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Socks for Lightsey Goats Service Sorority Comes to Clemson

While others were feeding their Netflix addictions over Christmas break, junior Marty Marsh was hard at work as a founding sister of Clemson’s newest sorority chapter: Lamda Gamma Phi.  It all began when Marty saw the Lightsey grazer goats outside her window one cold November night, huddling together for warmth.


“All through break, I thought about those poor goats,” Marty reported later, “all cold and lonely out there—I tried to find something to do, but there were so few resources, I decided to start a service sorority to solve the problem.”  


Marty’s plan was quickly put into motion as she sent out cries for help across social media and even posted ads in the bathrooms of Cooper Library.  Although she often finds said ads in the toilets and her only members thus far are an awkward freshman from her communications class and her boyfriend of several months, Marty has not been discouraged.  


The Lamda chapter has been hard at work ever since their return to Clemson, building houses for the goats of Lightsey to keep them warm.


“Like Habitat for Humanity,” Marty said, “only, with goats.”  The project has not been without its setbacks.  The goats reportedly ate a large portion of Marty’s building supplies as well as the blankets she had intended to line the houses with, and last Friday she discovered two students copulating in one of the houses.


“I chased them away with my power saw, of course,” Marty sighed, righteously outraged. “The goats were just standing around, watching, not knowing where to look or what to do—we must protect the innocent!”


However, nothing could prepare the fledgling Lamda and its intrepid founder for the worst setback yet—the breakup.  Last weekend, Marty’s heartless boyfriend,  junior Ryan Walsh, informed her that he could no longer spend all of his free time building goat houses.


Reasonably enraged, Marty reportedly evicted him from their top secret sorority house with the assistance of her trusty power saw, the only true constant in her tumultuous-yet-inspirational life.
“She’s crazy,” Walsh reported from an undisclosed location. “If I hadn’t left when I did, she would have made me knit goat socks so their hooves didn’t get cold.  I mean, come on—in Clemson?  Hasn’t she ever been up north before?”


Marty denied any northerly excursions, but did confirm that she and her remaining member are currently hard at work knitting goat socks.


“It’s definitely our biggest project,” Marty said.  “The goats’ hooves are very sensitive to the cold and walking on icy ground or even snow often leads them to become frost-burned.  Goats with frostbit hooves won’t be able to successfully navigate the steep precipices of the Lightsey ravine, and might slip and injure themselves further.”


Marty has been saving these poor, frostbit goats in luxurious goat spas, providing hot tubs, rehabilitation via aqua-therapy for severe cases, as well as pedicures for horns and hooves.  She sends each goat away with several pairs of warm, practical socks.  


To keep the goat-defending dogs from discovering them, she has set up a perimeter of bacon around the house and asks that students please not remove it.  She also begs the student body for more goat socks.  


“There are dozens of innocent, frost-bitten goats out there who need our help,” Marty said, “and although I am pretty awesome, I can’t make enough socks to go around all on my own.”


For more information, as well as a free pattern for making your own goat socks to donate, please visit and for a special time, all socks donators will receive a free photo of a goat wearing their socks.

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