WARNING: THIS STORY IS LIKELY TO OFFEND

This story came about after some craziness on facebook where we decided that a new FSOG character was due, a gay goat named Jose.  Don’t ask me why but this became a fascination and the second longest thread on our page.  In tribute to Jose the Goat and with a sad mixture of Black Sheep meets Brokeback Mountain, I offer this short story for your reading pleasure.

NB please do not call PITA or call me a homophobe.  I do not condone cruelty to animals nor do I discriminate against goats, gay goats, goat herders or trolls.  I also do not engage in farm animal related sexual relationships. This is just for fun.

Christian sat on top of a ridge surveying the land below him.  The winter had been long and cold and he was glad to be able to move to higher climbs as the season changed and the warmer weather descended.  There was evidence of spring slips that made the going treacherous at times but the effort was always well worth it and he was happy with the work it took to get here.  The only downer was the six weeks that he would be away from his beloved Ana.

He smiled at the memory of their last night together.  They had taken part in the spring festival, eaten game that had been shot and cured along with fresh meats slaughtered for the occasion.  After the eating, drinking and dancing until the wee hours he had taken her back to their little house with the red door and tied her to the hitching post outside while he flogged her.  When she had finally been unable to take any more he carried her up to his bed and fucked her senseless in every orifice.  She had returned the favor using a selection of freshly harvested vegetables from their small plot of land.

Early in the morning he had gathered his supplies and his herd and headed off into the mountains.  Ana waved a white flag from their bedroom window, too sore and bruised to descend the stairs.  He figured it would take her another three days to navigate them so it was a good thing that she was a solid farm girl with lots of stored winter fat.  If she got really desperate she could reach the peach tree outside the window.

Christian didn’t believe in naming his animals.  It made it too difficult when slaughtering time came around and he would have to sell of a leg of Charlie or a rump of Sadie at the local markets.  Instead he thought of them as shades of grey, 50 shades of a murky non-descript hue. Dark grey, light grey, lighter grey, steel, lead, off white.  It worked for him.  All except for his two lead goats – Elena and Jose – who had been with him for the longest time.  They started off as shades of grey until they got bolshy and belligerent.  That was when he decided to name them after Ana’s siblings – they hated him too.

With his lunch break over he decided to move the herd on, wanting to climb higher into the mountains to reach his shack.  That was where he would be able to contain the herd at night in the fenced off meadow and take shelter for himself from the chill spring rains.  It might be summer down on the plains but the nights got extremely cold in this exposed part of the world and he knew it would be foolish not to make his camp before nightfall.

Two hours later he had the startling realization that Elena, who looked a little like a troll and Jose of the swarthy brownish-grey coat were still as dumb as posts and had gotten them lost.  Searching frantically for some kind of marker to indicate where they were and how long they might have before they reached their destination, Christian finally had to accept that his secure and weather tight hut would elude him for one more night.  He smacked Elena over the head with his big herding stick and called her a stupid bitch.  She bleated once before she lay down on the grass, suffered a seizure and died.

“Oh well, that’s dinner taken care of,” Christian said to no one in particular.  Jose was trying desperately to blend into the herd, unwilling to become a victim to Christian’s wrath.

Christian made a fire, pitched his small emergency tent and placed Elena on a spit to roast.  It had only taken him half an hour to skin her and have her coat curing over a nearby fence so he was hopeful that the sad bitch would come in useful now that she had shuffled off her ugly  mortal coil.

When he was done with his dinner and had played twenty four versus of Amazing Grace on his harmonica, he crawled into his tent.  To his surprise, Jose had already gone to bed and was warming up his blankets for him.  Usually at this point in the evening, Jose would make himself scarce and Christian would have a hell of time hunting him down for his bedtime rituals.  This seemed far more civilized and although he knew that Jose had probably decided it was better to accept his fate rather than anger Christian any further, he was almost touched by the gay goat’s acquiescence on this cool evening.

“Roll over goat. Let me in.” And once Christian had bound Jose, fucked him three times and kicked him in the nuts, he was able to sleep a deep dreamless sleep.  Jose, for his sins, limped out of the tent and vowed vengeance until he saw the stick still firmly inserted into his pal Elena and thought better of it.  Instead, he found a mud puddle to roll in for a few minutes and then stood guard for the rest of the night over his herd.