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I open my arms.
The old man steps toward his prisoner, a loop of ratty rope in his knobby fingers. The goat takes one look at the rope and takes off running.
Smart critter.
Internally, I do a little victory dance as I watch the goat gallop off toward the cliff walls in the far distance.
“Well, look at ‘im go,” the grizzled man says with a shrug. “Shoot.”
I only feel a little guilty for not performing that hand-off better. If I’d have kept my arms around the creature for another thirty seconds, the old man could’ve gotten the rope in place. But part of me’s pleased at how it all went down.
I helped that goat to freedom; that’s what I just did.
“You gonna go after him?” Cole asks the grizzled old man.
“Nah.” The guy waves toward the cliffs. “Too much work. Nature will take care of it. Probably a mountain lion will get him tonight.”
And… that victory dance I was doing internally is now officially over.
My heart sinks, then twists, then starts crying.
Did I just meet a long-lost soul-mate goat friend, and set him free to meet his sure demise? I nip my bottom lip and peer out toward the sea of juniper and pinyon pines that stretch out toward the orange-and-red cliff walls in the distance. Even though I keep watching the space between the trees, I don't see even one single flash of that adorable white-and-brown fur.
“Well,” the old man says with a happy sigh, “that’s alright, I suppose. Food chain’s always been that way, so no use cryin’ over it. Saves me on gas money, that’s for sure. I was about to cart that thing half across the state. The closest petting zoo I could find to take in a goat was way out in Grand Junction.” Then he bids us goodbye and hobbles off.
“Did I just… kill a goat?” I ask Cole.
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, I was holding it, and then I let it go and it ran away, and—”
“Olivia, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He walks to the woodpile and piles one piece after another into his arms.
“No, I think I did. I let him go too early because I thought I was helping. There really are mountain lions out there.”
A gong sounds.
I check my watch. Shoot. It’s five o’clock, and I haven’t even changed into my dancing clothes, and now I’m worried sick that I just sent the cutest goat ever off to sure death.
“He could be domesticated enough to head back this way,” Cole suggests, “so he can be around people.”
“You think?”
Cole shrugs.
It’s not the answer I want. Why can’t he just give me the answers I want? Like,Yes, Olivia, I’ll gladly remove any spiders that come into the yurt.
And:Yes, Olivia, I’m absolutely positive that your new goat friend will be back.
That’s what I want to hear.
“Is that a gong?” Cole asks, looking around.
“I think it means it’s time for the opening ceremony. It’s five, and she said that’s when it starts.”
Cole steps in close to me. Really close.
“You mind?” he asks, in his deep, gruff way.
