# The Goat Mayor of Fair Haven
There was a goat in a sash at Fair Haven Town Hall, and before anyone could get too solemn about democracy, she made sure someone would need a shovel.
Fair Haven, Vermont, doesn’t have a real mayor. The town is run by a town manager and a select board, which left Joseph Gunter with a little civic wiggle room and a very Vermont sort of idea: elect a pet as honorary mayor and use the fun to raise money for new playground equipment.
It was 2019, and Gunter wanted children to see local government up close, not as something distant or stiff, but as something neighbors do together. If a goat could help explain elections, public service, and community projects, that was probably more memorable than a stack of handouts.
So Fair Haven held its small, cheerful race on Town Meeting Day. The candidates were not the usual suit-and-tie crowd. Dogs and cats joined the ballot, which would have seemed traditional enough for an honorary pet mayor election, if such a thing can be called traditional.
Then there was Lincoln.
Lincoln was a 3-year-old Nubian goat, and she won.
The vote total was not exactly landslide material. News reports at the time put her at 13 votes, just ahead of a dog named Sammie. But a win is a win, even if the winner prefers hay to handshakes. The first contest raised about $100 for the playground equipment effort, modest in dollars but rich in giggles.
The real scene-stealer came later, at Lincoln’s swearing-in in March.
Inside Fair Haven Town Hall, where people usually try to keep straight faces for official business, Lincoln stood draped in her sash. The room had all the ingredients of a proper civic moment: the town setting, the ceremonial mood, the newly elected “mayor,” and a crowd that understood this was both a fundraiser and a good story happening in real time.
Lincoln, for her part, remained calm.
Very calm.
Then she left goat droppings on the floor.
There are many ways for a public official to make an impression on the first day. Lincoln chose the most goatlike one available. Someone fetched a shovel, the room laughed, and any lingering formality gave way to the kind of shared amusement that no committee could have scheduled if it had tried for six months.
That was the turn. What began as a clever way to raise money became something larger and lighter: a civic lesson with hooves, a sash, and cleanup duty. Children could see that local government wasn’t just rules and meetings. It was neighbors gathering, voting, pitching in, and occasionally making room for a goat who did not care one bit about protocol.
The fundraiser itself was small, but the effect reached farther than the money. Fair Haven had given its kids a funny, unforgettable glimpse of how a community works. Neighbors had something cheerful to talk about, and for a little while, the town became known as the place where public service included both a ceremonial oath and a shovel.
Lincoln may not have been a real mayor, but she knew how to bring the room together.