Waiting. Waiting for Clover, his intended, his future lover, the light of his life and the hope of his lonely nights. Waiting for the day she will wag her tail and bleat for him, sniff the buck rag and swoon her desire. Clover and I will leap into the car, careen over the hill like Thelma and Louise–straight to Cowboy.
In the meantime, the bucks at the goat farm are in rut and butting heads until they’re bloodied and bald on top.
Not to mention the peeing on each other’s heads.
Do you see that Clover? Do you see how Cowboy is suffering for you, how he walks through the fires of hell for you, how he proves his worthiness? He would fight dragons for you, Clover! He would climb every mountain, ford every stream. Love is never having to say you’re sorry there’s pee on your face.
Clover? Clover? Are you in heat yet, Clover? Want me to get out the buck rag? Cowboy’s ready! Is he not a fine sight to behold? CLOVER?
Clover: “I need a drink.”