He set both on the ground in front of Roger.
“I’m going to get behind him and lift him, try to get his head pointing downwards so we can try to manipulate those horns of his out,” Cash said, already throwing a leg over the fence as he spoke.
Twenty minutes later, we were both frustrated and Roger’s head was still stuck. I was sweaty again, but Cash looked as fresh as a daisy as he prepared the saw to cut into the fence.
“Don’t you sweat?” I asked, grumbling under my breath as I gripped Roger’s horns and held onto them so he didn’t accidentally meet the sharp end of the saw.
“No, I never have,” Cash replied, and was that a chuckle I heard? No, it couldn’t be. Broody gargoyles didn’tchuckleat something so simple.
Cash tossed me a pair of safety glasses and lifted the saw and started to cut through the wood.
The loud growl of the machine was no match for Roger’s panicked goat screams. I held onto his horns firmly, holding his head in place as Cash made it through the wood and turned the saw off.
We switched spots and repeated the process until Roger’s head was free and he was scurrying off to rejoin the clump of terrified goats in the middle of the pen.
“This was a new fence too,” Cash muttered glumly under his breath as he lifted the section of wood that he’d just cut out of the rest of the fence.
“Should we put them in the barn so you don’t have to turn your fence into swiss cheese freeing them later?” I asked, eyeing the goats with distrust.
Cash nodded and put his fingers up to his mouth. His whistle was loud and sharp as it pierced the air and echoed off the trees.
Within seconds Oscar and Saoirse were loping out of the barn, tongues lolling out of their mouth as they trotted up to us.
Cash opened the latch on the gate and opened it up, “All right you two, walk up.”
Without missing a beat both dogs hurried into the pen and began to close in on the finicky goats. “To me,” the gargoyle called, followed by another sharp whistle.
I stood out of the way and let him and the dogs work. I’d seen Border Collies herd before, but never dogs as big as Cash’s.
They worked in tandem to push the little herd of goats to the edge of the pen and out, Cash calling commands here and there until they were entering the barn through the large door.
Trailing behind, I watched Cash open up one of the stalls, allowing the dogs to push the group of goats into the pen until finally, Roger the wayward goat, was last inside.
Afterwards, we watched the goats together, leaning against the door of the stall.
“There’s fresh food and water in there, so they should be good until the vet comes this evening,” Cash told me, his silver eyes combing over their emaciated bodies.
He then glanced at his watch and let out a groan. “And we’re running late.”
I frowned. “What do you mean? The clock on my bedside table told me it was just past five when I woke up.”
“That clock is an hour behind, I never set it after daylight savings this year,” Cash explained sheepishly. “So it’s nearly seven thirty now…”
“Shit!” The expletive exploded out of my mouth as I whirled on my heel and ran for the house. “I need to shower! I can’t smell like goat ass at work!”
As I clomped back up the front steps I heard another one of Cash’s chuckles as it was carried on the wind to me.
I paused at the top of the steps and glanced over my shoulder at him. His expression was relaxed as he laughed at me, his silver eyes dancing.
“Don’t just stand there and laugh, you need a shower too. You also smell like goat ass and I’m sure your clients won’t appreciate it,” I told him, part-serious, part-teasing.
“Hey, at least we match,” I heard him say before the screen door slapped shut behind me and I was hurrying up the stairs to wash the stink of farm animals off of my body.
I really hoped Effie didn’t mind if I was a few minutes late.
* * *
Turns out Effie didn’t care at all that I was late.
