“Is that a soccer ball?” Francis asked.
Oliver saw nothing. “Well gee damn, you’re insistent. It’s lunch time.”
“What are goats doing with a soccer ball?” She waded through the animals waiving her arms to spread them. The thought of one of the vile monsters nipping at her dress disgusted her.
Oliver bent forward, straining, but nothing came into focus. He darted down the hill after the bright yellow blob on Francis’s head. Mrs. Kettle raised the ball high when she reached it. Showing it like a trophy.
“Are these, hoof scuffs? Your goats were playing soccer!”
“You’re not all too familiar with a goat’s lifestyle are you? They don’t play soccer, and they damn sure don’t read!” Oliver yanked the ball away from her. He studied it carefully not seeing any such marks.
“Your goats are up to no good.”
“Mrs. Kettle, I think you are up to no good! From here further, I think it best you not come by!”
Francis started her ascent with a disgusted harrumph. Oliver lobbed the ball. It flew at the barn, striking the same aluminum that Mudbubble toppled into earlier. The metal roared ferociously in response to the attack. The startled animals charged up the hill away from the barn.
“I’m sorry, damn you, I’m sorry, damn it, be still! I didn’t mean to scare you all!” Mudbubble led the herd directly to Mrs. Kettle. The creatures converged, bouncing in and out of her path. Nipping and snapping. They wasted no time in playing up the scene.
Mrs. Kettle shrieked. The lady bolted forward, climbing through the rambunctious pack. She hurried around the house and escaped through the gate.
The goats stopped shy of the fence. The herd flowed back like a river and split around their owner like a delta. The animals gathered around him and settled in the light grass.
Oliver gave a chuckle. Under their breath so did the goats.
Chapter 3
The next morning, Sparky watched as the young goats danced about the meadow in the dawn light. The goat waded through the morning fog down to the trough. The goat let out a yawn then stretched his lips to the water.
His pretty nanny was still enjoying a warm hay bed inside the barn. Mythias was nibbling on some sweet flowers near the top of the hill. A strange man in a black overcoat was measuring her with a yardstick. A STRANGE MAN IN A BLACK OVERCOAT WAS MEASURING HER WITH A YARDSTICK!
Sparky charged. His broad horns slammed into the stranger’s side. The stranger fell with a yelp. The man kicked at the goat from the ground, but the agile goat leapt onto the man pinning him down. Sparky slammed his horns into the man’s face. He screamed.
The man rolled. Sparky fell against the hill as the stranger broke loose. As quickly as Sparky was on his feet, the man was in a full run. Sparky gave chase. The stranger jumped the fence without slowing. Sparky leapt after.
The man rushed into a small tan car as the goat came up behind. Sparky head butted the fender and bounced off. He collapsed in the yard as the car tore off down the barren road.
Sparky’s anxious rage settled. He rushed back to his daughter.
“Are you okay, baby girl?”
“Yeah, daddy, I didn’t even see him.”
“You’re okay now, baby. You’re okay.” In the back of his mind, Sparky knew that something wasn’t right.
And it wasn’t.
Sixteen hours earlier, an event occurred that changed the destiny of the goats on Simms’s farm. Mrs. Francis Kettle placed a simple call to the County Animal Control Center. The CACC was commonly called about strange animal activity, but never too strange. Ernest, who worked the phone, did remember being called about a dog that got its head stuck in a fence and bit old man Jasper’s hand, but that was quite some time ago. Most of the calls Ernest received were about strays, and rightfully so.
“Yup,” Ernest always answered the phone this way after lunch. Before lunch there was a myriad of greetings: what, dang and yeah being the three most common. After a filling bowl of Cheerios with two-day expired milk, ‘Yup’ was all he could manage.
“Ernest, is that you?”
“Yup.”
“This is Francis, Francis Kettle”
“Yeah-up”
“Ernest, the goats over at Simm’s place are creating a nuisance,” Mrs. Kettle quite irate, spent a great deal of time providing the CACC agent her eyewitness account. She included every detail of the hideous experience of being routed off of Oliver’s farm.
“So they were playing soccer, and then they nipped you? And this happened before or after they were done wrestling?”
“Before. No, you’re right, after. Not to mention it’s been weeks since I saw my copy of Animal Farm. And yesterday, I caught them talking to each other, they were making fun of my hat!”
“Your, hat?” Sometimes he would write down details so he wouldn’t forget. He didn’t reach for his pad or a pen this time. Mrs. Kettle had been on the edge of screaming and her voice tore at the very fiber of his eardrums. He worried for a moment that were he holding the pen, he would use it to end his own life.
“Your hat?” He repeated in the lady’s silence.
“It’s my yellow hat. It keeps the sun from my tender skin!”
There was nothing, he imagined, that could be tender about the woman. “Big yellow hat?” He couldn’t help but chuckle. He was thinking of the goats ridiculing a lady in a hat, and as he pictured it, a very funny hat.
“Ernest, I feel like I am being mocked!” -
“No, ma’m, just want to get everything straight.”
“I want something done today.”
“Well ma’m, I’ll alert the man on patrol today and have him go check it out,” Ernest put the phone down for a moment to spit. The wad flew straight at the window and crashed into a fly that was resting in the sill. The whole scene triggered a hearty laugh.
“Are you still there? I am serious, if this doesn’t get taken care of today, I’ll have your job!” Mrs. Kettle crashed the phone down on its cradle.
Ernest stood proudly. He looked over at the fly on the window sill and gave a last chuckle. If nothing else Oliver had those good taters he could take back home with him for the evening.
The lanky middle-aged man pulled the yellow ball cap reading “CACC” from his head and hung the hat back on the wall where a single bent nail was reserved for it. He then bypassed the blue “CACC Manager” hat and went straight to the red “CACC Field Agent” cap on the last nail. He groaned at the responsibility of keeping such things in order.
The official stretched his fingers, then his back, and then his neck from side to side. He tossed the cap over his salty dark hair and fumbled his way out the door.
Ernest didn’t have a care in the world. He loved his wife, he loved his three big drooly dogs, and he loved his neighbor’s food. The thrill of Oliver’s taters was all he could think about as he headed down the two-lane road past the Big Ol’ Gas ‘n Gulp. He swung a left at Mrs. Fanny’s Flowers and headed out highway six seventy-three. All the while thinking about the taters he would receive. Ernest was so distracted he almost didn’t stop when confronted by the yellow trucks that were driving the opposite way. His tires squealed as his pickup shuddered to a halt.
Six seventy-three was well maintained in its prime, some forty years ago. The decay and wear on the asphalt left a few places as a one-lane passage. The local rule of the road was to yield to the elder driver. The trucks blocked the road, idling in a line. In the first yellow vehicle two men sat patiently, refusing to budge. The CACC agent narrowed his eyes at the opposing driver. Who was this slowing him down from his taters?
“The hell you going?” Ernest was half out the window.
“Passing through. Watch your driving next time,” the other driver was a larger, younger man, and obviously knew little about etiquette.
Ernest jumped out from the cab, waving his arms. The van driver was told to avoid a scene. Reluctantly, he climbed down from his van to meet with th
e CACC's finest. He was an awkward sight for Ernest because the man was in a orange hazmat suit.
“Look buddy, I’m just out doing some surveying and need to get these vans back to the city.”
“Oh, well you were out near the old Simms place up the way then,” Ernest took the time to size up the brute. “Didn’t happen to see them goats playing soccer did ya?”
“Not that I recall.”
“I knew that old lady was a coot, talking goats, thieving goats. Just another whacked out farmer’s wife, like I don’t have ten’s worth at home.”
“Talking goats?” The younger man scratched his head.
“I can’t put it all on her; she’s not been the same without her hubby. He’s been gone a while now. At some point the old bird was bound to break down, right?”
The man in the orange suit nodded.
“Now look, around here there is two rules, respect your elders, and yield to your elders, now given that you all are city folk I’ll forgive you all. And now you’re going to have to yield the way to me, that’s the way it goes,” Ernest spit. It hit some loose asphalt on the side of the road. He snickered. Perfect aim.
“Sorry about that, buddy.”
The driver returned to his vehicle. Without further hesitation he pulled his van off the side of the road and waived the others in line to do the same. Ernest put his hands to his hips with a feeling of contentment.
“Like Moses.”
After Ernest drove through, the lead caravan driver sat and stewed on the conversation.
“What is it?” The passenger’s concern arose when they hadn’t immediately started off. The road was clear. He too, was dressed in a stuffy hazmat suit and even more eager to get out of it.
“You didn’t see anything funny with those goats back at that shabby farmhouse did you?”
“Now that you mention it they were playing poker.”
The driver’s face tightened as he pictured the scene. “Really?”
“No, wait, that was them dogs that did that one, the goats play bocce right?” He chuckled.
The driver scoffed. “I hate being made fun of.”
“Don’t make yourself a target with strange questions.”
The driver’s eyes shot a silencing look to the other man. The jokester’s smile faded at once. After another moment of digesting the local man’s statements, he started up the truck and headed off.
Chapter 4
At midmorning the goats had scattered across the pasture. Oliver emerged from the house proud and achy. As was the norm, several of the herd traveled to meet him. It was then that Princess“ noted her mate's absence from the hillside. She found him sitting alone in the hay on the barn floor.
"What is it, Sparky?” Princess knew that when Sparky chewed his upper lip it was a sure sign of trouble.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. It wasn’t anything.”
“Don’t worry? Sparks I am a mother to four kids. Your four beautiful kids I might add. All I do is worry! Now you need to level with me,” her nostrils were flaring. Sparky knew when she stayed worked up she’d start shedding. As if it wasn’t hard enough to stay relaxed next to a huffing female, it was harder still, to do it while sneezing.
“I caught a strange man in the field. It looked like he was…measuring Mythias.”
The nanny’s face and heart hit the floor. “Measuring how?”
“Look, baby, it was nothing serious, I chased him off.”
“Nothing serious? A herd of talking goats is everything most humans would need to make this place into theme park! ‘Come see the talking goats! Come one, come all! Look this way! Center stage we have an amazing duet it’s Princess and Sparky dancing to your favorite dance hits.’” She was on her hind legs faking her best rumba.
“Calm down,” Sparky put his hooves on her shoulders.
“Oh baby, I’m getting prepared. If Disney’s going stamp their name on my ass, I’m getting an act together now, god forbid they throw us in a cottage with those terrible little singing men. Lord knows what they’ll do to us,” she carried on her act.
“Princess, baby,” Sparky nipped at her ear. “Settle down.”
She put her front paws down. They were side by side. She felt his warmth. She brushed against him lightly. Sparky had gotten her mind off the subject. It was better if he could keep her mind off of it. Besides, there was nothing to worry about.
“Is that door closed, babe?”
Meanwhile, Oliver played with the rest of his flock. They were dancing around him atop the hill as he tossed out alfalfa snacks.
“You are the cutest little bastards god ever puked upon the earth. I love every one of you as if I dropped you from my own filthy loins.” Oliver got lost in thought around the dilapidated barn. “I should really get you guys a better home. But I’m just stock broke all the damned time.”
The goats huddled closer, brushing against their master.
“The old guy is nuts,” Darren whispered to Sam.
“Shh, he might hear you.”
“Are you kidding, he’s as deaf as he is blind,” Darren jumped up in Oliver’s lap. Oliver almost toppled over from the young buck’s force.
“Aren’t you the loving one? And by god, do you ever smell like the rot of six year old alley cat skewered and cooked in a dead horse’s bladder.”
Darren jumped down. Sam giggled at him as he rejoined the pack.
“Maybe you should bathe, alley cat,” she said.
“Shut up.”
Darren drifted up to the front fence away from the herd.
Sam circled around with the others near Oliver watching Darren as he left. As much as she did like him, he was trouble. Sam knew the young buck’s ego was in need of a good check.
Darren peered blankly into the distance beyond the fences. He sat back on his rear and started to whistle a lonesome tune.
“Hey there little guy, what are you doing?”
A strange man hovered by the fence. Darren backed away. The stranger was at least twice the size of Oliver. The large man extended his arms. The goat fell over himself. He darted away to the herd, searching out Sam, not looking back.
Darren found her resting her head in Oliver’s lap. slapping her lips. Oliver continued handing over the little grass squares of alfalfa.
Darren nipped her tail.
“MAAH!”
Her glare was met with his fearful look. She followed him away from the others.
“What are you doing?”
“Over by the front fence, this guy, was there, he heard me whistling.”
“What?”
“He started talking to me. I ran away, I wasn’t sure what to do,” Darren was panting.
“Are you playing another game with me? This is another one of your jokes, isn’t it?”
“Sam, I swear to you, this man is real, he talked to me!”
“I’m not buying it Darren. Last time it was all about that talking bear that kept bringing you candy. You promised me that if I waited by the fence he would come and bring me a piece too!”
“No this isn’t like that-“
“Three cold nights, Darren. Three cold and lonely nights. No bear. No candy.”
“I swear Sam. This guy was real!”
She shook her head, unwilling to speak.
“Please, you have to believe me! He was right over there.” Darren pointed to where he had seen the man. No strangers.
“Let me guess, he’ll be back at midnight to give you a recording contract? You are so desperate sometimes it makes me sick,” as Sam turned away her tail slapped him in the face. The lady stormed off without another word.
Darren stood alone. He tried to furrow his brow. The yearling buck wasn’t sure how his father did it. Darren was just as upset that Sam hadn’t believed him as he was that the man had tried to grab him. As he thought it over he caught himself laughing about the three times he tricked her into coming to see that bear. Darren paused, and settled again on being upset.
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The confused youth was certain the man was real; mostly certain. Had he really seen him? Something had frightened him. Had he spoken? Was he caught whistling? He couldn’t remember. It would be best not to risk any more trouble. If Sam took it poorly, he could expect his father to be much worse.
Darren bounced down the hill to get himself a drink. Whether it was real or not, the fright had gotten him thirsty.
Chapter 5
“This has all been happening since the accident you say?” The man placed a cigarette in his lips and inhaled. The exhale broke across the receiver on the other end of the line.
“Yes sir.” Reilly tucked his free arm into his coat. He hated payphones.
“What about the old man…this Oliver Simms?”
“I don’t see he would be much trouble to get around, poor old man wouldn’t miss them at all.” Reilly pulled his overcoat tighter. He looked up to the streetlight across the way then back to the half lit Big Ol’ Gas n’ Gulp sign. The establishment had been closed for several hours.
“Well, I would like to know more before I make any decisions. I am going to send someone to assist.”
“I think I can cover this one,” Reilly let a short cough, his stomach tightened.
“I would prefer that you have a partner.”
“Does this have anything to do with the exploding puppies?”
“Nonsense, I had totally forgotten about that.”
~~~~~~
It was the hottest summer day on record in over thirty years. Planet Global Corporation, Inc. was doing its yearly good-deed. The members of the board unanimously decided to open an animal shelter in a rural community of western B.C. The shelter was state of the art, and spacious enough to hold a generous amount of stray animals, primarily dogs and cats.
As part of the opening celebration they invested in a litter of six of the most adorable beagle pups in the western half of the world for a raffle.
One of the benefits to those who adopted animals that day were free samples of Perfect Puss and Doggie Style pet foods. Both of these are products of Happy Pets, LLC, which is of course a subsidiary of the Planet Global Corporation, Incorporated. Everyone in town was pleased by the charity of the corporation, everyone but Chester Arrington.
Chester chained himself to any good cause. When he heard that PGC, Inc. was in town to open a new shelter, he put on his “hug the world” shirt, twisted his long dreads into his Jamaican inspired hemp hat, and grabbed the keys to his VW Rabbit. His mission had never been so clear.