so he’d play and run around and butt things with his head — forgetting, of course, that all he’d actually do is eat everything in sight.
Why did I want this? I have no idea, honestly, other than the heart wants what it wants. …
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Half Marathoner to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.