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pg 6
“Great Shot!” I yelled out. As the bedded goats jump to attention, I see Brandon’s goat disappear over the skyline as the rest of the goats stand motionless. “Good Hit”, I told Brandon as I see the tears well up, “I can’t believe this just happened.” The goats moved to the crest of the ridge, peering over the edge. As they moved up over the peak we count, 47 total, plus one more for Brandon’s goat makes 48.
As we started to make our way towards the peak, the goats appeared in the next draw. We quickly set up for another shot. 1, 10, 30, we counted as the goats appeared from the break of the hill, 47 total. Brandon’s goat was not with them. We made our way to the backside of the peak scouring the tracks for any sign that Brandon’s goat had been in the group. The view of the canyon heading down from our trail gave me a knot in the pit of my stomach. If his goat had left the group and went down the canyon… I tried not to think about it as we moved forward. Brandon waited at the base of the peak as I made the climb to the top. “There is no way that goat is up here” I kept thinking. Even if she was hit perfectly, she would have made it off the peak. As I stepped on to the yellow grass the band had used for their beds just a couple hours earlier, my heart sank. No white hair blowing in the wind, no sign she had been hit. I rounded the bench to the little gap we last seen her in and there, on a lone white snow patch less than 10 yards from her bed, was Brandon’s prize.