Goat. And the terror birds
By PJ Gilbers
Goat. And the Terror Birds is the first of the Goat Adventure Series.
Dedicated, with gratitude, to the brave sol- diers
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.
Make certain you check out the questions and discussions at the end!
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 nev-
er 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 moth-
er 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 cabi-
nets, 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,
