Benson

There was a goat that lived at the shipyards that we named Benson. Benson followed me everywhere, so I tied a couple of red rags around his neck for when I needed to wipe my greasy hands. I would call Benson over and use the rags around his neck. At the end of the day, I would take the rags off of him and throw them away.

I really liked Benson. I would climb up on a barge to check out the pump engines. I could hear his hoof feet clicking on the steel deck as he followed me. I would jump onto the tugboat and climb the steep stairs to the wheelhouse. Benson would be right behind me, climbing like a mountain goat.

One day, I had to go to Corpus Christi, Texas, to work on a boat. I was there for about four days. When I came back, I couldn't find Benson anywhere. I asked around, and one of the other yard workers said that he tasted really good. While I was gone, the other workers cooked my goat and ate him. I was devastated. I have wanted another goat ever since.