Chapter 93
Damp and a little smelly but relaxed and contented, the three of us make a detour to a goat farm on the way back to the hotel, on Atlanta’s wheedling. She spends much time playing with the kids, with her adoptive mother hovering nearby and taking a video of her activity. Happily and relievingly left to my own devises, I befriend the farm’s single horse, and even get the farm’s owner’s permission to ride it round the plot of land under his supervision.
“Why don’t you want to play with the goatlings?” the kindly man asks more than half-way, as he lopes easily beside the peacefully trotting horse named Strawberry. “Can’t stand the smell? Or do you think it’s not cool to play with your big sister?” He grins and winks at me.
`Sister…. If only….`
I force myself to give him a grin, to act like a child that I no longer am in truth. “The smell,” I confess. `And goats remind me too much of Thor’s damned pets escaping their pens and bothering me while I was in Mother’s private garden.` “Horses’ smells are less sharp.” `And I can pretend that I am taking a solo leisurely trip.`