The Goat

  “I didn’t know what to think, Oreo.” Sparky stared down his attacker with a soft look. His eyes were red with tears.

  Oreo recognized his look was not out of pain. The goat’s aggression faded. The other males let him loose.

  “What will we do?” Blossom asked.

  “We aren’t safe here, we have to leave.” Sparky didn’t like his answer, but it was the clearest course in his mind.

  “Where?” Princess asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Conversation grew within the room. The barn became a forum for each goat’s opinion and fears. The chatter broke out into smaller sects, debating their options, as few as there were: Stay or go.

  Sparky settled his head on Princess’s shoulder. The stinging from his cheek caught up with him and he winced. Among the pain and the discussions, it was hard to settle his thoughts. No one was safe.

  ~~~~~~

  Black rain clouds draped like curtains over the setting sun. A dense humidity had rolled in underneath the storm and sharpened the chill of fall that was hanging in the air. The gentle rain pattered down on the tin barn roof.

  Oliver came down from the house to check on his goats. The animals were very settled when he appeared. Not one of the goats bounced up on his legs. The old man wished them a pleasant night in his own twisted way, something about the wrath of god and vinyl, but none of the goats were really listening. Oliver returned to the warmth of the farmhouse after only a short stay.

  All the while, two shadows leaned in close to a peephole into the barn. Reilly Winters and Valerie Goldman had been spying for the better of the afternoon. Hidden in their rain slickers out of sight of the main house they had learned much.

  Valerie was thrilled. The two were staring at the key to riches beyond her wildest dreams. They would have to act quickly in case the goats made the decision to run.

  The thought occurred to her that she could contact her employer and advise him that Reilly had been mistaken and attempt to keep the spoils as her own. She knew that disposing of Reilly would have been little trouble. But her boss would not be so easy.

  As the last of the light faded, the two silently stalked away from the barn. This stage of their mission was over. Valerie was very hard at work conjuring the next part of the plan.

  ~~~~~~

  That night, the goats established a watch. Everyone slept within the confines of the barn, which given the rain would have been likely anyway, but it was not the same feeling. Humans, they feared, would come at any time. They assigned sentries to guard the pasture fences first thing in the morning.

  A little past nine, three kids darted over the hilltop away from the main house, screaming. The goats all went into action. The nannies and kids rushed into the barn. The males of the herd huddled together in front of the doors. The hoard waited for the intruder. Sparky and Oreo stood together at front of the pack.

  Oliver Simms’s head crested over the hilltop. First one little goat had run, then all of them. His beloved pets had fled all the way to the bottom of the hill. This wasn’t right. They always greeted him warmly. Were they becoming unhappy with him?

  Oliver spent the next few hours frolicking with his animals. The goats laughed and played, but not with the same luster the old man was used to. Their keeper pulled out a fresh bag of alfalfa cubes for them to enjoy. Oliver chased those goats and wrestled with them in the damp pasture grass. Afterwards, he brought out his banjo, which was sorely out of tune, and sang to them.

  The children whinnied playfully and the older goats nuzzled him with their noses. In the old man’s presence there was a feeling of security. It was even harder to think of leaving knowing the way he loved them all.

  Oliver headed back up to the house just after noon for his nap. Some of the goats walked him to his door. “I love you stinky bastards, but you’re not getting the chance to whiz my carpets.”

  Sparky stood at the hilltop. The view of the pasture warmed his tummy. It was the only home he knew. He would miss this place. They group had decided that the herd must leave.

  Chapter 9

  “Who’s shooting? God-damn-it all! Get the long rifles!” Oliver’s feet hit the floor and he scurried to the closet. He swung the doors open and narrowed his eyes to focus. His arm reached into his vast selection of dated apparel and grabbed one of the shirts, tossing it over his head. The withered old man dropped to the ground and extended his wrinkled arm under the bed. Oliver’s fingers scratched around the wooden floor: magazine, magazine, magazine, magazine, magazine…shotgun!

  Oliver sprang back to his feet weapon in hand. He scrambled to the window and peered through the blinds.

  The coast was clear. Oliver tiptoed out of the bedroom door and peered into the hallway. The wooden floor creaked beneath his withered toes.

  “Not even in my damned knickers yet.” A draft circled under his shirt and chilled his bottom. The comforts of sleeping in the buff had been too hard for him to pass up, but then again, Oliver had never expected to be attacked in his sleep.

  There was a loud wrapping on the front door.

  Oliver squinted. The hallway before him appeared as an indiscernible mess. The small front window was shadowed by a dark blot. Oliver refused to take any chances.

  It could be Nazis. Or worse, it could be those American stoner kids. The man considered making a stop in the kitchen, maybe if he gave them the bran and graham crackers they would leave. I’m no weakling.

  He was not afraid. Having lived in this home all his life, no one would scare him away. No one would make him the victim.

  Another knock, this one harder than before.

  “Godless hippies.” Oliver kept the gun high. Using his left hand he tried to pull his shirt further down to protect his modesty, but the cotton would stretch no further. He kept his steps light. Oliver looked to the side as he passed the living room, he could see a small tan blob in the driveway through the front window.

  “Hello?”

  A woman?

  “Godless hippies, sending their damn women first.” Oliver was almost to the door. His shaky arm extended to the brass handle. The chilled metal sent a shiver through him. His eyes stayed tightly focused on the blur before him through the window. Oliver was prepared for anything. He twisted the knob and threw open the door.

  “You got ten seconds before I turn you into fertilizer for my front lawn!”

  Valerie Goldman’s mouth would have hit the cement walkway had her mother’s genes not given her such a strong jawbone.

  Before her stood a man no less than eighty years old, squinting at her from behind the barrel of a shotgun. His skin was wrinkled and pale. His thinning white hair was a mess. The only thing he had on was a blue T-Shirt with the words “#1 Fisherman” on it.

  The professional couldn’t appear rude. Valerie had to make this casual. She strained to keep her eyes locked into his, but they kept straying downward, distracted by the loose member dangling below his shirt.

  “Mister, Simms?”

  The old man didn’t move or speak. She strained to keep her vision level.

  “I’m Valerie Thompson, with the Montreal Organization of Family and Kid’s Entertainment and Recreation.”

  “Yeah?” Oliver refused to lower the gun. His suspicions about the stranger only grew with her identification. Moreover, he was paralyzed. The old coot got so worked up from the sudden disturbance and had dismissed the immediate call of nature. Oliver feared that the moment he moved, the flow would begin.

  “I wanted to come by in person to make an offer you simply couldn’t refuse.”

  “What would that be?”

  A burning sensation was building in his urethra. The crisp outside air chipped at his resolve. A lone tear formed in his left eye. Pain. This woman, what was her name, Veronica? She would have to go. Oliver was out of time.

  “I am here with an offer to purchase your fine animals. Rumor is there are some of Canada’s finest.”

  “I
s that so?” Oliver’s knees were shaking. The lower half of his body was numb. He was feeling the weight of the heavy shotgun in his arms and readily losing control of it.

  “Could you hang on a sec?”

  With a jerk of his leg he tapped the door closed. His arms surrendered the gun as he darted to the bathroom.

  Valerie heard the firearm discharge. She dove from the walkway into the muddy ground. The woman lifted herself up and scowled at her earth stained suit. Her eyes rolled back to the closed door.

  She returned to her feet. Wiping away the grass and soil she stumbled back to the doorway. Valerie waited for the old man adorning a cold frown.

  Oliver returned to the door with his charming, although mostly toothless, smile. Valerie was relieved to see he had put on some pants. He waived her inside. She minded herself as she stepped past the shotgun, noting the hole in the wall.

  The living room was just off the entrance. The end tables and chairs were covered with cobwebs and scattered dust. Upon the floor were scattered bodies of dead insects. The sofa suffered tears in its stitching, exposing tufts of orange fluff beneath the green fabric. Valerie continued to frown.

  Oliver offered some tea. The lady accepted on courtesy alone and he was off to the kitchen.

  Valerie wandered the room, eyeing the old furniture and a shelf littered with ancient books. She didn’t care to wipe the dust from them to read the titles. On the back wall behind the couch were various black and white photos. Ladies and gentlemen who must have been all leaves of the Simms’s family tree. All of the photos seemed very plain.

  The disgruntled woman strolled over to the hallway wall. There was a picture of a little boy holding a baby goat. The boy’s face was complete joy. Her eyes darted to the next picture. Same boy, new goat. From frame to frame the theme remained. The boy had been photographed with every disgusting quadruped since his birth. It was a timeline of his life extending to his more recent years. The later pictures showing the squinting, toothless old man she had greeted at the door holding kids with the same cheerful luster of his youth.

  The lady caught sight of herself in one of the cleaner frames, mud stains and all. She borrowed a loose throw blanket and scrubbed the cake d dirt on her lower half. She flipped her hair. Finally she felt a tinge of delight. The hair settled neatly in place, curved at the bottom, the tips glimmering brightly.

  “I love them so much.” Oliver returned with a teacup.

  Valerie grabbed the cup and sipped at it. Her mouth instantly turned sour. Oliver had put pepper into her tea. She forced it down with a gulp.

  “I bet you do.” Valerie held her breath, fighting down a cough. “That’s why I have come, Mr. Simms.”

  “Because of my love of goats?”

  “Yes, Mr. Simms your love of goats. We want to share it with children.”

  “Who are you again?” Oliver’s mind was distracted before, and he hardly remembered letting this woman in. Why was his gun on the floor?

  “Valerie, Valerie Thompson with the Montreal Organization of Family and Kid’s Entertainment and Recreation.” Oliver’s expression was totally blank. The woman raised her voice, “we want to buy your goats.”

  “Well isn’t that nice. How much?”

  “Well we hadn’t totally agreed on a price to offer, we are a non-profit agency and couldn’t spare much. We we’re thinking about one hundred dollars.”

  “Are you alright? You not got that damn cholera or nothing?”

  Valerie repeated the question in her mind. “No.”

  “One hundred dollars. That sure isn’t a lot of money.”

  “We are talking a per head price.”

  “You’re sick. What kinds of disgusting, evil bastards buy goat heads for children?”

  “I think you misunderstood. We will pay you one hundred dollars for each whole goat, not their heads.” She should have let Reilly handle this. The blundering idiot deserved the torture of speaking with the old nutcase.

  “Oh, I see, I see.” Oliver looked over the pictures on the hallway wall. It was hard for him to see until he got very close. The first portrait was himself with Mr. Tonto. Mr. Tonto had been traded away for two chickens when Oliver was just a boy. His mother hadn’t wanted to break the young one’s heart, but back then times were tight.

  “Children, you say?” His face zoomed in to another picture. Lady Guinevere. The majestic nanny would pull him around in his red wagon. Oliver couldn’t have been more than seven years old. She had passed away when Oliver turned eighteen. It was because of this he decided not to leave for college and instead he stayed around to help with the farm.

  “Yes sir, all of the children would love to see your goats.”

  “Hmmm,” Oliver brooded over another snapshot; this one more recent. He scowled at his own wrinkles. A little black and white goat, barely any horns on him. Sparky. His favorite. Something about that goat made him feel more at home than anything. Oliver couldn’t bear to lose that one. His eyes darted about the other scenes on the wall. His heart started to pound, his throat became an arid dessert.

  “No, I’m keeping the little bastards.”

  “But sir, we are offering you a fine sum, and think of the children.” Valerie would not take ‘no’ for answer, she already had the truck reserved for today.

  “If I wanted to share them with kids, I would have got married. Now get!”

  Oliver shooed her with his arms.

  “I said get!”

  Valerie jumped back. She kept trying to speak, but every time she opened her mouth Oliver would scream.

  “Get! Get! Get!”

  The lady was so ruffled when he slammed the door she could hardly contain it. Valerie pounded on the door. “Mr. Simms I insist you hear me out!” This old coot didn’t know what was good for him.

  The door swung open. Valerie once again stared down the barrel of his shotgun. At its rear Oliver’s ruffled face left no doubts about his decision.

  “Now get!”

  Chapter 10

  With the sun almost gone, the rest of the herd trickled back into the barn. Sparky would soon enter the old man’s house. The goat planned to use one of Oliver’s map books to shepherd his flock to safety. They would find a place far away from these humans, they would seek another farm. Somewhere they could blend in.

  “I hope I don’t stumble across Oliver when I go in there.”

  Oreo was standing with him at the hilltop, watching the herd trail into the barn. “He’ll be asleep, and you know how deaf he is.”

  Sparky's looked to his friend. “If he’s still alive.”

  Their eyes connected. No one had been certain about the explosive sound earlier. It sounded like the old man’s gun. Much speculation followed, but not one goat dared to investigate.

  “Sparks, if Oliver had been shot, do you think we would still be here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’re going to be okay.” Oreo stood and shook out his neck. “You’ll check the maps tonight and find a new place for us. We’ll start a brand new life. No more fears.”

  ~~~~~~

  Since leaving Oliver’s house the only thought on Valerie’s mind had been putting a round in the filthy old bastard. Now, she had a plan, a plan that revolved around shooting Oliver. It wouldn’t be fatal, but it would be wholly satisfying.

  “Are you ready for this?” Valerie asked. Her gang of seven had gathered outside of town, just a short drive from Simm’s farm.

  “Yes, ma'm,” Reilly’s sarcastic response got him no extra favor from Valerie. “I’ll cover the loading team so all you have to do is take care of the old man.” It was his preference to work as far away from her as possible. The remaining six masked men standing with them checked over their weapons.

  “Once you have all the goats loaded, just drive out. Take it as quietly as you can. The three of you that are riding in the rental, there are some shovels in the trunk, make sure you cover those tire tracks!” She clapped her hands
together to move them out. Her black gloves muffled the impact.

  The phone at Valerie’s side rang.

  Reilly spoke for her. “You men, load up.”

  ~~~~~~

  “Aren’t you going to miss him, Oreo?”

  If not for his occasional shave and prohibitive language, Oliver would be indistinguishable from the rest of them. Oliver was one of the herd. But there was no way to tell him, and no way to bring him.

  “We have to think for ourselves on this one. We’re lucky that they haven’t done more already.”

  The sun was almost gone now. The stars emerged in the darkening sky. Sparky looked over the meadow in the last light of day. Tomorrow it would be empty.

  ~~~~~~

  “I trust things are going well,” his voice was breaking up. The phone’s reception was poor this far from a real city.

  “He didn’t fall for the sale,” Valerie said.

  “I am not surprised. When shall I expect my package to be delivered?”

  “In a few of days. I’ve put Reilly in charge of the truck. I’ll be flying back in the morning to get preparations started.”

  “Excellent, I will expect to see you when you get in,” the man covered the phone; Valerie could not make out his muffled words.

  “And Valerie?”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “No mistakes.”

  She exhaled through her pursed lips. His final words must have been directed at her cohort, nothing in her mind led her to believe that he had any lack of trust for her.

  Or did he? He was a strange man, and his mind could change at any time. Was he getting concerned for her loyalty? Was it about her dedication to him? She glanced over at her partner in crime.

  Reilly watched as his men loaded into the tractor-trailer and the Peugeot. He was focused on the night ahead. In his plan the old man would have been out of the way already. This whole situation would have been handled with surgical precision. He had known Valerie would take over this operation the moment she arrived, but he wasn’t worried.

  Reilly had also been in contact with their mutual employer. He had given Reilly specific instructions to follow her lead, no matter what. Reilly had grumbled at first, but once his employer had told him why he should listen to Valerie, he had settled. Reilly was content with his contempt for her, waiting patiently for her next order.