The goat: a short story

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To say that I am surrounded by a bucolic wonderland is an understatement. Towering around me on all sides are huge rolling hills that lead to rocky blue mountains, and the hills are colorful and many shades of green from lush trees and growth. When the sunlight bursts through clouds and throws undulating shadows and sun rays onto the tree-covered hillsides, it is a little bit of heaven. I am at peace here, in my mountain retreat, where I can extract myself from all the ills of the world and just write.

It was on the third morning of my stay that the old farmer’s goat came to visit. He just walked right up to the window next to my writing desk, like we were old friends. I do love animals, so I gave the gristly old thing a welcome. “Hello, there. Shall I call you Billy?” He had a charming beard, but a slightly off-putting jaundiced color to his eyes. It was what his breed was blessed with, I supposed. I tossed a bit of old bread out to him and he gladly chomped it down. Then he cocked his head and stared at me. So I gave him a few orange slices and those were immediately gobbled down as well. Perhaps I shouldn't have given him anything. He didn't seem likely to leave, now that he was getting free hand-outs.

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I stood near the open window, hands on my hips. “Well now. You are quite insatiable.” I didn't want to be rude, now that I had a guest. And yet I looked at my writing table longingly, for I had completed a large volume of work and was itching to get back to it. I had been writing long-hand, like the old days, as there was no Internet here. It felt so incredibly freeing--no technology or clacking keys. Just the light swish of my hand moving swiftly across the paper as the words came. My creativity was exploding. Here in the country with the open air and no distractions, I had produced more than ever before in just a few days time. I was well on the way to completing my novel.

The final chapter was not going to write itself, however. I looked back at Billy, who was still staring at me through the window. Now it seemed to me he gave me a look that suggested under no uncertain terms that I was stingy, and likely holding out on him. Perhaps he thought I had a fully stocked larder and was in for a long stay. Such was not the case.

I threw him a banana, fretting that my supplies would not last out the week if things continued on this way. The banana was munched and swallowed, peel and all. Then I was relieved to see that he trotted off out of site around the corner of the house. However, I was only relieved for a moment, because just as I remembered the front door was open to the spring breeze, he came charging right in.

“Oh!” I said. I was quite surprised. I stepped back a bit. He was a very large animal, and had horns that could do damage. But he just waited, watching me. He seemed harmless enough. He just wanted more to eat.

I looked at him a bit sternly, now. "You don't exactly look as if you're starving back home, Billy." I looked out the window. "Look at all that fresh green grass!"

But I went to the kitchen to look for more, roaming through the fridge and the drawers for morsels he might like. There wasn’t much I was willing to sacrifice, but I found a few more crusts of bread, a dried up piece of salami and an overly-soft tomato for my new friend. I put all of these in a bowl and turned back to the kitchen door.

At that moment, I heard an odd munching sound coming from the main room of the cabin.

It was that slow motion moment. The realization that with no food in the room, he must be eating something else. The fear that I should never have left him unattended. Yes, I discovered, as I returned to the room, it was my worst nightmare.

That damned goat ate my manuscript.

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Backgrounder
Thanks for reading. I wrote this piece for Marianne West's Freewrite series. For each #freewrite exercise, she provides a "prompt" of a few words, and then you set a timer for five minutes and write whatever comes to you. It is a wonderful way to discover stories that you didn't know you had in you. Now and then you may even develop one that deserves further exploration as a longer story.

In this case, the prompt (Day 41) was "The goat ate my...."

I confess I spent more time on it than the initial five minutes, as I was having fun with it. (And Marianne condones this behavior. She's very clever that way! After all, why crimp the creative process if it's on a roll!)

I had the basic story in place within five minutes, but then I went back and filled out the details, improved the flow of the writing, made some edits, and of course found some images. I love this exercise! If you'd like to try one, visit @mariannewest's blog.