Epilogue The GOAT #2
I was an Olympic gold medalist. I was married to my best friend. We had five goats and a house full of love and a family that was absolutely insane.
Eight years ago, I'd moved to a new country, no friends, and only a broken family to my name.
Now I had everything.
“No regrets?” Gryff asked later, after everyone had gone home and we were sitting on the beach, gold medal still around my neck, watching the waves.
“Only one,” I said.
He looked worried. “What?”
“We should have gotten more goats.”
We were both laughing now, there on our beach, in our city, living our ridiculous, perfect life.
In the distance, I could hear the baby goats calling for their parents. Tomorrow, we'd have to figure out how to goat-proof the house even more. We'd have to build a bigger pen. We'd have to explain to the neighbors about the noise.
But tonight?
Tonight was for gold medals and goat babies and the family we'd chosen and built and loved.
Tonight was for happily ever after.
Vincent Van Goat
“Gather round, kids,” I said to my three offspring, who were currently trying to eat their mother's tail. “It's time you learned about your destiny.”
“Is it about food?” Bleathoven asked hopefully.
“Everything's about food with you,” Goatzart said, bouncing impressively high for a kid who'd only been alive for six weeks.
“Both of you, hush,” Stevie Kicks commanded, already the boss of her siblings. “Papa is talking.”
Holly nuzzled closer to me. “Tell them about Burrito Petito, dear. That's where it all really started.”
“Ah yes,” I said, settling into my storytelling stance. “The Great Meeting of the Pets. Flynn and Tempest brought their donkey—“
“A DONKEY?” all three kids shrieked in unison.
“Shh, you'll wake the humans,” Holly warned. “They just got back from something called 'date night.'”
“Anyway,” I continued, “Burrito Petito is a very small donkey with very large opinions. You'll meet him when he gets back from spending the summer with AbuelaNovela in Oaxaca. He told us about the Kingman Pet Patrol.”
“The what now?” Goatzart asked, mid-bounce.
“It's a sacred organization,” Holly explained. “Started by Luke Skycocker himself.”
“Who's Luke Skycocker?” Stevie asked through a mouthful of hay.
“Only the most magnificent rooster in all of Colorado,” I said reverently. “He belongs to Chris, the eldest Kingman brother. Luke organized all the Kingman pets into a protection unit.”
“There's also Wiener the Pooh, the tactical dachshund,” Holly added. “Lady Bananaconda Hisstledown, the reconnaissance snake. Seven of Nine Lives, the stealth cat. And of course, Bear, who lives with the Father of Kingmans.”
“Dogs just sleep,” Stevie pointed out, probably thinking about the golden retriever snoring in the corner of Mrs. Bender's yard.
“That's what he wants you to think,” I said mysteriously. “He's actually monitoring the perimeter through his dreams.”
The kids looked skeptical.
“The point is,” Holly continued, “Burrito Petito came with an important message. Luke Skycocker has officially designated us as the LA Division of the Kingman Pet Patrol.”
“We get to be in a patrol?” Goatzart bounced even higher.
“What's our mission?” Bleathoven demanded.
I puffed out my chest. “We keep the neighborhood safe for when the Kingmans have human kids.”
“But Artie and Gryff don't have human kids,” Bleathoven tipped his head to the side thinking.
Holly and I exchanged a meaningful look.
“Not yet,” Holly said. “Which brings us to your first mission.”
All three kids leaned in.
“Operation Baby Fever,” I announced dramatically.
“What's that?” they asked.
“We need to be so adorable, so perfectly charming, that Artie and Gryff decide they want human babies too,” Holly explained.
“How do we do that?” Stevie asked.
“Step one: Look cute when they have friends over,” I said.
“Step two: Be extra snuggly when they seem sad,” Holly added.
“Step three: Occasionally escape just enough to make them practice their parenting skills,” I continued.
“But not too much,” Holly warned. “We don't want to seem like troublemakers.”
“We ARE troublemakers,” Stevie pointed out.
“Tactical troublemakers,” I corrected. “There's a difference.”
“What about the other pets in the patrol?” Goatzart asked. “Do they have missions too?”
“Oh yes,” Holly said. “Luke Skycocker crows every morning at exactly the right time to optimize Chris and Trixie's sleep schedule for fertility.”
“What's fertility?” Stevie asked.
“Making babies,” I explained quickly. “Wiener the Pooh guards Declan and Kelsey's music studio so they have quiet time together. Lady Bananaconda already had one success with Everett and Penelope's baby Bo.”
“And Seven of Nine Lives?”
“Cats work in mysterious ways,” I said sagely. “We don't question their methods.”
Just then, we heard footsteps. Artie and Gryff were returning from their date, laughing about something.
“Positions,” Holly hissed.
The kids immediately arranged themselves into maximum cuteness formation—Stevie in the middle, Goatzart mid-tiny-bounce, and Bleathoven with his head tilted just so.
“Oh my god,” we heard Artie say. “Look at them. They're posing.”
“They definitely learned that from their parents,” Gryff laughed.
“We should take a picture,” Artie said. “They're so perfect.”
“You know what else would look perfect in photos?” Gryff said, and even us goats could hear the suggestion in his voice.
“Gryff...”
“I'm just saying, imagine how cute our kids would be with the goats.”
“After the next Olympics.”
“After the next Olympics,” he agreed. “But we could practice the making part.”
“Gryffen,” she sounded like he was in trouble, but I knew better.
They headed inside, still laughing.
“Mission proceeding perfectly,” I announced to the kids.
“Do you really think it'll work?” Stevie asked.
“The Kingman Pet Patrol has a 100% success rate,” Holly said proudly. “Every pet has helped their humans find love and happiness.”
“Plus,” I added, “I heard Tempest telling Flynn she might be pregnant. If they have a baby first, Artie's competitive streak will kick in.”
“Humans are weird.” Bleathoven shook his head.
“But they're OUR weird humans,” Goatzart said, bouncing affectionately.
“Exactly,” Holly and I said together.
As the kids settled down for the night, I looked out at our domain. A nice house with a great backyard filled with yummy things to munch. Humans who loved us despite our tendency to eat everything in sight. Fellow pets who accepted us into their sacred patrol.
“Hey, Holly?” I whispered.
“Yeah?”
“We did good.”
“We did perfect,” she corrected, nuzzling against me. “Though next time, maybe we stick to just two kids.”
“Agreed,” I said, watching Bleathoven try to eat his own foot. “Definitely agreed.”
In the distance, we could hear the ocean waves and the faint sound of Gryff and Artie laughing about something. Buster snored. A neighbor's cat (not part of the patrol, sadly) prowled by.
All was well in the LA Division of the Kingman Pet Patrol.
Mission: Ongoing.
Status: Adorable.
Future: Bright.
“Dad?” Stevie said, all cute and sleepy.
“Yeah?”
“When we get human siblings, can we eat their homework?”
“Absolutely not,” Holly said.
“Maybe just a little,” I whispered.
“Vincent!”
And that's how the night watch of the Kingman Pet Patrol continued, one bleat at a time, protecting our humans and encouraging their reproductive choices through strategic cuteness.
Luke Skycocker would be proud.
Need just a little more Gryffen and Artemis?