Days of Old, Days of the Goat

Ever since I brought up goats yesterday, I've been thinking about my college roommate, Marilyn, AKA Goat Lady. At least she claimed that was her kenning. (She would approve of my using that term instead of 'nickname.' We were both English majors.)
I can see that this is going to be a rambling blog with excessive punctuation. Just one of those things....
Anyway, Marilyn claimed she got that title because she once had a goat. I never believed anyone else called her that, but she did her best to make it happen.
(She was the first person to tell me I was funny, which was news to me. When I visited her a few years after college she read one of my letters back to me to prove it.)
We lived in a musty basement apartment that was ridiculously cheap because the only bedroom had so much water damage that it couldn't be used. Somehow we got two single beds formed in a tee shape in the small living room tucked in between an incredible number of possessions. We stored some stuff in the bedroom, but officially, we weren't supposed to. There was no floor space left over so a lot of things got stacked on her massive oak table and chest of drawers.
Like the stuffed goat.
We went to Western Washington State College (that became a university before I graduated). I don't know why the college had stuffed animals, but when Marilyn learned that they could be checked out like library books, she did. Owls, wolves, snakes rotated through, but the goat remained month after month.
It was there when I moved out. I don't know if Western ever got it back- or even wanted it back. I don't think that I'll ever find out because I haven't heard from Marilyn since she moved to Seattle. I'll never be able to find her either. Even with Facebook, because her last name is Jones.
Marilyn Jones. I guess that's why she wanted a distinctive nickname- er, I mean kenning.
Nancy Sherer