The wedding on Sunday was everything a person could ask for in terms of a goat wedding. The girls had rigged up a veil for Midnight out of some white fabric, a pink plastic flower and a pipe cleaner. There were two holes for her horns.
Goaty sported a ribbon around his neck and had been recently bathed. Not that it helped in the aroma department. But he looked pretty sharp, for a goat.
Alexa, dressed in her nicest gown, walked down the garden path, scattering bougainvilia petals. Mallory was Goaty’s “best man”. Their friend S. was the presiding religious official. S’s sister was in charge of the bride, who was intent on eating the cushions on the garden lounge chairs and showed little interest in marching down the aisle. We tried coaxing her with dried peanut leaves, to no avail. I finally grabbed her . My friend Gina, the photographer for the event, said something about forced marriages in West Africa. “Ha ha!” I said, wrestling the goat up to the altar.
Our Goaty was very thrilled by his intended bride. You know how at some weddings you get 'tears of joy'? Well, we got the 'urine of happiness', which did somewhat take away from the decorum of the event. It resulted in four nine year old girls running around saying “EWW! GR--OSS!” for several minutes while a bucket of water was fetched and all was made clean again.
The witnesses all signed the register and then we went inside to enjoy the wedding cake. Yes, I made a goat wedding cake. It had pink icing, sprinkles and two small plastic goats graced the top of it. I quite fancy myself the Martha Stewart of Burkina Faso, minus the financial shenanigans and stint in prison, of course.
After the goats enjoyed their snack of grass in the garden, the girls put them on leashes and took them for a walk around the neighbourhood. Mallory later reported that during the outing, Goaty had seemed to like Midnight and was showing a certain enthusiasm for his conjugal duties. But Midnight was not interested at all.
I figure she wants to concentrate on her career before starting a family.

But soon after the honeymoon, Midnight was whisked away in the back of a car. Goaty is once more alone, with just the chickens, cats, turtles, guinea pigs and rabbits to bear him company. Not to mention Mallory, who almost constantly reeks of billygoat these days In church on Easter Sunday, she looked like an angel, but smelled more like her beloved pet. I asked her if anyone at her school has remarked on her new eau de parfum à la chevre. She claims that nobody has said a word.

Just now Mallory came in and asked me, “Mom? Have you ever heard of a house goat? Like, living inside? With people?”

“Umm…no. Why?”

“No reason. Just asking.”

Hmmmm…..