“Funny, I can’t remember who owned this property years ago when I spent summers here with Granny, but I know it’s next to Reed land. You know, North Earhart Oil fame, where half the town works. Old man Reed’s granddaughter liked to come here and spend summers with him. We used to play together as kids. Bella was a cool lady.”
Owl barks as soon as I say her name.
“You know her? Oh, wait,” I say, snorting before he can bark another answer. “Don’t tell me. Is that horse still alive? Edison? He must be a dinosaur by now. Like, two hundred in horse years. People always swore he was half dog, so I guess you’d get along. Maybe because dogs are supposed to be smarter than people.”
Owl lets out an agreeable woof twice in quick succession.
I laugh. “I’m glad you’re so opinionated. This job would get lonely if you were the strong, silent type.”
His brown doggie eyes land on me again.
“Hey. Don’t get me wrong, you’re plenty strong, my dude. What do you weigh, anyway? Probably more than me.”
He barks again, tossing his head.
I can’t help but lose it again.
Look, if I’m slowly going crazy, I’ll do it laughing.
The synthetic voice on my phone says our destination is on the right. We’ve arrived.
Finally.
I stop the truck and look out the window. Sure enough, there’s a big patch of overgrown brush in the center of the field, along with two big trees. I recognize it from the photos.
Uncle Dean said Ridge and his family fenced this area off last year when they ran the pumpkin patch, so all I have to do is deliver the goats, let them roam free, and their endless appetite will do the rest.
I thought it was a joke at first when my uncle swore a few goats could clear a whole patch of land in hours, eating up almost anything that grows. But I’ve done my due diligence online and seen the living, bleating proof.
Now, I’m actually a little excited to see it in person.
There’s a metal gate connected to the barbed wire fence that runs the length of the property, both running parallel to a good-sized trench.
I can see how this area was recently fenced off from the rest of the field, but there isn’t a driveway or gravel approach for me to back the trailer over the ditch and into the field. Hmmm.
“Well, Owl, looks like you’re going to have to lead our little friends through the ditch and up into the field. Are you up for that?”
He plants his massive paws on the center console and stands up like a furry soldier. With his black bushy tail curled up over his back, brushing the headliner of the truck, he barks again.
“I’ll take your word for it.” I shut off the engine and open my door. “Hold on, I’ll get your door.”
He lets out a whimper and wags his tail harder. I wonder if he’s just excited to get to work or away from my loud mouth, permanently set to TMI.
Owl doesn’t wait for me to come to his side. I slide out of my seat, step outside, and barely scramble out of the way before he flies across the driver’s seat and lands on the ground beside me with a whomp!
“So nimble!” I tell him proudly, scratching his huge head. “Just try not to knock me over next time, okay?”
He really is quite the dog, looking like he was just flown in from the Himalayas. Owl could probably give old Edison a run for his money in the IQ department.
Maybe that’s his goal in life, who knows?
We all have big dreams.
And when some dreams go sour, we either conjure up new ones or go insane.
Today, my new dream is in sight, making a successful venture out of my uncle’s latest harebrained scheme. Pretty much what Uncle Dean does best.
He’d started up the Rent-A-Goat business earlier this spring, billing it as a fast, all-organic solution to the many properties here in rural North Dakota that need weeds and brush cleared. He promised every farmer in earshot that his crew can chew through anything, leaving no chemicals and no mess.
Easy-peasy.
Except Uncle Dean threw his back out the week after he landed his first three clients.
So he claims.
Ironically, that happened right after I got here.
Surprise, surprise.
I’m the one who’s supposed to be recovering from surgery, and he bribed me into doing his work for him. Still, I’d rather deal with Dallas family drama any time than what’s waiting for me at home.
True recovery wasn’t happening in Chicago with all the stress there, so Granny said I should pay her a visit, or she’d pay me one anyway and drag me home with her.
My parents—especially my father, who was born and raised in Granny’s little house—fought it tooth and nail. That alone said it was the right move.