2. Jacob

CHAPTER TWO

jacob

S napping on a pair of gloves, I enter the corral of sick goats. I'm about to examine them for suspected sore mouth virus, which can be transferable to humans. Goats haven't exactly been a favorite species of mine since my last vet conference. Catching sore mouth from one would only solidify my newfound disdain for them.

My contempt for the animal began about six months ago, when I walked down from my room at the annual veterinary conference I attend every year for my required continuing education. I wasn't sure what that day's beginning session was on because I had spilled water on my itinerary the night before. When I'd tried to unfold the dried program, the paper tore, leaving only the word goat for the first session. I walked into a deserted auditorium where a lady at the front of the room was setting out packets. She told me the first session was being held on the front lawn, so I headed outside.

It didn't surprise me to see goats when I stepped out the door. I figured they had a live demonstration planned for us, so it made sense to hold the session outside. Glancing around at the other attendants, confusion overtook me. Everyone was wearing athletic gear. I shifted on my feet, and a slight discomfort swept over me as I realized I'd overdressed for whatever we were about to do.

A small woman in matching neon leggings and sports bra walked to the front of the group and stood by a tub of rolled-up mats. The crowd of attendees naturally turned and gave her their attention.

"Welcome, everybody, we are going to go ahead and get started. If you will, come grab yourself a mat, and find a spot out on the lawn. Once everyone has a mat, I'll lead us into our first pose."

What?

I followed along and grabbed a mat, trusting the process and mistakenly chose a spot at the front. It wasn't until everyone had a mat that it hit me. Yoga. They had us doing fucking yoga at a veterinary convention.

"Let's start off in child's pose. Come to the back of your mat, spread your knees wide, and have your big toes touch," Yoga Woman said.

I stood there and looked around at everyone following her instructions to get into position. When I twisted forward again, Yoga Woman was standing at the head of my mat.

"You can kick your boots off and set them to the side," she said.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I'm supposed to be here," I told her.

"Are you an attendee of the vet conference happening here this weekend?"

"Yes."

"You're in the right spot, then. Take your boots off."

I looked around again at the people down on their knees with goats meandering around them. A couple of them were looking back at me expectantly. I reluctantly gave in and removed my boots, but I wasn't happy about it.

"Good," Yoga Woman said. "Foreheads to the mat, now."

A goat hopped up onto my back, and I cursed under my breath, missing the next couple of instructions Yoga Woman gave.

"Left leg straight back and reach forward with your right hand."

The goat wobbled around on my back as I focused on holding the damn pose. Why the hell did I comply with this bullshit anyway? A tap...tap...tap pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked down in the direction of the noise to find little balls of shit falling from above me onto my mat. Yup. I got shit on by a fucking goat. Wasn't that par for the course in my life? Everybody shitting on Jacob.

The rest of the day passed in continuing education sessions, which was what I actually went to the conference for. Not fucking goat yoga. I swear, the things people come up with these days.

At the end of our sessions, we were dismissed for a buffet dinner and a meet and mingle. I don't care much for the mingling these days, but it's good to make connections. You never know when they may come in handy. I headed to the open bar for a whiskey, hoping it would lighten my mood. Just when I thought it was starting to help, her laughter rang in my ears.

Damn, I loved her laugh.

I spun around and was immediately assaulted by my not-so-distant past. She stood there in a tight black dress, hanging on his arm—the arm of the man she cheated on me with. She hadn't noticed me yet; at least, she didn't look my way. They were talking to another man seated at the table they were standing next to. I watched them, frozen, and heard her tell the man at the table that they were living together now.

Only a month had passed since she'd last slept in my bed, and she was already sleeping in another man's bed. Even though it had been my decision to break off our engagement, seeing her like that on another man's arm made our breakup hit me like it hadn't hit me yet, slamming me down into reality. My world wasn't mine anymore, and the last still-whole part of me crumbled away. I shoved my whiskey into the hand of an unsuspecting passerby and left the conference.

Staying busy with work has been the one thing I can rely on to keep my head straight. Maybe the goats weren't the worst part of that conference after all, I decide as I take hold of the first goat, ready to get this appointment over with, and inspect her mouth. Immediately, I find the telltale sign of sore mouth—her mouth and muzzle are covered in sores and scabs. I move on, checking each of the goats that have been sectioned off.

"Not much to do for it," I tell the old farmer. "Just make sure to keep the sick goats separate from the healthy goats, and check the healthy ones regularly for symptoms. It should run its course in about a month. If any of the lesions start looking infected, rub them with some iodine."

I sanitize my hands and get back in my truck. Damn goats. I could go the rest of my life without laying eyes on another one, and I wouldn't lose any sleep over it.