Here is a list of animals I wish I could have as pets.

1 - Llama
    Llamas have the prettiest eyes of any quadruped, bar-none. No one can deny this. Plus they have lips like fingers and therefore can play the banjo if properly trained and so inclined.
    Lastly, their poop is a fairly inoffensive collection of pebbles–much like rabbit droppings–and they naturally attempt to poop in the same spot each time, making for easy clean-up.
    I could keep him in my back yard. Whenever I feel blue, I could go stare into his languid eyes and slowly draw my grandmother’s silver, filigreed brush through his luxurious hair.

2 - Goat
    Goats have sideways pupils, are surefooted, are not picky eaters, and are usually very friendly if raised from a kid. They sound like Fran Dresher, which makes me think of Spinal Tap whenever I feed one of them; this is a happy memory for me and one which I can only reproduce by remaining in close proximity to a goat.
    I don’t like sheep, however. Their coats are messy to deal with and they attract cartoon wolves.
    A goat could live in my garage, and I’d feed him only the best kitchen waste in return for his undying love and gratuitous bleating.

3 - Bat
    I don’t want a vampire foxbat. I want one of the little, cute kind of bats we get in Michigan. Bug eating fellows what can comfortably fit in a lady’s brassier, I would keep mine in my car. His glove-compartment guano could provide me with the saltpeter I so desperately need as well as a bug-free car interior. Someone once told me that bats all turn left as they leave the cave; in my mind this makes them natural NASCAR fans. I won’t hold this against them*.

4 Chicken
    So stupid that they’ll be fooled into tasting the same inedible limestone pebble multiple times in a row, a chicken is nature’s Rob Schneider**. I would like to train one to fall asleep in my lap while I watch television, and to possibly steal Cheetos and corn chips from me.

* Can’t be much worse than a relatively colossal breast. Imagine a boob the size of a house. Now imagine you are strapped against it with a couple dozen square yards of premium sail-cloth. Depending on what you’re into I think it might be more traumatic than being publicly slandared as a NASCAR fan.

** Admit it, when you think of Herr Schneider your mind centers immediately on the cloaca.