If It Floats Your Goat

By Allie Lynn

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate goats?

I mean, really hate goats?

No?

Well, that’s not surprising. I don’t like to reflect on the day those little monsters almost ruined my future. First dates are bad enough without floating goats.

Floating goats? Yes, they float. Don’t ask me how. My girlfriend explained it once, but I may or may not have been too distracted by how she was twirling her hair to listen.

You dudes out there know how it is.

But anyway, back to the goats. Some people in this world are total goat lovers, and kudos to them. But they haven’t had the same experiences that I have.

It all started when I worked up the courage to ask Violet out on a date. Took me two years and about twenty-one straight hours of pestering from my best friends—don’t ask—but in the end, she said yes, and I returned victorious and quite sleep deprived.

With a little help from my friends, I planned it all out—a picnic lunch on a pleasant September afternoon, underneath a huge shady tree in a field. It was perfect. Couldn’t ask for anything more romantic.

I led Violet there with my hands over her eyes—we only tripped twice, and for an injury magnet like me, that’s a world record.

I positioned her in front of the tree, keeping my gaze trained on the ground so I wouldn’t ruin everything by falling on my face.

Unfortunately, that’s where the happy part of this tale ends.

“Keep your eyes closed.” I stood in between her and the tree, taking her hands and hoping that she didn’t notice how much I was shaking. I grinned and stepped aside to unveil my surprise. “Now… open them.”

Her blue-purple eyes opened, and her jaw dropped, gaze wide with horror and appalled shock. “Oh, Jason!”

“What’s wrong?” I mentally ran through a checklist of things that I could have messed up.

She winced. “Turn around.”

I did and gasped. Above us, the tree was infested with goats. Goats in the branches. Goats floating among the leaves.

Goats eating our picnic.

“Oh, shoot!” I rushed forward, spooking a cream-colored goat from where she was scarfing down the sandwiches. She floated up to the trees, bleating at a blue-eyed, gray-spotted kid who had his head stuck in the pitcher of iced tea. The goat licked out the final droplets before he pulled his head out and galloped skyward after his mother.

“Where did all of these goats come from?” I asked Violet as she tried to shoo a pair of identical white goats from the salad.

She opened her mouth to answer, but the blanket under our feet shifted and she tumbled into the grass. I whirled towards the culprit: a burly black goat calmly snacking on the tough fabric as if it were nothing more than a thin leaf. I snagged the other end. Ears pinned, he screamed at me through his lunch then ran off with the blanket. The cloth jerked from my hands, yanking me off my feet and face-first into the remaining cheesecake.

That’s right. They ate the cheesecake. Just the crust though, and the pan. They left the filling.

I wiped the leftovers off my face, muttering about my bad luck. How had I missed this goat-infested tree?

I looked up, straight into the mischievous eyes of yet another goat eating my favorite gray fedora.

Now, I’m not that protective of my stuff, but that fedora has been through a lot. It survived shootings, kidnappings, and a whole rebellion against an evil tyrant emperor. Even the attempts my friend Ethan made to blow it up. It is my hat.

The goat screamed. I screamed.

And then the goat choked on the hat.

The goat coughed and shook its head, trying to dislodge my hat from its throat, all the while bobbing up and down through the air like a goat balloon. Violet lunged, snagging him by the ankles and wrapping her arms around his hairy middle. She thrust her clasped hands into his gut.

The goat spat out my poor hat, screamed, shook his head, then floated up into the trees like none of this had ever happened.

I snatched up the hat, my face burning. “Vi, I am so, so sorr—”

She grasped her knees, doubled over, and shrieked with laughter. She tried to catch her breath, couldn’t, and fell over, still laughing and gasping for air.

“Why are you laughing?” I sputtered. “This is a complete disaster! They ate the crust off the cheesecake! Who even does that?”

“You… put our picnic… under the most popular hangout spot for goats in the area!” Violet inhaled deeply and rubbed the corners of her eyes. “You were so focused on setting everything up perfectly that you completely blocked out the goats! It’s touching—and utterly hilarious.” She broke down into more giggles.

I crossed my arms and scowled. My hat and the picnic were ruined, and she thought that this was funny?

I looked up, half expecting a goat to float down and snatch my hat again. To my great surprise, the tree was empty, leaves quietly rustling in the wind.

“Where’d they go?” I sputtered. “Don’t tell me goats can turn invisible too now.”

A few drops of water splashed onto our faces. Violet looked up, then stepped out from under the branches of the tree.

Eardrum-shattering goat screams filled the air as thunder crackled and rain poured in heavy sheets across the field.

She ducked back under the tree and shouted, “They think they’ll melt when it rains.”

“Of course they do,” I muttered.

We left the demolished picnic under the tree and made a run for it back to the village. We still ended up on a second date, and now, twelve years later, we’re married. I’m very thankful that an awful first date didn’t ruin things for me.

But I still hate goats.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Allie Lynn spends half of her writing time crafting equine fantasy and contemporary novels, and the other half running around in the woods in a trench coat. When she’s not “writing,” she’s blogging for her website, drawing fan art of other people’s characters, and fangirling about her favorite books with her best friends. She is the 2023 YA winner in ACFW’s First Impressions contest and made semi-finalist in the 2024 Genesis contest.

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