"Come on Barnes, are you really telling me you wouldn't lick your own balls, if you could?" Clint asked slyly. "I don't think that's a matter of cleverness so much as convenience." Besides, he's got a bad leg, at least for a while. He might be bigger, but Moo's quicker. She can hold her own."
He yawned and let his eyes flutter closed, the ache and exhaustion settling heavy in his muscles. He'd slept a lot the past few days, but it had never been good sleep, never relaxed or unbroken. "Oh, right, because your dumb ass is the first thing I associate with 'dignity,'" Clint snorted. "But I guess if you're that mad about it, it's gonna have to be Goat. I like that better anyway. Simple. Elegant. So he'll never forget who he is." At least one of them wouldn't, after all this bullshit. Maybe that would be easier for a dog, even if it was a dog with an identity crisis.