The Goat Farm – Part 1: Kidding Season

"Boots," said Elijah.

"I'm in a suit."

"It's kidding season."

"I don't know what that means."

"You will."

Marcus looked at the barn, then at the man in front of it. He was thirty-five, a banker from Boston, recently burned out, in a charcoal suit and polished loafers on a muddy Vermont lane. His aunt had died in the autumn and left him the goat farm. It had arrived with sixty goats, an old tractor, a mortgage and a farmhand who didn't seem impressed.

Elijah was thirty-two, tall, solid, with dark curls under a faded cap, a flannel shirt and the unhurried calm of a person who had done this a hundred times. "Ginny's going into labour. Come on."

In the barn, in straw and lamplight, a large brown goat lay panting. Elijah knelt beside her, murmuring. Marcus hovered, helpless. "What do I do?"

"Hold her head. Talk to her."

"What do I say?"

"Anything."

"Hello, Ginny. I'm Marcus. I'm in finance."

Elijah's mouth twitched. Ginny let out a low groan. A small wet bundle slid out onto the straw, and the barn smelled of warm blood and hay. Elijah rubbed it with a towel. A tiny, damp, wobbling kid struggled to its feet and let out a thin bleat.

"Oh," said Marcus, his eyes filling. "Oh."

"Yes."

"It's alive."

"It's a girl."

"She's so small."

"She'll be bigger than you in a month."

Marcus laughed, startled. He found he was crouching in the straw in his ruined trousers, grinning like a child. By dawn, there were five kids in the barn, and a hot cup of tea in his hand, and his suit was a total loss.

"Can I ask you something?" said Marcus.

"Yes."

"Is it always like this?"

"Always," said Elijah. "That's why I stay."

"Green?" said Marcus, a pasture, a gate.

"Green," said Elijah, grinning. "Very green. Welcome to the farm."

Continue the story: Part 2 – First Batch.