Chapter 8 #2
“Unclear if the goat has gone to school or cut class.” The dispatcher snorts at her own joke.
“Seriously, Gina?” Greyson says, his facade cracking.
“What? I’m just telling it like I hear it,” Gina answers.
I chuckle.
Greyson hangs the mic back in its cradle. Dustin grasps the back of our headrests, peeks his head through the opening to the front cab, then sighs audibly.
“Don’t worry Romeo,” Grey says. “We’ll drop you at the station. This isn’t a three-man job.”
“Grey, you’re a softie under all that asphalt,” Dustin says with a full smile. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Grey doesn’t even dignify Dustin with a comeback.
“Think it’s Jenny?” I ask Grey, referring to a goat who causes enough trouble around here to have a town-wide reputation.
“Probably.”
I don’t say much between the moment we drop Dustin at the station and our arrival at Waterford Elementary. Grey doesn’t push me to speak either. That still-dull ache tugs inside me. Mr. Calhoun’s words. Dustin’s lovesick enthusiasm. Carli on her horse.
Cars, SUVs and trucks line the circular driveway and extend out through the parking lot toward the street. Children crowd the schoolyard behind the principal, waiting to be released to their parents for the day. The crossing guard, Millie, waves at Grey and me as we pull in.
Jenny’s standing by the flagpole in the lawn off to the side of the pickup line, grazing lazily.
“She’s deceptively calm,” Grey notes. “Trampolines … flower beds … the town square …” He rattles off some of Jenny’s priors like he’s reciting a rap sheet.
Greyson and I hop out of the truck. We’re still muddy from the road repair. The kids behind the gate cheer and shout at us. The ones who know us yell our names. We wave over to them, walking up to Principal Bearden.
“It’s Jenny,” she says as we approach, glancing over at the goat and then back at us. “Thanks for coming.”
The kids all start shouting in a chorus. “It’s JENNYYYYYYY!”
A boy shouts, “Get her!”
“There’s a goat here!” A little girl squeals.
One kid bleats, “She’s baaaack!” and a riot of giggles follows.
Jenny looks up, unperturbed and slightly defiant.
Parents continue to roll forward in the line and teachers escort children one-by-one to the waiting vehicles.
Miss Tuckett approaches us: “She tried to get inside earlier. When any of us approach her, she rears up and runs away.”
Greyson grumbles something under his breath. I think he says, “This goat’s giving me PTSD.”
“We should have stopped for feed,” I say to Grey. Then I ask Miss Tuckett and Principal Bearden, “Do you have some crackers in any of the classrooms or the teacher lounge? Maybe a carrot or an apple?”
“I got an apple!” a boy shouts from behind the gate. He’s already bending down and fishing through his backpack.
The gym teacher, Mr. Wallace, shows up with a jump rope. “This is the closest I could come to some sort of leash. Hope it helps.”
“That’ll do,” I tell him. “Thanks.”
Grey takes the apple through the bars of the gate from the boy.
Jenny looks up. Her wide-set, unfocused eyes bore into me like a criminal in a standoff. She hones in on the apple. Bonus points: the boy handed us his lunch sack. That’ll come in handy.
I confer with Grey. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to rattle the bag. Don’t make eye contact with Jenny. Hold the apple low enough that she thinks it’s fair game. As soon as she’s distracted by you and the treat, I’ll get her roped.”
“Pays to be a rancher,” Grey says.
“Usually,” I agree.
The kids look on, squealing and shouting despite their teachers telling them to stay calm. Principal Bearden temporarily stops the pickup line.
Grey rattles the paper bag and Jenny’s head turns. Grey avoids her eyes—holds the apple at his hip. I approach slowly to Jenny’s right. Before I know what’s happening, Jenny ducks her head and aims right for me, butting me out of her way. I careen backward, arms pinwheeling.
The kids shriek with laughter.
Greyson rustles the bag again and Jenny squints at him. She takes a step. This time, I act swiftly, looping the rope over her head and cinching it so she’s under my control. Jenny stares at me with one of her eyes. Then she takes off, bucking, tugging the rope—and me—along with her.
I plant my feet. Jenny utters a loud protesting maaaaaa.
Greyson says, “You got her.”
The kids still, all eyes on me and Jenny.
I tug the rope and she looks me square in the eyes and keels over sideways.
“Fainting? Seriously, Jenny?” I ask, walking toward her to lift her limp body off the grass.
“She’s dead!” one kid screams.
“She’s napping!” another shouts.
I lean over Jenny, place my arms around her waist, just below her arms, lifting her off the grass like I’ve done with hundreds of goats in my lifetime.
She startles, stands, and butts me right in the chest. I go flying backward, losing hold of the rope. Jenny darts away, frolicking with the joy of an escaped convict, kicking her back legs high, changing direction mid-air, and bouncing sideways.
The kids freak out, cheering and shouting louder than ever. It’s full-blown mayhem behind the school gates.
Jenny pauses, eyeing me and Greyson in a high-stakes game of stare-off. She’s watching us to see who will crack first. I stand and brush myself off. Doubling down on my resolve to catch her once and for all.
She rears her head back and huffs out a loud snort.
Greyson hands me the apple and I hold it just out of Jenny’s reach.
“Come on, girl. I know you want this,” I say to Jenny.
She ignores me, turning her head.
“Classic,” Greyson mutters. “Playing hard to get.”
I take slow measured steps in Jenny’s direction. She narrows her eyes, lowering her head slightly.
Greyson rattles the bag. She makes her fatal mistake, turning to look at him, and I pounce on the rope with my boot and then grab it before she can bolt away.
She turns her head toward the apple as if she deserves an award for today’s performance.
“Sorry, girl,” I say. “Maybe next time.”
With the rope firmly in hand, I lead her toward the brush truck.
Jenny’s owner shows up, shouting her name. “Jenny! You little menace!” She looks up at me and Greyson. “Thank you so much. She’s a little houdini, this one.”
I hand the rope and apple over to Sally. Jenny’s goatish gaze follows the apple.
“Aw, nah, missy. You ain’t gettin’ a bite of this,” Sally scolds.
I smile. My sentiments exactly.
Principal Bearden walks over and thanks us. Her eyes light up. “I heard Carli Buckner interviewed for that new inspector position,” she says by way of usual town gossip. “Hope she gets it—she deserves a solid break and we could use a woman like her.”
I nod, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t give away at least one of the hundred thoughts and feelings I have about Carli and the fire inspector position.
Back at the station, I log the call.
Greyson gives me a sideways look. “You okay? You’ve been off today.”
I look up from the paperwork and study my friend and coworker. He never misses anything.
A part of me wishes I could tell him about the captain position, but I promised not to until I’m given clearance.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Too much rain. Too much mud. Too much goat.”
Greyson actually laughs. “Well, have a good rest of your day off.”
“You too, Grey.”
He turns and walks out of the office and I finish up the report, taking one last glimpse around before leaving. This could be mine one day. If so, I’m a man on the brink of changes he didn’t choose, but might fall into anyway—just like Old Man Calhoun said.