Chapter 1
The sun rose on a small Irish island as it always does once the spring showers have ended. Tearsdale was this places name, and summer had set in and now the rolling hills that were once brown had become green. The grass was growing, the leaves were blowing, and the breeze was a blessing. And it was because of this; there wasn’t a person in the small village of Olean that held a sour mood.
But it wasn’t always this way. There was plenty of talk about how long it had been since anyone with toes had had dry feet. Most claimed it had been awhile. But if you asked a handyman who went by the name of Reggie St Clair … he’d rub his chin, look to the left and then croak in a strong Irish accent: Mayyyyyybe two weeks out of the month; for the past three months. No more I tell ya—but no less either!
Suppose he would know because he spent a fair share of his time outdoors. But then his feet were always wet on account of he was constantly sweating, so …
But on this particular morning; there was that breeze and it could be felt as it blew over the pastures, down into the valley where Reggie’s shack sat with the shutters and doors opened. He listened as the wind blow through the high grass. The grass the sheep had yet to trim, but that would soon change.
He smiled because he liked the sheep. They were a thankful breed. Hard workers who kept their heads down and minded their business. They weren’t much for complaining. Never strayed, and rarely caused a problem … Unlike them wild goats. They ate everything, and some things weren’t supposed to be eaten. Things like rope, and wood off the fences. The handle off his shovels. They even ate his shoes and socks. And those socks weren’t clean either.
He would wake up to find them in his room. They jumped through the open window and were watching him sleep. Imagine that. And they would help themselves to food. Sometimes they ate all the leftover stew straight out of the iron kettle which was supposed to be for breakfast.
No … those goats weren’t thankful at all. And since ole Reggie had an oversized heart; he just couldn’t hurt them. Oh, he would yell some. But that don’t harm nothing but feelings and those goats didn’t seem to have feelings ... So when this happened—Reggie would simply remind himself that there was a reason God had put them on the earth.
“Tread lightly around em,” he would whisper, “for they know not how close they come … to being in the kettle, they have eaten from!”
He would laugh, shake his head and then scold his dog (Brownie) for letting them have the run of the house.
“I know ya like em,” he would say, “that ain’t no secret. But the least ya could do is wake me. I’ll take it from there—I will, but ya have to wake me—ya hear me now?”
Brownie would cock his head to the side, act like he didn’t understand, but Reggie was certain he did. Because the goats were the only thing, the dog allowed in the home. No raccoons, no squirrels, no rabbits, no sheep, only the goats.
But it wasn’t always this way. No sir, it was a man named: Goat-Man-Gus, who brought them here. Sailed them in on a supply ship about ten years past. Reggie St Clair was there too; working the dock and offering assistance. Of course he hadn’t a clue what was to come; because being native to the area, he hadn’t seen goats before. And he was young, so he didn’t really care. Besides, they looked innocent enough—well, except for the eyes. Those eyes looked a bit devilish; and they seemed a little high strung. Hard to keep in one area—and they were jumpers—sure enough, as a matter of fact, upon exiting the ship, they ran past Reggie. Jumped right over the wood fence and disappeared. Every one of them. Ran straight up into the mountains.
The only one left was ole Goat-Man-Gus, and he swore they would be no trouble. No trouble at all—and he was going after them because he said he always wanted to be a goat herder. But with a name like Goat-Man-Gus, everyone thought he already was a goat herder. But he wasn’t. Said it was his dream and he had heard land was cheap on the island. Especially up in the mountains where goats are happiest. Said he was going to live up, higher than the clouds. But it’s cold up beyond the clouds. Winters are long and there’s always snow. The wind is frigid and there’s nothing up there that’s friendly. Nothing at all.
Well, Goat-Man-Gus was told this. He was warned. But he was a short fella, real short, with fire red hair, and cream colored skin. Skin that was dotted with freckles. He wore strange clothing and was thought to be a leprechaun and leprechauns always do things that make no sense. So … everyone stepped back and watched as he disappeared up into the mountains. He followed his herd and that was the last he was seen.
The next spring—much to everyone’s surprise; the goats (only the goats) came down from the highlands. Some claimed the leprechaun froze to death. Others claimed he freed them once he realized he didn’t want to be a herder... As for Reggie, he believed they were always free because nothing could hold them. As for what really happened—well, that’s still unknown because Goat-Man-Gus’s lair was never found.
For Reggie, the strangest thing about all of this is they only come down during the summer months. Then and for no known reason, in the fall, they disappear.
Do they return to Goat-Man-Gus? He wondered. Does he still live in the hills? Or do they sit on the rocks that are above the clouds and look into heaven? Reggie hadn’t a clue, but he was thankful for the break.
Now as for Brownie the dog, that was another story. Brownie loved the goats because they were smart, took no lip from humans and liked to play. They were trouble all right. The bad boys and everyone likes hanging with the trouble makers. They ate well. Took what they wanted, and they were fast. Faster than lightning and seldom did those thrown rocks hit them. Most times, they would even stop and turn around. Look at the pitcher as if they were daring them to take another try. Two for two dollars! They would yell if they could speak. But they couldn’t so they just stared with their devilish eyes. But for Brownie, the best part was; those goats hated sheep.
Sheep were the opposite. They weren’t wild; far from it. As far as you could get. They grazed always staying close to their master. A human. They had to be fed, had to be coddled. They had to be protected. They even had to have their hair cut and that was about as sorry as an animal can get. No—there would never come a day when the goats would run with the sheep...
But presently—for Reggie who was still in bed—the goats were not a problem because only the sheep were around and they were as sweet as a new born puppy. And they took good care of the meadows. Shoot—when the herder moved his flock; what was left was a manicured lawn that took on the emerald green colors of the Atlantic, which Reggie could see as he sat up and looked out his bedroom window.
But the sheep hadn’t fed yet, and the grass was high. But that was all right because in the breeze, it looked like rolling waves, and the granite shards that rose from the earth looked like sailboats riding the tops of those rollers.
He smiled; there was nothing like a summer morning when the breeze was gentle and blew around in his small, two room cabin. He could smell the sea and the morning sun warmed his face. The temperature was perfect. Short sleeve weather. Short underwear. Maybe some lard
under the old arm pits ... Yeah—it was going to be that kind of day. A day like no other. The perfect day.
He remained in bed for a moment because although he always felt blessed; the feeling was rarely this strong. He relaxed and listened to the birds. He allowed his mind to wander, and then, he heard it, the sound of one of them crafty goats. A maaaaaa, sound.
He looked down to see Brownie, the goat loving dog, (a brown medium size beast) lying on his straw bed, the dogs head didn’t move, only his eyes looked up at Reggie. That was a good sign. Must be hearing things, he thought. If that was a goat, Brownie would up and heading out the door.
“Wouldn’t ya boy,” he said.
Brownie lightly wagged his tail, but his head remained motionless.
“Well,” Reggie said as got out up. “There’ll be no lyin’ about, there’s work to be done, Brownie … best we get to it …!”
He reached down to the floor where his clothes were. There were two stacks. One for cold days, the other for warm days. He picked the warm day pile.
He put on a short sleeve, brown, button up shirt, then his brown socks. He stepped into his brown overalls and secured the brown straps over his shoulders. Last, he put on his brown work boots and then he walked over to the water basin, a bowl he kept by the side window. He liked looking out at the ocean while primping.
He thought of combing his hair, he ran his hand though it … It seemed to be sitting flat. Couldn’t get much better than that. He did brush his teeth though; because although he liked the color brown; he didn’t think it proper for teeth, although there were plenty he knew who apparently felt different.
He ate breakfast which was nothing more than bread which he shared with Brownie who had finally gotten out of bed.
“I’ll make ya this promise—I will,” he said to the beast. “Tonight we’ll be eaten fish—on that ya can count on. Now eat yer bread—and be happy ya have it … !“
Brownie waged his tail but the piece of bread remained untouched on the floor. He looked at it, smelled it, then went out the front door, onto the porch.
Reggie followed. He breathed in the air, he held it then let it go. The smell of salt was strong; the wind was teasing the sea. He could hear it. But that was all right because those waves were harmless. Stopped in their tracks by the sheer, cliff, rock wall that marked the end of Reggie’s property. At least the north end.
He looked at the sky, it was clear with a few white, puffy clouds. He knew the wind would die down, and the seas would follow. This was important because he had promised Brownie fish, and there would be no fish if the fishermen couldn’t get out on the water.
He took a seat in a wooden chair he had built out of fallen branches. He watched the sea gulls as they circled over the water. He listened as they cawed, screaming something to the others. What that something was, he could only guess. Most likely “look out!”
Off to the side, he could hear the sheep. They were heading to the pasture. He turned and called to Brownie who slowly stood up and then walked over and sat beside him. He petted his dog while he took a moment to enjoy the day.
“I have ta say,” he mumbled, “only those who suffer against a long, hard winter; can truly love a cool, sunny, summer morning… I’ll tell ya that—I will. And I believe it to be so … !”
Reggie’s eyes began to get heavy. He had things to do, sure, but there were always things to do. And they would get done and once they were done, it would only be a matter of time before they would need to be done again. So, they could wait a spell. At least long enough to take a quick nap.
So with the sound of the sea, the call of the birds. The rustle of the sheep, the cool morning breeze, and Brownie by his side. He drifted off to sleep.
