Last night’s campfire really couldn’t have been more perfect. It was warm enough for me to wear shorts but cool enough I wanted a jacket–exactly the temperature I like at a campfire. There was not a breath of wind all evening. Last night Phil started the fire before I brought Cuzco out. We didn’t want another goat flambeau disaster. No “Cuzco Crisp” at this campfire, if you please! We brought him out after the paper was burned up but the new fire smoke was still rolling. He spent some time, as always, taking in the vapors.
Although it was “Cuzco’s” campfire, there was a limit to our hospitality. I brought the squirt gun so we could keep the old fella at bay whenever the cooler was open. Phil and I wanted at least SOME of the buns and graham crackers for ourselves. Besides, when Cuzco goes on a junk food frenzy, he doesn’t exercise much caution. The line between comestibles and garbage is forgotten and Cuzco will inhale any box, bag, wrapper, or bottle that comes between his mouth and the goodies. Although Cuzco has always prided himself on his stomach of iron, I can’t imagine such a smorgasbord would be good for his digestion.
“No, you don’t like hot dogs, Cuzco!”
“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t tried this particular hot dog before!”
“Cuzco, get off my hot dog!”
“Are you sure I don’t like hot dogs? Just because I haven’t liked them for fifteen years doesn’t mean I won’t like them tonight!”
Cuzco has always begged for a s’more, but he’s never been allowed to taste more than a small piece of mine. A good s’more is too much work to feed to a goat! But last night was a special occasion and Cuzco isn’t just any goat. For the first time in his life, I made him a s’more for his very own. It was ooey-gooey with melty chocolate and a perfectly toasted marshmallow that was crisped on the outside and liquid in the middle. Cuzco put the finishing touches on it himself. Like any over-excited kid getting his first s’more, he immediately dropped it into the ashes. He dove toward the campfire to retrieve it but Phil held him back while I fished it out for him. I picked out a few embers and sticks but Cuzco snatched it out of my hands before I could quite finish de-ashing it. Oh well, charcoal is standard seasoning at any campfire and it’s good for the digestion. Cuzco swallowed the thing whole and a big gooey gob of marshmallow dripped down the side of his chin. He spent the rest of the evening trying only somewhat successfully to lick it off.
He also got to hear some fiddle tunes.
Toward the end he stood braced against my chair for balance. I tried to convince him to lay down because his knees were buckling and his hind end was swaying, but he preferred to lean on me instead. I liked having his sticky, knobby old head in my lap anyway. It was a good campfire.