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She doesn’t look up from the pot. “How was the game?”

Her tone sounds fine, but I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or if she’s hiding how she feels. “It was fine. I got drenched walking home.”

She glances at me. “Oh, you are.”

“I think I’ll shower.”

She doesn’t respond to that.

I wait a moment, then turn to head for the hall.

Matilda follows me.

Great. There are a thousand things she can eat or destroy in my room while I shower.

Her hooves clatter on the wood floor. When we arrive, I try to close the door on her, but she bleats pathetically and bangs her head on the wood panel.

I jerk it open again, not wanting Lucy to think I’m upsetting her goat. “Shhh, shhhh. Come on, then.”

She likes this new space and instantly jumps on the bed. Great.

I set my bag down and plug in my phone. The light in the room starts to vibrate oddly.

I turn to see Matilda eating the lampshade. “No, no!”

I must come at her too fast, because she startles and jumps to the floor, knocking the lamp over. It lands on the floor with a crash and goes out.

Now there are shattered lightbulb pieces everywhere.

“Over here, before you cut yourself,” I call her to the bathroom.

She trots over happily. I lead her into the large white-tiled room and shut us both inside. What can she get into? I grab the rug and open the door again to toss it into the bedroom.

Towels. I roll them up and secure them in a cabinet.

When I turn around, she’s found my Sonicare electric toothbrush and happily chomps on the bristles.

I won’t be using that again.

I pull it from her mouth before she ingests any plastic.

Everything on the counter is in danger.

I pick up the trash can and sweep everything into it. Beard oil. Hand soap. A couple of decorative doodads. Then I shove the can under the sink.

That’s better. Now there’s only tile, cabinets, and towel racks.

The bathroom has both a garden tub and a walk-in shower framed in glass. There’s no door to it, just an opening on the opposite end from the spray.

I lift Matilda into the tub and dribble the faucet. She immediately licks at it. I hope that will keep her busy for the fastest shower in history.

I turn on the water and shed my workout clothes, storing them in a high cabinet before they become goat food.

But I’m only in the spray for a few seconds when I feel a nudge perilously close to my junk.

I open my eyes.

Matilda has jumped out of the tub and looks up at me, blinking in the fall of water.