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“Bring it on, mate.” My best friend folds her arms, kicking a curvy hip out.
“Ye two are gonna be fun.” Angus claps his hands, rubbing them together as though all is now said and will get done. “I can feel a New Year’s Eve barbecue on the horizon at our place, and we will throw in the wine and steaks and some of the MacDougall brothers to keep you Aussie wee lasses from getting lonely.”
What just happened?
“Ophelia…Ophelia!” Alice is calling me. I turn toward the sound of her voice, but she hasn’t made an appearance yet.
Crap. I’ve been a poor host.
The brothers cup their mouths. “Sweet Alice,” they holler together in good humor. “Where are ye, Sweet Alice?”
“I’m here,” she singsongs, rounding the corner with five Mini-Ms on different colored leashes, following her with Pixy on his leash and no Chance insight.
“Alice!” the MacDougall brothers collectively shout with enthusiasm. Dimples are popping from their excitement as they all stampede toward her.
Tucker’s sister releases the leashes before getting twirled around, riding a train of hugs, her squeals of laughter squeezing my heart as she gets handed from one brother to the next, greeting her with warm, familiar affection.
Aannd… there goes six goats a-fainting.
Thirty-Seven
FAINTING GOATS AND TOO MUCH POOP
Tucker
“Well, there’s a sight. The ranch sure is living up to its name.” I laugh along with the MacDougall brothers, who have all whipped their phones out, snapping off photos. Angus is finding it particularly hilarious. I swear he has tears running down his cheeks.
It’s like an invisible game of tenpin bowling played out with a strike with six cute, miniature, long-haired goats in various colorful patches stiffening up and bowling over.
“Oh, the poor little guys,” Gwendoline coos, crouching down beside the prone bodies.
Ophelia kneels beside the one Chance calls “Bugger,” waiting for them all to recover. She explained to us yesterday that they don’t blackout. They are still awake, but their little bodies seize up, and they keel over for around twenty seconds-ish, give or take, and then they wobble about, getting back on their feet. It doesn’t take much to startle them into what gets known as fainting, and down they go.
“Um… the little guys are going to be okay, aren’t they?” Knox is the only MacDougall brother interested in asking about their welfare.
“They will be okay, Knox,” Alice says. “Chance told me not to worry if any of the goats fall over. They will bounce back to their feet soon.”
Chance rounds the corner, hurrying over with CJ on his hip in a fresh onesie. A little Santa suit, complete with Santa’s white fur-trimmed hat, his little hand pointing at the bowled over goats. “Dada-dada…”
“Pixy and the Mini-Myotonics will be fine in a second, buddy.” And doesn’t that sound like a children’s music group like The Wiggles?
Chance focuses on my sister. “Sorry about leaving you so long with the miniatures, Alice. Little man back bombed his elf onesie, and then I got it all over my fingers, trying to get his onesie off. He overshot the capabilities of the diaper, and it was a major poop-overload.” He waves his hand in front of his nose, pulling apooeegrimace. Alice giggles. “CJ needed a wash down. I still can’t get used to how much poop comes out of babies when you least expect it.”
My big sister has made another friend from the way her eyes are fawning over Chance, who dials up the wattage on his pearls and winks at Alice. The guy could audition for toothpaste commercials, Calvin Klein ads, the list goes on.
Knowing Ophelia has got good people like her cousin and his wife on her side and not too far away if she needs them helps soothe the burn in my heart caused by leaving her. It also helps knowing she won’t be lonely. Gwendoline’s arrival is perfect timing, and I like her personality. She brings the relaxed Ophelia to the surface with ease.
When Alice makes a friend, she falls hard. I hope she can handle not seeing Ophelia for a while.
“Who are your friends, Alice?” Fraser asks, slinging an arm around my sister’s shoulders. “I love your cowboy hat and boots.”
“Cowgirl hat,” she corrects him.
“Right you are, Alice.”
My sister introduces the goats as they wobble back to their feet, and she hands a leash to each of the MacDougall brothers to hold. “Baar-braaa, is the white one with black legs, and she’s the only doe. Butthead is the dark brown one with patches of black. Buttinksy is gray and white. Vincent Van Goat’s face is painted chocolate and tan with white legs, and Cheesecake is white with tan patches. Chance told me their names. He named them all for Ophelia.” I don’t doubt he did with those names. “And this one is Pixy, but Chance calls him ‘Bugger.’”
Aubrey arrives carrying a large gift bag. She walks straight over to me and holds a hand over her mouth, speaking behind it while staring ahead at the goat shenanigans. “We both like you, Mr. Royal. We want to see Ophelia happy. You have our blessing if you like her the way we see you do.”
