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Leslie loves goats. If they weren’t so messy, she’d have some in her backyard at home. Unfortunately, her parents won’t let her. Mr. and Mrs. Mistral drew the line at that one, and I don’t blame them. After all, it’s not like Les is actually going to care for them. They’d have to hire extra help in the form of animal handlers.
“Aren’t they so freaking cute, Peps?” she coos. “OMG, I love them.”
I bend over and scratch a baby goat between his horns. He nuzzles against the fence, probably looking for food. There’s one of those gum ball machines of pellets not far from where we’re standing, so I fish out a few quarters and get some treats to feed the goats.
“I’m in heaven,” Leslie sighs as a brown goat with white stripes licks her hand clean. “Coming in here was the right decision.”
“Absolutely. Let’s go pet the donkey next.”
We make our way around the barn and let out exclamations of delight because beside the goats, there’s a baby donkey, rabbits, chickens, ducks, and even a pony. It’s like a petting zoo, and we’re in heaven. I love animals, and always have.
“Maybe I should get a rabbit,” Leslie muses, bending over to stroke a particularly furry bunny. “That might ease my parents into the goat thing.”
“For a girl who grew up in a mansion, you sure have turned into quite the farmer.”
Leslie laughs. “Yeah. I do love animals though.”
Suddenly, a mild voice interrupts us from behind.
“Rabbits are great pets.” I jump and turn. A guy with carroty orange-red hair stands in front of us. He looks nice enough with kind blue eyes and freckles. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Leslie doesn’t miss a beat and bats her eyelashes. “Don’t worry about it. Do you have a rabbit?”
“I do. His name is Norman and he’s the best.”
“That’s so cute! I’m Leslie, by the way.”
He sticks out his hand, and my friend shakes it while giggling.
“I’m Frank.”
“It’s sooo nice to meet you, Frank. Now tell me more about your pet rabbits.”
This conversation is ridiculous and I merely roll my eyes subtly while moving away on my own. I turn my attention to the chickens in the next pen. They cluck and run around their fenced in area like … well, chickens. There’s no food for these guys, but I try to pet them. One lets me get a touch of its head before running off, and she’s softer than I expect.
I glance over at Leslie and Frank. They’re talking animatedly with each other while my friend steps closer and closer. Wow. They’re practically breathing the same air now, and this is clearly my cue to leave. Frank may look a bit like the Mad Libs cartoon character, but it seems that Leslie has found her hot farmer.
Quietly, I make my way to a set of double doors leading from this barn to the next. Yes, the barns are so big that they can be connected to one another, and as I step into the second building, I blink for a moment. It’s dark here, almost gloomy, and the air is sweet. It smells a bit like horses, and I see their shadowy shapes prancing about.
“Hey, big guy,” I say to the first horse in the stall in front of me. I don’t know my horse breeds, but he’s white with black dots on his stomach.
There’s a label in front of his stall that reads “Oreo.” A fitting name for this cookies-and-cream-colored specimen. Oreo sticks his head out of the stall opening and gently whinnies as I pet his nose.
“You like that, Oreo? You’re such a good boy.”
I pick up some hay and hold it in my hand the way we used to do as kids, and he chomps at it excitedly, letting out a gentle nicker. Slowly, I make my way down the stalls, petting and feeding horses. They seem quite friendly, and stamp their hooves and throw their heads in greeting. I’ve never ridden a horse, oh no. That would be too scary. But I still like to feed them and admire their coats.
Now, I’m at the very back of the barn, and it’s quite dark. There aren’t any people here, and I wonder if I’ve taken a wrong turn somehow. Is this a staging area for the animals? There are certainly a lot of supplies, as well as some equipment. A brown mare catches my eye. She whinnies as I get closer, and as soon as I reach out to pet her, she nuzzles against my hand.
“You just want some attention, don’t you, Jodie?” I ask after eyeing the nameplate attached to her stall.
Jodie neighs and I scratch her some more. After a few minutes, the back of Jodie’s stall opens and a young girl around ten pops her head in.
