Moria is a horrible, horrible place. It's dark, it's depressing, and it's an insane network of bridges and stairs that go everywhere and nowhere. To make matters worse, there are goblins lurking around every corner, and apparently, the Locomotive Association of Middle Earth (L.A.M.E) confiscates your ponies at the border, so you have to actually walk everywhere! Have you ever stepped in goblin poo? That crap sticks like a son of a gun!
The only mounts that L.A.M.E approves are goats. GOATS! Smelly, hairy goats! They may be acceptable transportation for dwarves, who don't care how bad they smell, but us hobbits have sensitive noses. But still...if there's anything that this hobbit hates more than smelly dwarves, it's walking, so that means, giddy-up, kiddo. (Kiddo? Kid? Goat? Get it? I crack myself up!) [Scribe's note: Yes, Blue, we get it. You're not as clever as you think you are.]
So, yes, I now have a goat. I wanted to name him Mister Sprinkles, because, hello, who wouldn't want to call him that, but my scribe insisted that since Mister Sprinkles is a goat, he needed to be named after a goat cheese [S.N.: because I am as clever as I think], so Clochette it is. Plus, she says Mister Sprinkles is a girl, on account of the ribbons wrapped around his horns. I say Pfft, to that, which just makes my scribe laugh, and laugh, because apparently Aegthil says it a lot, so she thinks he's influencing on me.
She better be careful, that scribe of mine, or I'll write a song about her next!