And it came to pass that two years ago the goatmother decided she needed another goat. Verily, it came to pass that the Lord said, "Lo, it shall be done." As though pre-ordained, it followed that a humble goatling was born on April 1st in Boring, Oregon, wrapped in swaddling dried grass (known as hay) and bleating loudly, demanding cookies. Soon his countenance came to dwell amongst the holy of holies (Marigold) and it was found that he possessed an 'oddment'. The goatmother was seen to look skyward, hands upheld, and declare, "Really, Lord. There is something wrong with this goat. At the mere suggestion of a noise he falls to his side. " At which time the Lord spake mightily unto the goatmother in an omnipotent voice (sounding remarkably like James Earl Jones) saying, "Verily, goatmother, I say unto you ... 'April Fool's'.
And so it was that Watson came to dwell among the Olympians (Okay, this means those who live on the Olympic Peninsula...not to be confused with those wimpy Greek guys).
Happy Birthday, dear Watson! May we have many more years of successful sleuthing together.
" I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures." Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.