Author Deanndra Hall: 2014-03-02

I heard from enough of you to believe that you want to hear more. You're going to get your outtakes. And they're going to be good. If you don't believe me, just read this. I had intended to do them on Wednesdays, but I'll probably post them on Mondays. I'll let you know when they're here. So enjoy!

-------------------------

I need to be home with Nikki. It was impossible to get anything done. All Tony could do was think and worry. He was pretty sure everything was okay, but there was this niggling fear in the back of his brain. What if there really was something wrong with her? He’d already made the decision earlier in the day: He had to hire someone to take over the office. A manager, or a personal assistant, or someone, anyone, who could take over the running if need be and let him go home. A pile of paperwork sat in the middle of his desk, taunting him, but he fought off the temptation. It could wait until the next day. Dinner would be waiting. She would be waiting. What if she wasn’t there much longer, waiting for him? I’ve got to shake that off, he told himself. Everything was going to be fine.

Then the door popped open. “Hey, boss, can you come out here?” Malcolm stood in the doorway. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Sure.” Tony followed his site supervisor out the door and into the parking lot. Malcolm pointed down the driveway.

“Look.” Malcolm folded his arms across his chest as Tony peered down the driveway. He could see two figures headed their way, and he could tell, even at that distance, that one of them was Franklin. She was the only dog of her kind anywhere near there, but today another dog walked beside her.

Dog? Tony squinted. Was that a dog? “Malcolm, what the hell is that?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I called you out here.”

“Is it a dog?”

Malcolm was squinting at them too. “I . . . I don’t think so. I can’t tell . . .”

Tony took another long look. “No, it’s not a dog. It looks like . . .”

Malcolm stared hard. “Is that a . . .”

Tony chuckled. “It’s a damn goat.”

“What the hell?” Malcolm put his hands on his hips and watched the two figures drawing closer. After a few steps, the goat would veer off the drive into the grass. It would take a few bites from the weeds before Franklin herded it back up onto the drive and they both started strolling toward the barn again.

Tony couldn’t believe his eyes. Within minutes, Franklin walked up and sat down beside Tony. The goat followed, walked past Franklin, and began to make itself at home near a bale of hay, which it promptly began to raid.

“What do you want me to do?” Malcolm asked, slack-jawed.

Tony shook his head. “Damned if I know. There’s a farm about a mile away where they raise goats. I’m sure that’s theirs. I’ll call her, tell her it’s here.” He strode back into the office and took a number from his planner. “Hey, Jenny? It’s Tony Walters.”

“Yeah, Tony! What’s going on?”

“I think I have one of your goats.” Tony looked out the office window to see Franklin and the goat play-butting each other in the front parking lot.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Jenny Sanders replied. “I’m pretty sure it’s not mine.”

“Got to be.”

“Tell you what – let me go count and I’ll call you back.” When they’d hung up, Tony walked out the door. Franklin came up, sat down beside him again, and the goat followed suit. It knocked its head into Tony’s knee a few times, then went back to the bale of hay, nibbling a little at a time. When one of the clients walked his horse by, the goat bleated at it, then returned to the hay. When the phone rang, Tony answered, “Short one, huh?”

“Nope.” Tony couldn’t believe it. “It’s not mine, Tony. All of ours are here. Tell me something: What does this goat look like? Is it brown and white?”

Tony looked at it again. “No. It’s mostly black. It’s got white ears and white feet, but the rest of it is black.”

Jenny laughed. “All of ours are liver and white.”

“Whose could it be?”

“There’s a farm about six miles from here that . . .?”

“Six miles?” Tony couldn’t believe that Franklin had gone six miles to get a goat.

“Yep. Bob and Angela Moyers. Call them up and ask.” Jenny gave him the Moyers’ number before she hung up. Tony dialed and waited.

“Hello,” a female voice barked.

“Is this Mrs. Moyers?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Mrs. Moyers, this is Tony Walters down at Cabrizzi Farms. How are you?”

“I’m quite well, thanks. What can I do for you, Mr. Walters?”

“Well, I’ve got this goat,” Tony started to laugh.

“It wouldn’t be black and white, would it,” she chuckled.

“Actually, it would. I got your number from Jenny. I was hoping . . .”

“That it was mine? Yeah, probably. We’ve got almost a hundred and fifty of them down here, but that one, she’s a real problem.” She stopped, then said, “How did she get down there?”

“You won’t believe it, but my dog brought her home.” Now Tony was laughing outright. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“Keep her. She’s too damn much trouble.” Before Tony could protest, the line went dead.

Now he wasn’t laughing. Keep her? I’ve got a damn goat now? He watched Franklin and the goat playing in the overhang of the barn roof. The big dog seemed content, even happy, to have the goat around. Malcolm wandered up, grinning. “So? Find out who she belongs to?”

“Yeah.” Tony shook his head. “They don’t want her back.”

“Are you trying to tell me that we’re keeping her?” Malcolm’s eyebrows peaked upward.

“Looks like it.”

“That could be good.” Malcolm looked like he was giving something serious consideration.

“What are you thinking?” Tony was afraid it was something that was no good.

“Well, lots of breeding facilities and racing facilities keep goats. They calm the horses. No one’s exactly sure why or how, but it works. Maybe this is a good thing.” They watched as the goat tried to pull a piece of siding off the side of the building. Before Tony could run toward her to stop her, she’d moved on to a nylon rope tied to a cleat on the wall, pulling on it and trying to pull it down. She chewed on the end.

“Looks like we’ll have to make a concerted effort to keep things picked up. And we’ll have to make sure all the clients know not to leave things lying around. All my life I’ve heard goats will eat anything.” Tony didn’t know what to think. He had a goat. Fantastic.

Malcolm shook his head. “No. That’s not true. Sheep will eat anything. Goats are a little more discerning.” They watched while she ate a gum wrapper a client had dropped, then moved over to Tony’s truck and started to lick a tire. "But I could be wrong about that, I guess."

“I have this feeling that trouble is brewing.” Before Tony could get the sentence completely out, Vic’s truck pulled up and the big man got out.

“Hey, guys! What’s sha . . . what the hell?” Vic’s eyes went wide. “Is that a goat?”

Tony nodded. “Yep. That’s a goat.”

“What the fu . . . why is there a goat here?” Vic’s gaze went from the goat to the two men, then back to the goat.

“It’s a long story. But I’m keeping her. Want to name her?” Tony chuckled.

The goat looked up from the trash can she’d managed to knock over, then made a beeline to Vic. When she reached him, she pressed her face to his shin and just stood there. Malcolm was heaving with laughter. “Looks like you’ve got a new girlfriend.”

Vic’s face turned purple. “Goddamn it, Tony, why do you keep getting these weird pets that try to assault me? Get this thing off me!” Vic was backing away, but the goat was keeping pace. It was a lost cause.

“Why do you have to be so damn attractive to all the ladies?” Tony laughed, and Malcolm started to howl.

“Damn it, I just came over here to ask you something!”

“Yeah, what’s that, Hunky McHunkster?” Tony gasped, doubled over.

“Laura wanted to know if you guys want to come to dinner.”

“Sure!” Tony was trying to control himself. “What are we having?”

Vic opened the truck door, climbed in, and before he slammed the door shut, he yelled, “GOAT!”

Pages

Monday, March 3, 2014

Jump on board the tour bus!

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Your wish shall be granted!