Mr. Peterson, a rancher from the next
town over, had just delivered our new goats.
He and my father stood talking on the other
side of a large stock trailer that filled the
space in front of the pasture gate.
“How old is your son?” Mr. Peterson
asked and nodded at me.
“Nick?” Dad threw me a look, crossing
his eyes to make me laugh. “He’s fourteen in
May.”
“He’s almost as tall as you.”
Dad’s chest puffed out, and I dipped my
head to hide my smile. Despite his goofy
expression, my dad liked to brag about my
height. “He’ll overtake me this year, I’m
afraid. Then I’ll have to look up to him.”
I sighed at my father’s standard joke, then
recited Mr. Peterson’s next words in my head
like a crazy premonition. The man didn’t
disappoint. With another quick once-over,
he grinned and spoke to me. “You’ll make
a great center for the Red Tails on the high
school team next year. With your height and
a little work, you might even make the NBA.”
With gritted teeth I turned back to the
goats. I was tall, sure, but I hated how being
tall meant I should automatically want to play
basketball. Not that I don’t like the game. I
jumped, sweated, and tossed the orange globe
with the rest of them. With my height, I was
even good. But it didn’t mean I wanted to
spend my life doing it.
My interests ran toward three-hundred-
acre cattle ranches like Dad’s. My future
centered around working the land with him,
and one day owning it all myself. What usewere big sports dreams when you knew you’d
never follow through on them?
Mr. Peterson glanced up at the sun as
if realizing how late it was. He sighed, then
spoke to Dad. “Er... um... do you want to
put the big guy in with the rest?” As he spoke,
he walked down the side of the stock trailer
and lifted a bar. With a screech, an inside
partition swung open, and a deep grunt and
a loud bang echoed out of the dark.
I knew it was the buck and jumped off
the fence to get a closer look, sidling up next
to Dad, who stood at the back of the trailer.
He set a hand on my shoulder, and the two
of us leaned to peer inside.
A monster stood there.
Brown hair and horns filled the entire
space, and he didn’t look happy. With one
great hoof, he pawed the metal bottom of the
trailer. Each motion rocked the rig.
The giant head swung toward us. Great
twisting horns shot straight out both sides
and nearly knocked the metal walls. His
strange horizontal pupils peered at us, small
and yellow. The hair of his face twisted in a
wet-looking matt of dirt.
What reeks? I gagged and pulled back.
Yuck!
“He’s probably the smelliest buck I ever
had.” Mr. Peterson, who now stood beside us,
sounded proud.
With one final hoof strike, the monster
thundered down the ramp and out into the
grass with the others. His hair puffed up on
his neck, his muscles bunched and rippled
as he moved. He charged up to his girls likeTHEMALEGOATIS
40 CALLED A BUCK. UGH! HE REMINDS ME OF UGLY BIRD.