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“Shh. You’ll scare them.” He moved my hand towards the goats. “Ready?”
“Absolutely fucking not,” I replied.
He laughed. “You asked for this.”
“I rescind my request.”
“Too late.”
Max pushed my hand towards a goat. I squealed, shutting my eyes. My entire body tightened with apprehension, and I even leaned back into him a little.
Was I leaning into him or away from the goat?
I’d never tell.
The goat licked my hand, snaffling up the feed pellets.
It… was like a very large cat.
I opened my eyes to see a pair of very large lips lapping at my palm.
It tickled.
“There’s no need to look so scared.” His words were almost a chuckle in my ear.
“You just said they’d bite my fingers off.”
“Only if you don’t keep your hand flat. They’re not the smartest.” He scooped a handful of feed back into my palm. “Keep your fingers flat. Like a board. And keep your eyes open, because if they’re going to nibble you, then you can see it.”
I made a little grunting noise to express my displeasure at the idea of having my fingertips nibbled on by a goat, but I slowly put my hand in front of them. Vincent van Goat lapped up all the pellets gently, and I pulled my lips up into a smile.
All right.
He wasn’t that bad.
“See? You were scared for nothing.” Max’s lips tugged up before he quickly schooled his expression back to one of no emotion. “And there’s something on the hay bales that you’ve been looking for.”
I jerked my head around to the bales. “Winston, you little bastard!”
He raised his head sleepily to look at me, then turned away and curled up again.
“How am I supposed to get him down from there?”
Max sighed and crossed the barn to the storage area in the back corner. The bales were stacked in a staggered way, and he wiped his hands on his shorts before he climbed up onto the first one. Winston either didn’t know or didn’t care—I’d go with the latter—because he didn’t move as Max continued hauling himself up the huge hay bales to get closer to him.
He, was, naturally, on the highest one. About ten feet off the ground.
Classic Winston.
“I got him,” Max said, reaching out.
Winston, ever the slippery little git, bounded off the top of the bales to the ground, where he landed perfectly on all four paws.
“You little sod!” Max shouted down at him.
Winston bounded over to me and rubbed himself against my leg, then circled my ankle in that way cats did that said, “Hello, I’m here, I require your attention.”
I bent down and picked him up. It was a little begrudgingly, I admit. I didn’t want to reward this behaviour, but I also didn’t want to give him a chance to escape again.
