The Good Girl – A Pitchfork County Short Story

The Goat King held the kid close and licked the tip of her ear. “Either ya do it with the knife,” he said, “or I’ll do it with my teeth.”

Stevie balled her fists and glared at her father. “Ya can’t make me hurt her.”

He shrugged and the yellow squares of his teeth snapped closed over the kid’s ear.

The little goat thrashed and screamed, and the Goat King, blood spilling into his thick beard, dropped it to the ground. She ran across the bone-strewn yard and threw herself into Stevie’s arms.

The Goat King spat out the tip of the goat’s ear. “Don’t matter none to me who does the hurtin’.”

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