Presume Everything Will Be Fine
I met Pogo in the science lab just before lunch. She wanted me to bring her one of King Arthur’s collars, so she could attach the tracking device to it.
“Here’s the collar,” I said, setting it down. Her workstation was covered with colored wires, pliers, and bits and pieces of what I think used to be a cell phone. I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
Pogo laughed when she saw my expression. “Don’t worry—that’s all from my old cell phone.”
“You brought both your old and new phone to camp?”
“I didn’t mean to bring my old one. My little brother was playing with it on the car ride up here and must have stuck it in my bag. I discovered it when I unpacked—he’s always putting stuff in my schoolbag. Last year, he shoved his Darth Vader action figure in with my pencils. Each time I reached for a pencil, Darth Vader would say, ‘You underestimate the power of the Dark Side.’” Pogo picked up a small box that had various wires and techy stuff attached to it and held it up to the collar.
“Is that the tracking device?”
“Yeah. I’ve been working on it like crazy. I found a free tracking app. I just need to link it to a sim card from my old phone. Then, I can load the app onto my new phone.” She set it down.
“You’ll be able to show your dad that you’ve put your daddy-daughter dates in the garage to good use.”
She smiled. “If I can get it working in time.”
“I bet you will—according to Sebastian, you’re pretty smart.” I winked.
She blushed. “C’mon. Let’s get some lunch.”
We walked toward the mess hall. In the distance, I could see large, gray clouds gathering. The air was thick with humidity and the wind had picked up. Rain was holding off, but I could tell it would pour at some point that day. I was actually looking forward to the storm—the rain would hopefully bring down the photos of me plastered all over the camp.
Garlic smells from the mess hall mixed with the scent of detergent as we passed by the laundry building. The door was open. Victoria wore rubber gloves and one of those masks that doctors wear on TV shows as she hosed out her suitcase. I figured the nurse gave it to her to use. An extra-large Camp Minnehaha Rocks! T-shirt hung down to her knees, and a pair of athletic shorts showed beneath.
“Wow,” Pogo said under her breath. “I bet those clothes aren’t what she’s used to wearing.”
“All her things are in the wash, I guess.” I stole another look. “It looks like she had to scavenge the lost and found for something to wear.” I nudged Pogo in the side. “I can’t help but think King Arthur is good for something after all.”
Pogo let out a laugh.
Victoria’s head shot up at the sound of Pogo’s laughter. She glared.
I returned to the barn after lunch to bathe King Arthur, who had fully recovered from his breakfast à la shower gel. Doc wanted all the animals groomed for the parent preview tomorrow. (I was the only camper whose animal had been soaped up both inside and out.)
After toweling him dry, I brushed his white, hairy coat until my arms ached. That goat never looked or smelled so good. While I polished his horns with horse hoof polish Doc gave me, King Arthur nibbled at my shoelaces. I danced my feet around, but he chased them like a kitten. I laughed and gently pushed him away. Dumb goat.
After his bath, he spent the rest of the afternoon secured in his paddock. I tackled the stink of King Arthur’s stall one last time. Cleaning his pen was toward the top of my list of many things I was not going to miss when camp ended. A three-day-old rotted cheeseburger smelled better than his stall. My eyes watered each time I plopped a shovel full of sopping, stinking wood shavings into the wheelbarrow.
I was almost done when Pogo sprang through King Arthur’s door.
“I did it! I got it to work!” She thrust a collar toward me with the small box secured to it. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Man! What a smell.”
“You’re telling me,” I said.
She pranced into the paddock and knelt next to King Arthur, who nibbled away at the grass. She fastened the collar around him, yanked her phone from her pocket, and pulled up the tracking app. “This will track him in real time, so you’ll know right where he is,” she called over her shoulder.
My final scoop of poop plopped into the wheelbarrow. “Great! Even if he does run off before my parents see him, I can find him now.”
Doc popped his head around the stall door. “Hi, Paulie.” His eyes lit up when he saw the collar and Pogo’s phone. “Did you get it to work?”
“Yep, gone are his days of disappearing.”
I grabbed a bag of clean wood shavings, emptied it into the stall, and started raking the shavings out to make a soft, sweet-smelling covering across the floor—a bed fit for a king.
Doc joined Pogo in the paddock and bent down to examine King Arthur’s collar. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll still disappear. We’ll just know where he’s disappeared to.” He rubbed behind King Arthur’s ear and gave him a pat on the head. “Don’t tell the other animals, but this little guy is my favorite.”
I looked up from raking. “Why?”
Doc laughed. “When I was a kid, my dad was prone to seizures and blackouts. My mom read an article about goats helping a lady with her seizures, so they got a couple for my dad. The goats could sense when he was about to have one, and they’d circle around him. He’d then go lie down, so he wouldn’t bump his head. My dad called the girl Daisy, and I got to name the boy. I chose Roger.”
I stifled a laugh. “Roger?”
“That doesn’t really sound like a goat name,” said Pogo.
A gust of wind swept through the barn, creating little dust tornadoes.
Doc nodded. “I know, but that’s what I wanted to name a dog, so that’s what the goat got. And he followed me everywhere and even came when I called. He was very affectionate and playful—just like a dog.”
“So King Arthur’s your favorite because he reminds you of Roger?” Pogo said.
“Yeah—but he also reminds me of my dad.” He looked sad. “He died last year.” Doc gave King Arthur one more pat on the head and stood. “I know this little guy’s been a bit of a rascal for you.”
A jarring crash of thunder ricocheted throughout the barn. I jumped.
Thud. King Arthur passed out in the grass.
I rolled my eyes. “Does he always faint when there’s a thunderstorm?”
Doc laughed. “Most goats don’t spook too easily with thunderstorms. In fact, some racehorse owners will keep goats to calm the horses during storms. Don’t know how it works, but it does. His Highness, however, has a particular dislike of storms.”
King Arthur stood and bleated, as though in agreement with Doc.
Pogo checked her phone. “I need to go back and make a few adjustments so it will work with the camp’s equipment after I leave. Plus, the battery needs charging.” She removed King Arthur’s collar. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“But it’s almost dinnertime,” I said, pushing the wheelbarrow toward the door. Tonight was my lesson with Ms. Jacqueline, and as much as I wanted the collar on my renegade goat, I couldn’t risk being late.
“It shouldn’t take too long,” Pogo said. She walked out with Doc. “Just grab a tray for me and save a seat next to you. I’ll be there before dinner’s over—don’t worry.”
I brought King Arthur back into the stall, knelt down beside him, and scratched behind his ears while he nestled into the clean wood shavings. He gently nibbled at my free hand. I was surprised at how soft his lips felt. I rubbed his nose and then gave him a hug.
“You know,” I said quietly, “I don’t think you mean to be rotten. You just can’t help yourself.” I sat, leaning against the stall wall. He rested his head on my lap, and I continued rubbing his ears. The little guy was growing on me. “You’re like a black hole of catastrophe and whoever happens to be near you gets sucked into it.” I remembered Nathan’s sea monkeys and how catastrophically stupid I had been when I drank them. But Nathan had forgiven me. I could maybe forgive King Arthur for eating Mr. Snuffles…and tipping my canoe…and ramming me down a hill…maybe one day.
I gave him a final pat on the head and stood. “You’ll be safe in your stall during the storm, so don’t go out tonight, okay, buddy?”
He blinked, and I took that to mean, Yeah, sure.
Outside, ominous storm clouds were piled high, and the sky was darker than normal for early evening. Raindrops were just starting to pelt me as I raced across the path and up the steps to the mess hall. A bright rip of lightning was followed closely by another crash of thunder filling the air. Nathan and Sebastian stood on the front porch.
“Aww, man! We gotta walk through that?” Nathan said.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“We gotta get back to the science lab—we aren’t done with our projects yet. We chowed through dinner in record time. Finished in under five minutes,” Nathan said.
Sebastian shook his head. “No, no, we finished in under four—I timed us.”
“Either way, you two are in for a nice, big helping of indigestion,” I said. “Good luck with your projects, and I hope Dave has some Pepto-Bismol in the lab. See ya!”
I loaded up two trays—one for Pogo—and sat down. I’d just crammed a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth when Pogo ran into the mess hall looking scared.
“King Arthur’s gone!”