goat yard and the chicken coop in small clearings in the trees. We have to walk
past the pigpen to get to the goats. e dirt is black and muddy with shit, and
ever since Pop whipped me when I was six for running around the pen with no
shoes on, I’ve never been barefoot out here again. You could get worms, Pop had
said. Later that night, he told me stories about him and his sisters and
brothers when they were young, playing barefoot because all they had was one
pair of shoes each and them for church. ey all got worms, and when they
used the outhouse, they pulled worms out of their butts. I don’t tell Pop, but
that was more eective than the whipping.
Pop picks the unlucky goat, ties a rope around its head like a noose, leads it
out the pen. e others bleat and rush him, butting his legs, licking his pants.
“Get! Get!” Pop says, and kicks them away. I think the goats understand
each other; I can see it in the aressive butts of their heads, in the way they
bite Pop’s pants and yank. I think they know what that loose rope tied around
the goat’s neck means. e white goat with black splashes on his fur dances
from side to side, resisting, like he catches a whi of what he is walking
toward. Pop pulls him past the pigs, who rush the fence and grunt at Pop,
wanting food, and down the trail toward the shed, which is closer to the
house. Leaves slap my shoulders, and they scratch me dry, leaving thin white
lines scrawled on my arms.
“Why you ain’t got more of this cleared out, Pop?”
“Ain’t enough space,” Pop says. “And don’t nobody need to see what I got
back here.”
“You can hear the animals up front. From the road.”
“And if anybody come back here trying to mess with my animals, I can hear
them coming through these trees.”
“You think any of the animals would let themselves get took?”
“No. Goats is mean and pigs is smarter than you think. And they vicious,
too. One of them pigs’ll take a bite out of anybody they ain’t used to eating
from.”
Pop and I enter the shed. Pop ties the goat to a post he’s driven into the
oor, and it barks at him.
“Who you know got all they animals out in the open?” Pop says. And Pop is
right. Nobody in Bois has their animals out in the open in elds, or in the
front of their property.