When I stepped out into the chilly air I wished I’d grabbed my jacket. The change of seasons in Pennsylvania was unpredictable, so one day you’d be enduring a blistering summer redux in September and the next you’d need a hat and gloves for a we’re-not-ready winter surprise. I booked it across the lot, not only because I was cold but because I didn’t want to run intohim. I’d been trying to look a little tidier than normal, justbecause, but today I’d resorted to a braid and Birkenstocks combination that had me shuffling to my car with my head bowed in shame.
There was one other car in the lot, which I didn’t recognize, and when I got closer I realized that a woman was on her hands and knees trying to fish something out from beneath it. I squinted and saw that there were oranges scattered all around her.
“Do you need help?” I asked, slowing down.
She turned to look at me. “Oh, hello! Yes, I do. My arms are too short to reach the ones under my car and I’m afraid if I move it I’ll squish some of them. They’re too gorgeous to waste.”
The woman was in the typical age range of many of my clients, and because people often dropped in to chat with me or check out the property before committing to classes I figured she was on-site for a tour. She looked to be in her early sixties and was wearing cold-weather coastal grandmother attire, in an oversized butter-yellow knit turtleneck, slim khakis, and clogs. She had a blond chin-length bob, arresting blue eyes, and the kind of bone structure that would keep her striking as her hair faded to white. Her vibe was “favorite librarian” so I immediately felt a kinship with her.
“No problem,” I said, dropping to my knees next to her Volvo.
I reached under and felt the telltale twinge in my wrist, which reminded me that I probably needed to go to the doctor. I wondered if I could bill Andrew for it.
I finally snagged the half dozen runaway citrus and handed them to her.
“Thank you so much! I’m guessing you’re Chelsea the dog trainer?”
We stood up and I brushed off my knees. “I am indeed. Chelsea Higgins, nice to meet you. Welcome to the School of Frolic. Did you want to come in and take a peek around?”
“I’m Patricia.” She reached out to shake my hand, clutching the torn bag of oranges in the other. “Do you allow goats?”
“Uh...” I frowned, trying not to let my confusion register on my face. I was used to all sorts of strange questions, like if letting your dog watch you pick up their poo gave them a power trip, or if two male dogs humping one another meant they were gay.
“It’s just that my dog, Murray, doesn’t need training, he’s the best little guy. But I recently added three new goats to our farmette that are downright unruly. Rude, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. And trust me, this isn’t my first goat rodeo.” She chuckled.
Unruly goats? I was intrigued. I knew that positive reinforcement training could work on any organism with a brain stem and a desire to eat, from dogs to devil rays to rats to elephants. I’d honed my skills in clicker training on a chicken and I knew just how transformative the science-based training could be. And Iloveda challenge, especially one that came with witchy eyes and a tendency to herkie like a cheerleader for no reason.
“Are you serious about wanting to train your goats?” I asked, hoping that she was.
She paused and I watched possibility register on her face. “Well... yes, I guess I am.”
“Maybe I could help out. Do you live close?”
“About twenty-five minutes, give or take.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “That’s doable. And what sorts of things would you want them to learn?”
I realized that I had no idea what she was about to say because the only goat education I had came from cute social media videos. I knew nothing about goat behavior.
Patricia frowned. “The new ones have split personalities. They act like mean girls to my two resident goats, but they’re terrified of me. I can’t approach them. They haven’t accepted me as their caretaker, so I’m on eggshells around them. And I’ve tried all of my usual tricks but everything is backfiring.”
I’d worked with plenty of nervous dogs. Hell, I now owned one, so overcoming fearfulness was a way of life. But could I do it with goats?
“I’d love to try. This would be a first time for me so I can’t guarantee anything. But I’m really curious so I’d be willing to give it a shot. I won’t charge you, of course.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “If you’re coming all the way out to my place I’m going to pay you. I’m happy you want to try. Can’t hurt, right?”
“Can’t hurt,” I agreed, meeting her smile with my own. “And I’ll give you the friends and family rate. Let’s pick a time.” I pulled out my phone and we settled on Friday afternoon since my classes ended early. We were just about done when I saw Andrew’s Jeep pulling into his spot, which was my cue to shuffle away as quickly as possible.
“It was nice to meet you,” I said as I backed up.
Patricia was focused on Andrew’s car as he parked. “Finally,” she muttered.
I froze. Wait... what?
Patricia was there to seeme, to talk about goat training, right? So why was she staring athim?
Andrew flipped his seat up and Dude hopped out of the back. The dog scanned the parking lot, then greyhounded right for us. No surprise, he was unleashed.
