The Best Friend Zone

A recommendation from someone so high-profile has our phones blowing up. Uncle Dean has several new places lined up, and I guess he’s already looking at getting more goats.

Dang.

I still feel a little guilty for not texting Quinn when I picked them up from the Barnet ranch, but I really won’t be needing his help. Why bother him?

Keeping a safe distance, and my mind off him, is the healthiest option right now.

It also makes it ever-so-slightly easier to dodge Gran’s machine gun questions.

“Hope you’ve had lunch. We’ll be at this all day,” I tell Owl as we turn onto a country road. “Several smaller jobs are up next. They should go fast. Easy work and quick cash.”

He barks his agreement. Or maybe he just wants a second lunch.

“Hey, I wasn’t offering. You get plenty of treats. You know what, Owl, I think I’ll ask Uncle Dean if you can just stay with me the next few days at Granny’s. That way I won’t have to drive out there to grab you when it’s time to get to the next job. What do you think?”

His ears perk, as much as they can for a Tibetan Mastiff when they’re buried in a pile of fur, and he woofs.

“Is that a yes or a no? Wait.” I hold up a hand to his muzzle, stopping him from barking again. “One bark for no, two for yes.”

He barks twice.

Pure insanity.

I have no idea if he’s a canine Einstein or I’m just gullible enough to believe he understands me.

Either way, I’m laughing like a fool.

“All right. It’s settled. You’ll stay with me at Granny’s and help give her something else to think about besides my dating life.”

He barks loudly again. Twice.

Still laughing, I stop the truck near the next farm and throw an arm around him. “If only everything in life was as easy as loving you.”

He truly is an amazing beast, and not just because he butts his giant head on my shoulder.

The fact that all I have to do is open up the trailer after I let him out and he’s off like a racehorse, steering the goats in tight formation, wows me like nothing else.

Owl even lets Hellboy know who’s boss, unleashing a loud bark in his face.

Good timing because I swear I see that freaky goat grinning at me again.

Today, we’re working with a nice young couple who just bought an old farm. They want the area in the fenced-in corral cleaned up, plus a few stray plants removed closer to their house.

Since they have kids, I choose three sweet goats for the job by the house. Hellboy gets to feast to his heart’s content well away from them.

It’s actually dumbfounding how fast the goats fill their stomachs.

A few hours later, they’re done and we’re rounding them up to head out for more fun.

This time, we go south of town, where a rough-voiced elderly man wants an old garden area cleared for new veggies. It takes a couple hours because he has a portable fence, but he didn’t have it all in place.

I help him toss it up and place a small metal wash tub in the area. We fill it with water for the thirsty goats and set out a fresh bowl for Owl, too.

The man, Robert Duncan, who reminds me of Don Knotts, insists on feeding us lunch before we leave. I lend him a hand again throwing together salami sandwiches for all of us, including Owl.

Robert is a hoot and keeps me laughing nearly the entire time.

Of course, the old man knows Granny, just like everyone in town, and I’m sure he’s more than a little smitten with her.

Awesome. I leave him feeling hopeful about his chances—and mine.

If I can get her to spend a night out with a guy her age, maybe she’ll forget about me.

Next up on the Rent-A-Goat route is a city park. An attendant directs us to a fenced-off area, and we leave three goats there to eat up what little overgrowth there is for a few hours.

I park myself on a bench next to Owl, enjoying the puffy white clouds sweeping across the blue canvas sky. A typically beautiful, big sky North Dakota afternoon, where having any worries seems criminal.

I smile, wishing it were always this easy to slip into the cozy small-town vibe.

If I could just get past this awkwardness with Quinn, Dallas life wouldn’t be half bad.

It’s evening by the time I wheel the truck into our last stop of the day.

I pick up my phone to double-check the address before turning off the engine.

“Looks like this is it,” I tell Owl, dropping the phone in the breast pocket of my shirt.

We’re in an older residential area where a fence is set up around an empty lot between two older homes. Uncle Dean’s text says that the landlord owns all three lots, and he hired us to clear the brush and weeds from the whole area, especially the empty lot.