Margie shook her head in despair, trying to clear her mind. She looked from the checklist in her hand to labeled boxes on the floor. The clinical precision of those brown structures contrasted with the whimsy of the cobwebs on the wall, above the mountain goat’s head.
That goat! It always made her uneasy. It was high time it left the house or, at least, their lives. Things had never been the same since it came into the house.
Loss of her job, Steve’s illness, Sparky’s death at that intersection and now the distress sale. . .
Impassively, the goat stared ahead.