Page 2 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“My worldview ends at evidence-based reality,” I called back. “Yours apparently ends with whatever feels nice.”
She rewarded me with her middle finger without even looking back; her attention already locked onto the goat.
I tried not to notice how graceful even that gesture was.
And I failed spectacularly.
The goat chose that exact moment to shove its entire face into her potted plant and start eating it with the aggression of an animal who had a personal vendetta against it.
Delaney gasped. “He’s ruining my calming herbs!”
“That’s ironic,” I said, climbing one rung higher to secure the banner. The ladder wobbled ominously beneath me, and I braced myself, waiting for a snarky comment from her about my imminent demise.
Delaney ignored me, which was rude considering I was offering valuable commentary.
She tugged the pot away from the goat, cradling it against her abdomen, hugging it tight as if it were a child and she was preventing a kidnapping attempt.
“Hey. No,” she told the goat firmly. “These are not for you.” She spoke like he understood her and was a misbehaved child. Not a tiny agent of chaos.
The goat blinked at her.
Then he bleated at her angrily and charged at the plant, wrapping his teeth around it and yanked.
“Hey! Stop that,” Delaney squeaked.
The goat planted its hooves and leaned backward with the determination of a tiny horned bodybuilder.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“Shut it, Kingsley!” Delaney shouted from across the street without glancing my way. “I heard that!”
I leaned against the ladder. “Fun fact. Goats have rectangular pupils that give them a wider field of vision. It helps them identify threats.”
Delaney wrestled the plant away again. “I amnota threat.”
“Technically, you’re interfering with its feeding behavior.”
She shot me that same sharp look. “Mind your own business, Dr. Goat Whisperer.”
The goat lunged again.
Delaney jerked the pot away from him in a bizarre botanical tug-of-war.
“This,” she growled at the animal, clutching the plant, “is a plant baby from my Aunt Jem’s last lavender plant.”
The goat grunted as if he was telling Delaney he didn’t care.
“You. Can’t Have. It.”
Apparently, the goat disagreed. He responded by pulling up half the plant, roots and all, with the enthusiasm of a disgruntled tiny landscaper determined to ruin someone’s day.
“Give it back!” Delaney said, trying to pry the plant from its mouth. “You don’t even appreciate how special this is, or its healing properties!”
The goat turned sideways and began chewing.
Lavender leaves dangled from its mouth like it had just invented farm-to-table dining.
“Also,” I added helpfully, or unhelpfully depending on who you asked, “goats instinctively resist restraint. Pulling away activates their opposition reflex.”
