Page 11 of One Hundred Humbugs

With a resigned sigh, he lunged toward the nearest goat, hoping to steer it in the right direction. That hope lasted about three seconds before the others scattered, darting around him as if playing a game. He managed to get one halfway to the trailer, only to see two more slip past him and bolt for the edge of the yard.

“Not the rosebushes!” he groaned, running after them. But it was too late.

A stubborn billy had already sunk his teeth into the shrub, yanking with enough enthusiasm to send petals flying. Becket charged over, grabbing the remains of the bush in a last-ditch tug-of-war with the goat, dirt spraying everywhere.

“Come on, you walking garbage disposals,” Becket pleaded, out of breath and covered in dirt and leaves. “Work with me here!”

Just as he managed to corral half the herd into the trailer, a car approached, making Becket freeze. He turned to see a familiar Cadillac pulling up, and his heart sank. It was Marge Gunderson.

Marge stepped out of her car, her eyes widening as she took in the scene before her. Becket stood there, dirt smeared on his shirt, while a goat tugged at his sleeve, unbothered by the chaos it had caused. The yard, nowtrimmed of its wild overgrowth, looked mostly clean—except for the few prized rosebushes that had become a snack.

“Mr. Shepherd,” Marge said, taking in the scene, “I didn’t expect your goats to take their jobthisseriously.”

Becket wiped a hand across his brow, trying to maintain some composure. It was tough to pull off cool when a goat was gnawing on your shirt, but he gave it his best shot. “Would you believe me if I said they’re just really dedicated to their work?”

Marge held back a laugh. “Passionate, huh? I would’ve thought they’d know better than to touch the roses.”

Becket winced, his eyes trailing to the once-beautiful rosebushes, now mostly chewed stubs. “Yeah, that was the plan. I was kind of hoping they’d stick to the weeds. Guess they’ve developed a taste for the finer things in life.”

Marge shook her head with a sigh. “Well, despite their questionable taste in landscaping, I’ve got to hand it to you—this yard looks better than it has in years. Between the code enforcement office and the neighbors, I’ve been hearing complaints about this place for months. And here you are, getting it under control in a day.”

Becket rubbed the back of his neck, relieved that Marge seemed more amused than angry. “I’ll talk to them about being more discerning next time.”

Marge gave him a wry look and glanced around the yard one more time.

“Speaking of next time, I have another property that could use some work. Overgrown doesn’t even begin to describe it. I was just there this morning—belongs to a Ruby Whitaker. She’s looking to clean it up before I can list it for her. I told her you could help.”

Becket’s eyebrows shot up. “You gave her my name?”

“I did,” Marge confirmed. “I didn’t mention your ... unique approach, but she’s desperate enough that I’m sure she’ll appreciate the results. Expect her to call you soon.”

Becket nodded, processing the information. “Thanks for the recommendation, Marge.”

She waved him off as she turned to head back to her car. “Just try to go a little easier on her flowers, okay? It’ll be hard to sell a house with no landscaping left.”

As Marge drove away, Becket looked down at the herd of goats, who were all staring up at him like they’d done nothing wrong.

“Alright, you hooligans,” he muttered, “seems like we’ve got another job on the horizon. Try not to eat the entire property in one night this time.”

Houdini bleated at him, as if in protest, before tugging on his shoelace.

Becket let out a sigh and managed to get the last of the goats loaded into the trailer. Just as he was about to climb into his truck, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and answered it, half expecting Marge to have second thoughts.

“Becket Shepherd,” he said, trying to sound like a guy who hadn’t just spent the last hour chasing goats.

“Hi, this is Ruby Whitaker. Marge Gunderson gave me your number. She said you could help with my uncle’s yard?”

Becket grinned. Well, that was quick.

“Sure thing, Ms. Whitaker. I’ve got a crew ready to go. When would you like me to come by?”

Ruby gave him the address and explained the state of the yard. Becket could already imagine what he was in for. Overgrown weeds, tall grass—it sounded like the perfect job for his goats.

“Tell you what,” he said when shefinished, “I’ll swing by this afternoon to take a look. No charge for the assessment.”

After ending the call, Becket glanced back at his trailer, where the goats were peacefully munching on whatever they could find. “Alright, you gluttons, looks like we’ve got a chance at another gig?”

Daisy let out a bleat, and Becket chose to take it as agreement.

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