"If providence did beards devise,
To prove the wearers of them wise,
A fulsome goat would then, by nature,
Excel each other human creature." - Thomas D'Urfey

Monday, February 20, 2012

The Princess and the Peanut

In a rainy land, not so very far away and perhaps more familiar than anyone would like to admit, there lived a goatly prince named Watsworth, the Faint.  Watsworth had somehow managed to make it through his rebellious 'teen' years.   What is even more surprising is that his parents, the King and Queen of Boring, Oregon (Really there is such a place and it isn't even made-up.  Who knew?), had managed to not only survive Watsworth's 'teen' years, but to do so without killing him.  That being said, Watsworth, the Faint had grown into a fine young goat.  But the King and Queen were growing older, and someday someone would need take the goat by the horns and take over the throne to rule wisely in their stead.  Since Watsworth was an only child, and even though he had no horns, that distinction naturally fell to him.  And so it was that the time had come for Watsworth to marry, for everyone knows that goats are like potato chips and you can never have just one.  Watsworth needed a princess.

But where to find one?  Invitations were sent out across the land, Boring as it was, for any and all eligible females to attend a ball given in Prince Watsworth's honor.  Of course everyone knew it was really to find the prince a wife, so R.S.V.P.'s came in by the truckload.  The King and Queen literally fainted when they saw the mound of replies, but then it didn't take an awful lot to make them faint anyway, so who can tell how shocked they really were.

The day of the grand ball finally arrived.  Prince Watsworth, beard nicely combed and sporting his finest cashmere, showed up to greet the guests.  Females of every size, shape, make and model could be seen together in groups, heads bowed and giggling behind their hooves.  Watsworth sighed.  There was nothing for it but to begin dancing with them one by one.  Long into the night they danced, but though the choices were myriad, there always seemed to be something wrong.  They were too tall, too short, too chatty, too spoiled, too ugly, and simply none of them seemed to be princess material.  How in the world was he going to tell a real princess when he met one?  Oh, they all claimed to be princesses on their My Space or Facebook pages, but Watsworth had learned long ago never to trust everything you see on the Internet.  Some claimed to come from royal bloodlines like Dukes, or Congressmen, or A.D.G.A (American Dairy Goat Association) Champions, but Watsworth had learned that lesson too.  Never trust anything that comes out of the mouth of a politician or eats Wheaties.

Prince Watsworth was getting tired and frustrated, and besides, every time someone walked up from behind to introduce themselves, he was caught off guard and fainted.  It was downright embarrassing when your crown kept falling off.  Finally, an old Lady stepped forward.  She approached him from the front.  This was good.  A definite plus in her favor.  "Good evening, your Ungrace.  I am Lady Goatmother (See?  I told you she was an old 'Lady').  May I present my two daughters?"  With that she pushed forward her two awkward adopted offspring.  The first was breathtakingly beautiful.  She was tall, with long graceful legs and huge brown eyes.  "This is Princess Ellyl", stated the Lady Goatmother.  Then pushing forward a rather peggy-legged and extremely rotund figure, she continued, "And this is Princess Tickety Boo."

'Surely one of these two is a true princess', thought the prince, and proceeded to dance with *Princess* Ellyl.  He was very taken with her looks.  After all, she was Alpine and model material for sure.  However, as they danced, she seemed intent on taking the lead and chastising him for freezing at every turn.   "How DO you expect me to be asked to perform on Dancing With the Stars, when I am Princess, if you keep ruining my steps?", cried Ellyl.  Sadly, as so often happens in these cases, she had the looks but not the personality to go with it.  Besides she was most assuredly pushy.  'Surely this could not be a true princess', thought Watsworth.  Then he returned Ellyl to the Lady Goatmother and escorted *Princess* Tickety Boo to the dance floor.  Tickety Boo was a Nubian and though Prince Watsworth had been properly introduced, half-way through the dance she looked at him blankly and said, "Who are you anyway?"  I suppose this was to be expected given that she was Nubian, but when she stepped on his hoof with the full force of 200+ pounds, then giggled and asked , "The capital of Oregon is "O", isn't it?", he almost cried aloud.  He looked deeply into her eyes and was nearly sucked in by the vacuum.  Surely this was no princess. 

As Watsworth stood in dismay, atop the staircase there suddenly appeared a most wondrous sight.  It was a lovely and graceful black and white goat, with striking tan accent marks on her face and legs, and the most endearing airplane ears.  She stood surveying the room, intelligence emanating from every pore.  Prince Watsworth was dumb struck (or maybe he was struck dumb.  It is hard to tell with fainting goats).  Who was this ravishing creature and from whence had she come?  He froze.  Literally.  It was actually a good thing there was no wind that night, or he would have been over in a New York minute with all four feet straight up in the air.  But fate was kind and not even a breeze stirred.  Everyone forgot to even breathe as the fair maiden descended the stairs (which actually also helped the whole breeze situation.)  The crowd parted and the prince approached the graceful creature to ask her to dance ...

(Okay, I simply have to stop right here.  You know what they say - always leave your audience wanting more.  Please stay tuned.  If you don't, then I'll be forced not to finish the story and then where will you be?  The unresolved chord.  The 'Ah' without the 'Choo'.  The Peanut without the shell, for Goats' Sake!)

20 comments:

Millie said...

I think this is my favorite story so far.

"Auntie" sezzzzzz... said...

-chuckle-

Oh no. not the peanut without the shell!

"If you read a lot, nothing is as great as you've imagined.
Venice is -- Venice is better."


~Fran Lebowitz

Marigold said...

Dear Millie,
Me too! How can you go wrong with a title like that?

Marigold said...

Der Auntie,
I know, I know! It's just too horrible to imagine!

J (grateful but restless) said...

Finally, it's about time! Your fans were becoming restless. Marigold, you should be writing 24/7. Eating and sleeping are no longer options. Your fans have needs.

But how, tell me HOW could you leave us hanging in this way!!! Who is the new female goat approaching Prince Watsworth? What will happen next? Will they fall in love or will they decide to team up, take to the sky and explore unknown planets? The next story could be about GOATS IN SPACE (remember PIGS IN SPACE?).

This being left hanging is killing me. I am going to drown in my own imagination.

By the way, what is wrong with folks who like Wheaties? Isn't the Goatfather a cereal fan? You might want to smell his breath and then decide whether or not to allow anything further to come out of his mouth. Sutures solve many things....

Marigold said...

Dear J,
If you do not recognize the goat at the top of the stairs then there is no hope for you. Patience builds character. All in good time. Go have a cup of tea.

Marigold said...

'Der Auntie' ... chuckle. Does this make you German? :) DEar Auntie, that's dEar Auntie!

staples said...

You are so right. Goats are like potato chips - I think even Mr Farmer is coming round to this idea. We wait with excitement for the next installment.

Marigold said...

Dear Staples,
It is about time Mr. Farmer came around to right and true thinking.

Mrs. Micawber said...

I rather like the space idea. "Goat Trek" ... "Goat Wars" ... or even "Star Goats".

I am breathless with suspense as to how the peanut will be worked into the story. It will have to be hidden under MANY mattresses so as not to be gobbled up by the alleged Princess. But perhaps I do her an injustice.

Eagerly awaiting the next inSTALLment (barn joke!).

Marigold said...

Dear Mrs. Micawber,
Nubians are rather spacey. I suppose there could be a Nubians in Space. No. That would just be a travesty. Oh, and, I think horses have stalls. Goats have quarters. :)

Claire the Shepherdess said...

I am on pins and haystacks waiting for the continuation! Such cruel agony has ne'er before been thrust upon me. (ok, that's pushing it a bit maybe). I do hope Watsworth is going to hold up his end of whatever bargain gets struck. Boys can be a bit dodgy when it comes to that...

Goat Girls Rule! said...

Isn't Watson a wether ....??!! Might get a little tricky if our fair princess has more than peanuts on her mind.

Marigold said...

Dear Claire,
Watsworth is a man true to his word. I think. Wait, let me ask him ...

Marigold said...

Dear Ruling Goat Girl,
DISCLAIMER:
The characters in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to real life is merely coincidental and the author can in no way be held accountable for their actions.

Buffybelle said...

My goat mom read this to us all and we were standing on the edge of our coffee tables, nary a berry was bouncing. We look forward to round two. But for now you deserve all our applause (Click,cliCK,CLick,CLICK,CLICK,click,click,click,CLICK).

Marigold said...

Dear BuffyBelle,
Coffee tables? Do you actually get to go in the house? Wow. Are you lucky! Now then, everytime I type your name I think of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Do you, per chance, slay anything?

Buffybelle said...

The only thing I really slay is third cutting alfalfa. I guess my title could be 'Buffy the Alfalfa Slayer'. Otherwise our covered play area has several coffee tables to play and lay on. I still don't understand why I can't live in moms barn though.

Snowcatcher said...

Geez, the comments are as fun as the story!!! I keep trying to figure out a way to fit Marigold or Goat into Avatar. Maybe I should give up, leave it on your creative shoulders knowing you'll come up with a winner, then add to Mrs. MiCawber's request list. (I'd be a real Toat Trek fan, too!)

Marigold said...

Dear Snowcatcher,
Ah, a fellow 'Trekkie'. I don't know what my next creative endeavor will be, but now you've got me thinking in the whole melodrama vein.