Chapter Text
The alarm clock rings loud, immediately drawing Patrick O’Hara from the heavy depths of sleep. He groans, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He stretches his arms above his head, yawning and standing up.
The morning routine is easy after how long he’s followed it. He gets out of the house by the time the sun starts to peek over the horizon, the air simmering with dry summer heat.
“Mornin’, Dolly.”
Dolly greets him as soon as he steps out of the door, barking loudly and trying to nip at his ankles. She runs over to her bowl and sits, whining impatiently.
“Yeah, hang on.” He manages to get the bowl almost full before Dolly shoves her nose in and starts scarfing down food like he’s never fed her until now.
He gives her a pat on the head before moving on to the rest of the farm.
The well doesn’t give him as much struggle today, letting him get the troughs full in an hour or so. The feed is a different story, but he gets it under control before it starts to be too much of a problem.
A loud chorus of sheep baa’s greets him as soon as he opens the gate to their pen. He manages to avoid one of the goats trying to ram into his legs before he closes the gate, but as soon as it latches shut they manage to get a hit on the back of his knees and he has to brace himself on the fence so he doesn’t collapse.
He nudges the goat away with his knee, and it bleats at him before trodding off to some other part of the pen. One of the sheep paces up to him, baaing softly and looking up at him, tilting its head to the side.
“Hey, Cyclops.” He pats the ewe’s head, her single brown eye staring up towards him. Her wool is thick under his hand, nearing towards being overdue for a shear.
A final pat sends Cyclops on her way to the troughs, joining the other sheep and goats and giving Patrick access to the rest of the pen. He gives it a quick look over to see if anything's broken, nodding when nothing is.
He walks back to the gate and opens it wide enough for the animals to get out of, whistling to get their attention. They flood out of the gate as soon as the troughs are empty, the gate swinging shut after Patrick steps out.
Dolly parts from her station planted firmly next to the gate, trailing after the sheep and goats with focus only a herding dog could have. Patrick locks the gate closed and starts walking towards the separate pen a ways off.
Widow snorts as soon as Patrick approaches the pen, tail flicking back and forth. She bites a chunk of grass and chews while watching Patrick grab the saddle and bridle. She stands still while he gets the saddle on and buckled, but she headbutts him once he gets to putting the bridle on.
“Hey, none a’ that. Y’ can’t knock me over anymore.” He laughs and playfully nudges her nose, and she huffs and lets him put the bridle on. “Thank you.”
She stands still while he mounts the saddle, huffing when he pats her neck.
“Aw, c’mon Wid, it’s grazin’ day. We gotta make sure they don’t go wonderin’ off.” Patrick leans forward in the saddle. The only response he gets is Widow’s ear flicking for a beat.
He sighs and frowns, arms resting against the saddle pommel.
“I’m gettin’ strawberries today too, I’ll let’cha have some.”
Widow immediately perks up, and Patrick can’t help but laugh at that. She may not know anything he was saying, but she for sure knew that “ strawberry ” meant those sweet red treats she so adored.
“Atta girl. Lets head out, alright?”
Widow snorts and turns to the gate, trodding outside the pen before taking off in a steady canter, speeding up to a full on gallop once they reach the herd.
Dolly’s barks echo loud over the sound of hooves hitting the ground, dirt flying up under the herd. They slow down as they approach the field, Dolly circling around the group until they stop.
Widow walks over to the stream that runs through the grazing plain, taking a drink while Patrick scans over the herd. A headcount determines all the herd is intact. Widow straightens up and snorts, walking in an arc around the dispersed herd until she trots off the grazing field.
Patrick dismounts and leaves Widow to wander around a bit once they get to the patches of strawberry plants. He grabs a basket next to the fence and starts looking through the bushes for fruits that have finally ripened enough to be picked.
The basket gets filled up in less than an hour of searching and picking, and he makes sure to save a couple in his hand for Widow. He stands up and starts walking back to the fence, but stops when a strawberry squishes under his foot, sending watery juice into the ground under it and clinging to his boot.
He groans and swipes the strawberry onto the ground. He looks up to see more strawberries in the middle of the path between bushes, halfway sunken into the mud, some split open and slowly leaking juice into the ground.
Storm must have blown them off. He shrugs and toes some of the strawberries under the bushes, whistling Widow over and waving the saved handful. She snorts and trots over, happily munching on them as he adjusts the basket.
The basket stays held steady between his legs as Widow trots back to the house. He runs inside and tosses them in his fridge before heading back out and remounting.
The ride back to the grazing field is easy, Widow going along at an easy walk while Patrick looks over the farm.
The goats bleat loudly when they get onto the field. Widow trots around before Patrick notices one of the goats licking a much smaller one, which is bleating quietly against its mother.
Patrick dismounts and walks over to the goat, checking it for any injuries or deformities. It’s still a little slimy and a bit confused, but no worse for wear. He carefully strokes its head, keeping his voice gentle.
“Welcome t’ the world, lil’ guy.”
The goat bleats at him, standing on shaky legs and blinking with bleary eyes. He laughs when it leans forward and headbutts him, bleating a bit louder than before.
The mother goat returns to licking the kid over, and Patrick stands up, heading back to Widow. She snorts and shakes her head as he mounts, walking to take a drink from the stream.
Dolly’s head snaps up when Patrick whistles, and she starts circling the herd, barking to round them up. Widow runs alongside the herd as they take off back towards the pen, Dolly barking and nipping at any that stray from the herd.
Patrick dismounts Widow and does a quick count of the herd once they all filter into the pen, closing and locking the gate before bringing Widow back to her pen. She snorts and nudges him with her nose after he takes the saddle and bridle off, standing still long enough for him to gently pat her nose before she turns and walks off.
Dolly follows Patrick back to the house, waiting for him to feed her and scarfing down her food before running off to either sleep or explore. Patrick heads inside the house, managing to feed himself and shower before heading outside for a few minutes to watch the sun set. He stretches as he walks back inside, making sure all the windows are closed and lights are off before heading to bed.
Sleep doesn't grab him for a while, leaving him staring at the door after he stays awake in the dark long enough for his eyes to adjust. Thoughts trail in his head to fill the empty room, creeping like a hand on his neck until he turns, forcing his eyes shut.
Sleep wraps its tight hands around him and is about to pull him under when Dolly’s barking rings through the house, immediately making him sit up and get out of the bed. He can hear her growling after the barking stops, the sound of bleating mixing with the noise.
He knows what that bark means; it’s a warning, seconds away from snapping. Meaning one thing. Coyotes.
He grabs the shotgun by the door and flicks the porch light on before opening the door.
Instead of a coyote tearing apart a goat, the sight that greets him is a man trying to pull a baby goat by the rope around its neck. As soon as the door opens, the man looks up at him with wide eyes, clear after the light glare on his glasses disappears. The man lets go of the rope and raises his hands after glancing at the gun in Patrick’s hands. The goat hops a few feet away from the man, moving to eat the grass under it.
“Don’t shoot!” The man looks at the ground, hands shaking. “Please, don't shoot.”
Patrick pauses, but after the silence stretches on long enough, he lowers the gun and clicks the safety back on. He swats away a moth circling around the porch light that drifts too close to his head.
The man nods, looking up at Patrick, arms still held up. “The goat ran into my yard. I wanted to give it back before something else got it. I didn't mean to intrude.”
Patrick pauses, then nods towards the goat. “Leave the goat. Get out’a here. I won’t shoot.”
The man nods, hands lowering ever so slightly. “Thank you.”
Patrick nods, staying silent. Dolly growls as the man walks off, but doesn’t snap at him.
Patrick puts the shotgun back next to the door, pulling it shut behind him. He steps off the porch and grabs the rope tied around the goat's neck, lightly pulling to get its attention. The goat looks up and bleats, walking next to Patrick as he leads it back to the pen.
“Guy’s lucky he didn't end up with a body full‘a buckshot.” Patrick mutters to himself, chuckling when the goat bleats in response.
Now that he's got a good look at it, he can see it’s the same baby goat he found earlier today on the field. The goat tries to pull ahead a few times, bleating when the rope stops it.
“Careful, now.” Patrick chuckles when the goat almost topples over, straightening up and skipping forward. He hums, watching the rope swing back and forth. “I’m gonna name ya’ Shot.”
The goat bleats in response, trying to headbutt the post of the gate once they reach it. Patrick opens the gate and leads the goat in, pulling the rope over its head and letting it skip off. He sets the rope on the porch once he gets back to the house, giving Dolly a pat on the head before slipping back inside, shutting off all the lights and heading back to bed.