Goat. And the terror birds
An unlikely adventure.
By PJ Gilbers
www.PJGilbers.com
Goat. And the terror birds is the first of the Goat Adventure Series.
Dedicated, with gratitude, to the brave
soldiers
Of the Webster groves
undertheporch
shrew army:
General Rachel
Colonel Austin
Major sydni
Private, first class morgan
Illustrations by:
Nicolas Lonprez
nklpz.art@gmail.com
Published 2014 (c) 2014
May not be reprinted or reproduced.
CHAPTER ONE
“Momma says a goat is moving in the old Woodruff house. She said she met him. And she said he was really nice.” Suzie was walking to school with her cousin, Mac. Only Suzie never just walked. Suzie twirled. Always.
“A goat? Goats don’t live in houses or have furniture. You got it all wrong. As usual.”
Mac was ten and three quarters. Suzie had just turned eight.
Suzie did a giant twirl, kicking up dust. “You’ll see, smarty pants.”
They ran into their kitchen in search of food, just like they did every day after school.
Only today…was different.
Because today, standing in the kitchen, was a goat, wearing an apron while searching through their cabinets.
“Hi! I bet you’re our new neighbor. I’m Suzie and this is my cousin, Mac. He’s ten and three quarters. I’m eight. He lives with us ‘cuz his mom died and his dad is off in the jungles somewhere looking for the Terror Bird.”
Mac rolled his eyes. “Tell him our whole life story, why don’t you?”
“Good afternoon,” the goat said, handing them a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Mac took a cautious step closer.
“My name is William. I have indeed just moved in and I sensed hungry children were in need of some cookies. Now, I thought it would be a good idea if we start dinner since your mother will be late tonight.”
Mac took a cookie while Suzie was already finishing her second and reaching for a third.
“Goats don’t talk or walk on their hind legs. This must be a joke…a trick!”
“Indeed,” William mused as he bustled around, setting bowls out and searching the cabinets, as if a goat in the kitchen was normal. Then he started throwing the contents of the cabinets and refrigerator all around the room. Cinnamon and bread crumbs, sugar and vanilla, all flew in different directions.
Mac screamed at him to stop. “What’s wrong with you? Stop it! You’re making a huge mess…!”
“Whatchya making?” Suzie asked, twirling in the flour and food coloring on the floor, making wondrous designs.
“I believe brownies should do well. Brownies and perhaps a broccoli pie.”
“Yippee, yippee, yippee!” Suzie twirled then began to paint smeared rainbows on the walls with the floury goop.
“This is insane. Goats can’t talk or cook. Now get out of here!”
William was holding a carton of eggs, holding each egg up to the light.
“’Has a bump,” and he threw it over his shoulder, “too yellow.” He threw it. “Funny shape on the bottom.” He threw it.
Splat, splat, splat. They hit the wall behind the sink and slid slowly down.
“Ah, now that is a perfect egg.” He cracked the egg into the mixing bowl, then poured a mountain of flour in, turning the mixer on, and creating spectacular clouds.
“I’m not, I repeat not, cleaning this up!” Mac wiped flour from his face. “You deranged, insane, mammal—cut it out! Suzie stop! You’re just making it worse!”
William smiled at the mess, snapped his fingers, and froze time.
“Perhaps, dear reader, you are wondering how we arrived at this interesting place. A little about me…You see, my father was a goat, as was his father before him. We come from a very long line of goat explorers, inventors, pilots, astronauts. I am a goat following those lines, for I am a goat on a mission.
“It began last week. I was planting carrots in my new garden when I overheard Suzie and Mac talking. Mac was sad, of course, because of the sudden loss of his dear mother and the absence of his father, when I was annoyed to hear a most obnoxious child named Rhett calling Mac ‘orphan boy.’ It seems that they were tormenting Mac because he couldn’t ride a bicycle.
“I knew immediately that I had to intervene, to step in, to empower this troubled lad! This is my mission, and its name is ‘Mac,’ and I am inviting you to come along with me.”
He snapped his fingers and everything began flying and spilling and twirling again.
William finished baking the brownies and broccoli pie in no time.
Mac was furious. “I don’t know what you are, some mutant or alien or something but, I am NOT cleaning this up!”
William seemed to not hear him. “I suppose we should get busy cleaning, don’t you both think so?”
Suzie, now covered in flour paste of many colors, nodded happily. Mac made growling noises.
William dashed out of the kitchen and hurried back with tape, towels, and a stereo.
Laughing, he turned on a Salsa station while taping towels to their heads, hands, backs, knees and feet. Then he sprayed them with water, added a little soap, and began dancing.
William and Suzie danced around the room, cleaning and polishing while Mac stood, dripping, watching, and making grrrrr noises. Although he was growling he did almost smile once and he did allow his feet to cautiously slide around, mopping up what Suzie had missed.
They heard a car pull up. William hurriedly collected the towels and slipped out the back just as Mrs. Maddy Donahue walked in.
“Look at this place! I’ve never seen it sparkle so! Do I smell something cooking?”
“Brownies and broccoli pie,” Suzie twirled with excitement.
“That’s fantastic. I haven’t had broccoli pie in I don’t know how long…”