Goats are Cheaper than Therapy // Antonin & Aberforth
Date: 02 January, 1979 Location: Behind the Hogs Head Inn Tagged: @antvnin
No one understood Aberforth the way his herd of goats did, or so he liked to believe. They were needy little creatures of habit, but he fussed over them like they were his fickle children. He spent a great amount of time tending to their every need—perhaps more time than Aberforth spent with other human beings for no other reason solely than the fact that they listened to him. Of course their response was naturally limited to them bobbing their anxious little heads around with a mouthful of hay while he babbled on about the inconsistencies of man and modern day, but that was enough validation for him—a man who’d spent his fair share of days in dreaded isolation.
For once in his life his tattered and broken heart felt at ease. He finally had a reason to get out of bed in the morning and brave whatever unknown adventures awaited him beyond the door of his room. His goats gave him sanity and gratification, while The Hogs Head provided him with a stable sanctuary. His idiom was presumably staggeringly different than others, but Aberforth seldom had high expectations. It was a security precaution he adapted earlier on and it definitely paid off. It prevented the man from experiencing heaps of great disappointment throughout his days, but it did not come without trial and error.
Now the barman hardly left the property of his inn. He had seen what was out there firsthand—he encountered the evils and grueling temptations of this world like any other man may. Those were some of the rawest and most tangible moments of humility he ever experienced in his life. Upon realizing there was in fact a beast out there not meant to be slayed by the hands of man—something that he himself may stand before, deemed completely incomprehensible—his entire perspective was shattered. He saw all he needed to see; he was no longer restlessly seeking answers, at least not on the surface. Instead he quieted a dooming curiosity by taking up an unusual interest in exotic goats and imported liquors from around the world.
He featured a chalky collection of older collected goods at his pub, which he mostly siphoned off of for personal reasons. The idea of antiquity made it seem that much more delectable and he had plans to indulge in a mid-morning libation as soon as he finished tending to the needs of his goats. He noted they were more erratic than on any other given day. His clique of Boers were being far more boisterous than usual, which was distressing the pregnant Pygmies. They were unable to nest in peace and subsequently growing agitated and defensive.
Aberforth tended to them first; it was only right considering they were expecting mothers. He separated them into their own pen in the stable he had built behind The Hogs Head and fed them fresh apple slices. Once they were appeased he offered them each a few delicate pets between their horns—it was one of their favorite places to receive said pets—before moving on to tend to the rest of the goats. That was when the sound of crunching footsteps diverted his attention, though Aberforth briefly wondered if it could just be the mind playing tricks on an old man. “ Is anybody out there? ” He called outside as his finger ran through the overgrown strands of his beard. “ I’m back in the stables if yer lookin’ for me! ”
