“I can’t stop them. You can bring her out, though.”
I grab Strumpet’s collar. She’s still trying to fight on her way out, which is just as well because the other goats are taking full advantage of her limited mobility. These are mean goats, and I do not care for them.
I get Strumpet free of the pasture via the gate and breathe a sigh of relief as I let her go. A moment later, no, not even a moment, a micro-moment later, Strumpet jumps over the fence again.
“What the…”
Gruff is watching me with no small amount of amusement, doing nothing to help me whatsoever.
“Strumpet!”
I pull Strumpet out three more times, and three more times, she runs and leaps back into the doe paddock while taking no heed of my wishes or caring about the fact she’s going hoof to hoof with half a dozen other goats.
“What is wrong with them?”
“Nothing. They’re following their nature.”
“She’s going to get her skull caved in.”
“She has the choice not to engage, to run away and to give ground. In other words, to submit.”
Strumpet doesn’t seem any more keen on submission than I am. She’s not backing down, and I’m not going to watch her fight the whole fucking universe for the fun of it.
“Do you have a taller pen?”
“Yes,” he says. “And a lead to get her there. Collars and leads are useful for brats.”
I cut my eyes at him. “Don’t you fucking think about it. Help me get my goat out of your battle dome.”
He laughs at me, as if my annoyance is an amusement. I am now holding onto Strumpet, who is bleating what I assume must be goat curses at the other does, and trying to lunge her way back into the pen to continue the scuffle.
Gruff attaches a lead to Strumpet’s collar and directs me down a path toward a stand of trees.
“I usually keep bucks here during their rut,” he says. “But sometimes I’ll keep particularly motivated does here too. They don’t do well on their own, so I think we should pick a companion for her.”
There’s a particular lilt to his tone, the way people talk to the young and the simple. He’s talking to me like I know nothing about anything.
“What kind of companion? All your goats keep trying to beat her up.”
“She likes my buck. Bucks show tolerance toward does, even ornery ones.”
Again, I can’t help but feel that he is drawing some comparison between Strumpet and me, which is not fair because I have never hurled myself into a hostile place and insisted on fighting everyone in it. I am sensible. Strumpet is, well, Strumpet.
We put them in together.
The buck sniffs her. She sniffs him back. They stand nose to nose, head to head for a minute or two, and it’s fucking adorable. There’s no fighting. There’s not even a hint of discord.
“So they’re happy together. That’s good,” I say.
“He knows she’s already mated,” Gruff says. “And she knows she was mated by him. She’s his mate, for this season at least.”
“Is that how you mate? For a season?”
“Are you hopeful for my interest to wane, or afraid of it?”
He gives himself a lot of credit, but the truth is that I don’t know which one of those answers is closer to the truth. Gruff wants me, and it is nice to be wanted. But it is something else to be kept. I don’t want to be a captive. My freedom is the only thing that has ever meant anything to me.
For tonight I have little choice but to acquiesce to his demands. Going back to my dome after it was attacked is clearly a bad idea. I don’t much fancy the idea of trying to fortify myself in there while buck after buck tries to break into my home. It’s hard to sleep under those circumstances, and I need sleep. I need time to think about where I am, and what is happening to me, and what I’m going to do about it.