When I learned about the goat who refused to leave a Tim Hortons in Martensville, Saskatchewan, I cried real tears. At the time, I was sitting in a café. It wasn’t a Tim Hortons café, unfortunately, because I decided to go to grad school in America. It’s a decision I question every day of my life. Because: aren’t we all the goat who just can’t seem to quit Tim Hortons?
I used to be a student in Canada—in Montreal, Quebec where all Tim Hortons menus came in both French and English. It was truly liberating. Most of the Tim Hortons in Montreal were 24 hours, including the one in the basement of my campus library during the chillier winter months when I never left the library because going outside would mean potentially freezing to death. So, I’ve given this a lot of thought.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, he would always save the honey cruller Timbits for you.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, you would get to use his Hulu+ account for Criterion film nights, but also steal his parents’ HBOGo password for those nights you want to watch Deadwood. The Tim Hortons Goat fucking loves John Hawkes.
It is a Canadian truth universally acknowledged that if the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, you’d never be cold because he would take you to the closest Tim Hortons.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, he would keep you company while you read Derrida on a Friday night.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, 95% of your text messages would read like D:@*%#OU$)(PGJFOD:SKFB:
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, he would also say, “Babe, you’ve worked so hard this week. Maybe tonight’s the night to put down the Derrida.” And then he’d give you that 100 emoji grin.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, he would always let you be little spoon.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, he would introduce you to Ikea Monkey.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, life would be #justgoatythings.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, he would carry you into poetry readings attended by all your exes and put all those weezers to shame.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, he would “get” you in the way only a Canadian Goat could get you.
If the Tim Hortons Goat were your boyfriend, you’d finish your 99-month PhD and go home, and he’ll still be there. That’s patriotism. And that’s love.
