Page 41 of Second Chance with the Rancher
Her gag-reflex relaxed, and she exhaled through thinly parted lips. “You must think I’m an idiot.”
“Not at all. You’re learning, that’s all.” He bumped her shoulder playfully. “Never a dull moment and always an opportunity to learn when you live on a ranch. You’d never be bored here.”
Her lips twisted, and she reached out and grabbed a couple more eggs from the nesting boxes, holding them in her palm. “Just yolk, right?”
He nodded. “Right.”
They collected the remaining eggs from the nests and put them into a wire basket. They had fourteen, which didn’t seem like a lot given how many chickens were scurrying around their feet.
“Asher or Triss usually came out in the morning and collect the eggs for us to sell at the checkout for the petting farm. After taking what we need for ourselves, we have about ten or twelve dozen for sale each day. But they always sell out, and usually before lunchtime.”
“Wow! These are busy ladies. And they all seem so healthy and happy.”
His head bobbed. “Rhode Island Reds are a generally very healthy, very easy to care for breed. They’re gentle and produce a lot of eggs. Between a hundred and fifty and two hundred and fifty eggs per chicken per year. Some produce more.” He pointed at one big, plump lady with glossy rust-colored feathers. “Like Abigail. She’s a super producer. She puts out at least three hundred eggs a year.” He bent down and stroked the hen’s back, causing her to make a purring like sound. “Don’t you, girl? You’re an egg laying machine.”
Mieka grinned and crouched down too to pet Abigail. Her feathers were silky soft and the chicken seemed to enjoy the petting because she settled right down into a sitting position in the dirt and her eyelids appeared to grow heavy.
“And as the chickens get older, the eggs get bigger,” Nate went on. “I’d like to get more hens to increase our egg production at some point, but that might be an endeavor for next year.” A bleat at the corner of the pen drew their attention and Nate murmured, “Fuck,” under his breath. “Fucking Fumble.”
“Who?”
“The damn goat. Fumble. He’s always trying to escape, and it looks like today he succeeded.” They exited the pen quickly. Nate set down the basket of eggs on a bench and took off after the goat. But the goat was fast and seemed to laugh and enjoy the chase. He scampered two hooves at a time across the yard, bleating at Nate, then laughing when Nate would get close, lunge, then Fumble would jump out of the way at the last minute.
Before too long, three ranch hands—Ronny, Hank and one Mieka didn’t recognize—joined in the chase.
Mieka wished she could help, but she knew better given her arm, and in all honesty, it was hilarious to watch four grown men chase a goat—who kept getting the better of them, too.
She held her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, when Nate flung himself at Fumble, but landed hard on his belly in the dirt. Fumble stood five feet away and proceeded to poop where he stood, all the while making uncomfortably intense eye-contact with Nate. After that, she couldn’t contain her laughter anymore.
Nate shot her a glare, but it was only for show. His lips were twitching to keep from turning into a grin.
Fumble climbed up onto a pile of stacked pallets behind the barn, stared down at the three men and bleated loudly. A chorus of more bleats echoed from the goat barn, then a few horses whinnied and Sasquatch made a loud hee-haw somewhere out in the field.
“What the fuck?” Nate growled.
“He’s taunting us,” Hank, the redheaded ranch hand said, a big dirt smear across his forehead. “Getting the others to encourage him.”
“This goat is going to be the end of me.” Nate let out an exasperated huff only for that to be cut off by Fumble bleating again, then he did something ultra-disgusting.
“What is he doing?” Mieka cried as they all watched the goat, on top of all the pallets urinate but make sure he sprayed it all over his legs, beard and face.”
Nate buried his face in hand. “Oh my God.”
“He’s preserving his strong musky scent.” Hank’s chuckle was like honey coated gravel. “Fumble thinks his piss is like Drakkar Noir or something. It’s also just a giant middle finger … or middle hoof to us because Fumble is a dick.”
“That’s disgusting,” Mieka said, watching the urine drip from the goat’s long pointed beard.
“Did someone tell you goats were clean animals?” Ronny laughed.
“I suppose not.” Was this a common occurrence on the ranch? Was Fumble constantly trying to escape? Even though she knew Nate was probably not enjoying himself at the moment, it was certainly fun to watch him chase the goat. She could get used to this kind of entertainment. However, she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she was the only one around to wrangle the goat the next time he escaped.
So, as much as she was having fun watching Fumble outwit Nate and the other two guys, Mieka knew that it had to be frustrating, not to mention embarrassing. It was also pulling them all away from their daily chores. She made her way into the main barn, found a bucket of carrots, grabbed two, then went back out to the yard where they were at a stand-off with Fumble.
Walking up to where Fumble was still standing on top of the pallets like the king of the ranch, she waved the carrot in the air until the goat caught sight of it. His attention narrowed in on the food, and he leaped down without hesitation. It had to be at least ten feet that he cleared, but he stuck the landing like a gold-medal gymnast and trotted toward her.
“Here you go, Fumble,” she said, holding out the long carrot for him. His beard was still dripping with urine, so she made sure to keep her distance. He opened his mouth and nibbled. She switched the carrot to her casted arm, then gingerly reached out and grabbed the goat by his collar and held on for dear life. “Guys,” she said. “Little help.”
Nate and Hank approached slowly and carefully, because Fumble had proved himself to be unpredictable and if he knew he’d been bested, he could drop the carrot and dick off again. She held on tight to his collar, but if the goat pulled hard enough, she’d have to let go. She didn’t want to fall and jeopardize the recovery of her arm.
