Keeping Barney

by Jessie Haas

  Saturday morning, after chores, Dad drove her over to Jill’s house. It was low, long, and rectangular, like the look-alike boxes in the suburbs, but messier and painted dark red. Two hounds were chained to doghouses in the yard, and around the corner was a chicken run and a large shed. Jill introduced her all around; first the hounds, Moses and Sam, and then the chickens, pecking in their snowy yard and lifting their yellow feet high. They all had names, and each belonged to a certain brother or sister. After the first few Sarah lost track, because Jill kept correcting herself until the matter was hopelessly confused. Finally even she gave up, and led Sarah into the warm, pungent goat shed.

  They were greeted with a chorus of bleats; Sarah was amazed at the range of expression, from stark indignation to imperious command to piteous weakness to joy and surprise and “Well, it’s about time!” Jill snapped on a light and Sarah stared, dumbfounded, at a sea of long, elegant ears and roman noses.

  Actually, there were only six goats in the first pen, all reaching out their noses eagerly. Jill got a measure of grain to divide among them, and while she fed them she told their names: Aunt Marion, the matron, Frankincense, Myrrh, Tawney (short for Milligatawney), Faline, and Bingo.

  “How come you have so many?”

  “Oh, these are only the milking ones. You haven’t seen the yearlings and kids and William—he’s the buck—yet.” Jill was leading her through another door. “See, Ma needed goat’s milk to feed Brian, ’cause his digestion was bad and he was always sick, so she got Aunt Marion, and she had Frankincense and Myrrh next Christmas. She just kept breeding them, and she sells the milk to the health-food store in town and gets money enough to buy our winter clothes every year, and for eight kids that’s a lot.…”

  Slim, graceful yearlings stretched out white-freckled, black and gold noses, begging for handouts. And in the next pen over, miniature goats with immense, floppy ears jumped at the walls, trying to see over.

  “Hi, babies. Yes, we’re coming in.” They climbed into the pen and squatted down, and all the kids gathered around them, sniffing, sucking fingers, and chewing clothes. Sarah picked up the littlest, a tiny golden thing with freckled ears longer than its neck. It was amazingly soft, and looked very wise and pious; its amber eyes always seemed to be turned toward heaven as it nibbled Sarah’s buttons, ears, and nose.

  “She’s beautiful,” Sarah exclaimed, enchanted.

  “Yes, isn’t she? We’re trying to get Mom to keep her, we all love her so much, and she’s so …”

  Sarah interrupted ruthlessly, as she had long since learned was necessary. “She’s so sweet, aren’t you, little Goldy?” The kid tasted Sarah’s chin with a soft little tongue. “Oh, Jill, I wish I could buy her. Barney needs a friend while he’s sick, and Ginger can’t stay forever … what are you laughing at?”

  Jill pushed a kid off her lap and stood up. “They tickle! Come on inside, it’s almost time for lunch and we’re having …”

  Inside, Sarah began to understand why Jill talked so much and never listened. The rooms were dimly lit, cluttered, crowded, and filled with noise. The television blared in the living room, someone was playing records in a downstairs bedroom, and a radio was going upstairs. Loud voices shouted over the din: “Who stole my sweater—” “It’s your turn to set the table—” “If you touch my model, I’ll tell Ma—” Jill’s father frowned at his football game, occasionally bellowing at them all to shut up, and her mother clattered in the kitchen, trying to get dinner around the children and seven cats. In this house nobody could hear if they were talking too much, and nobody listened. It must be like being deaf, Sarah thought, when you talk too loud or too soft because you can’t hear yourself. They all seemed cheerful enough, but you’d have to be to survive. She understood now why Jill was always eager to come to her big, sparsely populated house.

  After lunch, they went sliding. “But first we have to give the babies a little grain.” How eagerly the little noses plunged into the trough! Sarah got in again to pat Goldy’s back, as she shoved amongst them with small, sturdy shoulders. Every time Sarah touched her, the tiny, white-tipped tail would waggle. Sarah could have stayed all afternoon watching her, but Jill called her impatiently to go sliding. They had a glorious time on the long hill behind the barn, but on the way back, cold and wet, Sarah had to stop to see the kids again.

  Goldy was asleep when they came in, her nose tucked into her flank and one ear covering her back almost completely. Her little tail twitched, and she made sucking noises, as if dreaming. Sarah bent to touch her, and in the deep, trustful sleep of youth, Goldy didn’t stir. Suddenly, Sarah was consumed with longing.

  “How much would it cost to buy her?”

  “We get about sixty dollars for a doe kid,” said Jill offhandedly. “Stop mooning over her and come inside. I’m freezing.”

  It was almost time for Mom to pick her up anyway. Sarah sat close to the wood stove, nursing her hot chocolate and thinking of Goldy. She wanted her, in the way she’d wanted things as a little girl, so fiercely it almost hurt. Well, this was impossible, though. Maybe when she was grown-up she could raise goats.…

  “Your mom’s here.”

  Jill walked out with her to say good-bye. Just as she reached the car she gasped, “Oh, no, can you wait a minute, Mrs. Miles? I forgot Sarah’s Christmas present—I’ll be right back …” and she dashed away. Sarah got into the front seat.

  “Oh, Mom, you should see the baby goats! They’re so beautiful and soft and sweet, and there’s one …” The words, pent up in a long afternoon of not being listened to, gushed out, and she was still chattering when the back door opened. She turned automatically to see the size of the package, and sagged against the seat, dumbfounded. The package was one very small, golden goat, wrapped in an old red sweater.

  “Merry Christmas a little early,” said Mom quietly.

  “What?”

  “Your father and Albert and Jill and I went in on her together. I know it’s early, but we thought you might need her before Christmas. You won’t mind not getting very much else, will you?”

  “It was Alb’s idea,” said Jill proudly.

  “Oh!” Suddenly Sarah understood the meaning of things that had been bothering her all week—mysterious conferences between Albert and Jill, unexplained phone calls to her parents, the fragments of a discussion she’d overheard. Everything fell miraculously into place. But all she could do was murmur “Thank you,” which seemed hopelessly inadequate, climb over into the back, and take her goat onto her lap.

  (15)Christmas

  Goldy conquered everybody’s heart without any difficulty. Mom and Dad were instantly charmed, Star went sappily maternal on sight, and even the sceptical Barney was soon won.

  At first he sniffed her over very thoroughly, jerked his nose in disapproval, and curled his lip. Then he ignored her for a while, as if hoping she’d go away. Unaffected, Goldy explored the stall contentedly, quite happy, until Sarah left her alone. Then, bleats of amazing volume pierced the quiet of the barn, bleats of panic, loneliness, apprehension, mounting to a crescendo of anguish. Alarmed, Sarah went back to peek, being careful not to let Goldy see her.

  The kid, like a child in a temper tantrum, stood absolutely still, neck outstretched, shrieking. Barney, intrigued, stumbled closer, and touched her with his nose.

  As if by magic, the bleats stopped. Goldy turned wonderingly, her upturned eyes worshipful. Barney’s nose swirled over her back. She gave a tiny murmur and moved close to him. Sarah left them, satisfied.

  From then on, Goldy was his goat, to be jealously guarded from the yearning Star and all people. Goldy, of course, had her own ideas. She loved her big friend, and liked to stay with him, stealing his food, sleeping curled among his legs, and following him at exercise. But she liked playing with Star, too, and going into the house for treats and to bounce on the couch cushions when Mom wasn’t looking. Poor Barney was often left to neigh after her. In a while she would come trotting back, ears flapping to her ro
lling sailor’s gait, or cutting wicked capers. Her antics made exercise more fun for them all, and since there was now a half hour of walking morning and night, entertainment was welcome.

  Time flew by, crammed with work and play and Christmas secrets. And then Sarah came home on the last day of school to find Missy in Barney’s stall. She was standing with one arm thrown over his withers and her free hand rubbing the base of his ear, talking to him in a low, loving murmur. When she noticed Sarah she broke off, looking embarrassed.

  “Hi, Missy.”

  “Hi, Sarah.” She gave Barney’s withers a hug and Barney followed, moving his upper lip on her shoulder in his customary demand for attention. He barely seemed to notice Sarah. “I got in late last night,” Missy was saying, “and I’ve been bothering my poor Bear since about noon.”

  As Sarah just stood there, not saying anything, Missy shifted uneasily. “Um, that wound looks awful! What does Dr. Raymond say about it?”

  Somehow, Sarah got her voice started again. “He’s pleased with it. If you can wait, he promised to drop by today.”

  “Oh, I’ll certainly wait.”

  “Well … um … excuse me, I have to change.” She made her escape, running across the yard to the house. Inside, she thumped her books down on the table and burst open Dad’s door.

  Dad was just sitting there, staring blankly out the window. Goldy lay beside his chair, knees primly folded, nibbling at a bowl of Rice Krispies. She looked up and gave a contented little “meh” of greeting. Dad turned.

  “Hi, Peanut. What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing. I just want Goldy.” She scooped the little goat up in her arms and carried her upstairs. That was against the rules, but right now Sarah didn’t care. In her room, she set Goldy down on the floor, flopped beside her, and cried onto her thick, soft coat.

  After a moment or two of this, Goldy squirmed free and wandered over to taste the book bindings. Sarah watched blurrily.

  At last, she said to the white-tipped, waggling tail, “He loves her best, he always will. He never even looked at me.” At the sound of her voice Goldy came back, standing up on Sarah’s knee to nibble her ear. Sarah took the kid onto her lap, and leaned back against the bed. She stroked Goldy’s plush coat slowly.

  “At least you’re mine, baby. Nobody can take you away.” Oh, but it was so awful. Lately, she’d almost forgotten that Barney belonged to somebody else. He’d seemed so much her own … oh, she felt so tired. She could sit there all afternoon, softly stroking Goldy.

  But Star and the crunch of tires announced the arrival of Dr. Raymond. Reluctantly, Sarah changed and went downstairs, Goldy clattering behind her.

  When she got out to the barn, Dr. Raymond was talking to Missy. “I know it looks pretty bad, but it’s healing just the way it should, thanks to Sarah. She’s done a terrific job of dressing it and exercising him, and generally keeping him fit. You’ll have her to thank for a sound horse in the spring.” Yes, you’ll have a sound horse, Sarah thought, but Dr. Raymond’s approval took away some of the hurt.

  “Well, I do thank you,” said Missy softly, her hands still fondling Barney’s head.

  Dr. Raymond went into the stall for a closer look. “It’s healing pretty darned well,” he pronounced. “Keep up the good work—or are you taking over now, Missy?”

  Sarah tensed. Missy gave her a quick, sidelong glance. “I don’t think I could,” she said. “He’ll be staying here, of course, and besides …”

  “Doctors are never asked to treat family members,” said Dr. Raymond, with an approving smile. “I nursed my wife’s cat through a bad injury, and never again. Too harrowing.” He stood taking the three of them in for a moment, seeming to see and sympathize with the tensions between them. “A wise decision—he couldn’t have a better nurse. Merry Christmas, all.” With a pat for Goldy, he was gone.

  Sarah bent to pat Goldy, too, hiding her face. Missy’s doing this so I won’t feel bad, she realized, and didn’t know whether to be thankful or resent it.

  “I hope you don’t mind being drafted,” said Missy tentatively.

  “You don’t have to, you know.” She was ashamed of her ungraciousness, in the face of Missy’s poise, but she was only tenuously in control of herself.

  “I suppose not,” said Missy, “but I’d rather. It’d be very hard for me to start tending him—I couldn’t stand to hurt him.”

  Sarah nodded. She could understand, and it was good to be truly necessary, but just now she couldn’t be very happy about it. With a muttered “Thanks,” she went back to the house, leaving Missy and Barney together.

  Christmas came, full of presents despite Mom’s warning. Gram and Gramp sent a pair of riding gloves and three horse books; Mom’s parents sent a collar and bell for Goldy, a homemade nightgown, and more books.

  Christmas afternoon they had a party for Barney. Mr. O’Brien and Missy, Jill and Albert and their parents, Mom and Dad and Sarah, all gathered in front of his stall, to drink steaming hot chocolate out of Thermoses and watch him munch his carrots. He seemed to enjoy the company, and he loved having his picture taken, posing prettily every time someone aimed a camera.

  Everybody made much of him, but Sarah and Missy took care to visit him separately. Luckily, there were enough people so their discomfort with each other didn’t upset the party. Only Albert seemed to notice, and he understood without having to be told.

  Missy was home for two and a half weeks, and visited Barney almost every day; Sarah always waited till she was gone before going out to do the chores. Then she returned to college, and life resumed its casual smoothness. Underneath, somewhere, Sarah carried the ache of a lost dream; beyond all doubt, Barney would never be hers. But spring was far away, and for now she could ignore it.

  In February Dad typed the last period in the first draft of his manuscript, sent the swivel-chair whizzing across the room, and took a two-week vacation. He chopped wood, repaired the house and barn, and cooked dinner every night, looking more relaxed and satisfied than Sarah had ever seen him. Within a few days, though, he was repeating to himself at regular intervals how very rested he felt, and two weeks to the day after he’d left it, he plunged back into the writing room and closed the door. After that, he emerged for a few hours a day to tell them what agony rewriting was, and that was all they saw of him.

  The snow vanished for a while late in March, and Barney, with a complex pink scar on his chest, was turned loose in the barnyard on sunny afternoons. He always exploded out of the door, bucking and squealing, to start a vicious-looking game of chase with Goldy. The little goat fled him, but when he halted she returned to square off and butt at his nose, her ears flying at wild angles. Barney would jerk his nose out of range, and nip her rump, and she would bleat furiously. Poor anxious Star yelped from the other side of the fence.

  One warm Saturday, when the water was gurgling and rushing down the slope of the pasture, Dr. Raymond dropped by. Sarah caught Barney and held him still while he was examined. He was full of spring devilment, and kept resting his muzzle on Dr. Raymond’s backside with a suspiciously innocent expression. “Watch it there, you ungrateful little brute,” the vet rumbled. “Turn him loose.”

  Sarah unsnapped Barney’s rope, and he charged across the barnyard after Star, who’d ventured in to talk to Goldy. “Not a hitch,” said Dr. Raymond. “I’d say you could start riding him lightly, Sarah. Take it easy on hills and make sure the footing’s good, so he doesn’t slip and pull those muscles. And if he stays sound, go ahead and work him as normal.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Ever since the start of warm weather, she’d been aching to start riding again.

  Barney and Goldy wandered over to them. Dr. Raymond reached under Barney’s mane to scratch his neck, rubbing off a shower of loose winter hair. Barney’s upper lip squirmed with pleasure. His scratching reflex prompted, he dropped his nose to Goldy’s rump and began swirling. Goldy curved her body in itchy response, looking thankfully heavenward. Dr. Raymond laughed.<
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  “That, Sarah, is one of the greatest joys of having animals—just seeing them be themselves. Never mind all the undying devotion stuff you read in the romantic books. Mostly that’s dreamed up in the writer’s head. You either get affection from animals, or you get tolerantly ignored.” He paused, consideringly. “It seems to me you have animals for the feeling you have for them, not the other way around. It’s a wonderfully undemanding kind of love.”

  Somehow, the idea sounded right; Sarah wasn’t quite ready to accept it yet, though. Storing the words away for future consideration, she went inside to call and see if Albert wanted to go riding.

  Barney was elated at the prospect of going somewhere. Neck arched, ears pricked, he bore on the bit and Sarah pulled back before she remembered that long-ago lesson. “A quick check and release—no, firmer—ah, there!” She brought him back to a prancy, reluctant walk. He tossed his head, trying to get the reins away from her, and only bumped against her firm hands. Frustrated, he snorted loudly. His scimitar ears swiveled as he investigated the roadside, looking for something to shy at. Sarah rejoiced in his high spirits and his springy, lively, sound stride. Her attention was undivided, and despite the sense of being aboard a capricious bundle of dynamite that might choose at any moment to explode, she felt firmly in control.

  As they neared Jones Dairy, his eagerness grew. At the sight of the big red barn, he neighed. A high squeal from Ginger and a rumble from Herky answered. Now there was no holding him to a walk. He barreled into the yard, loudly proclaiming his own arrival and shouting out all the winter’s news. He was feeling better and Missy had been to see him, and he had this new friend, a goat.…

  Albert leaned out of his upstairs window. “Hi, Sarah. Hey, he looks great! Hold on, I’ll be right down.”