The law firm kept the feed barrels in the pasture filled, so Ace didn’t have to lug any bags from the barn. The goats and a few chickens swarmed Ace as soon as he crossed the gate, curious, but mostly hungry. There were twelve of them, a mostly even split of gray, black, and brown. One of them, white with a few black spots, stood away from the rest, a female. They all followed him on his way to the feed pen, watching him intently as he filled the bucket with their feast. He waded through them to the bowls strategically placed around the chicken coops, all of them competing for the first bite of food to hit the bowl. He had to pour the feed right over one of the black and white ones head. A few goats and chickens stayed at each bowl, so each was easier than the last.

When his bucket was empty, that white-with-black-spots goat came close and looked at him. Right in his eyes. “Go on,” Ace gestured to the five full bowls. “Plenty to eat.”

The goat just looked at him. She bleated softly, and stepped a bit closer. She was a pretty little thing, cute for a goat. Ace was overcome with a strange urge. He knelt down, and the goat came closer. He… scratched the goat behind the ears. She leaned into it, forcing him to scratch her between the horns. He found himself enjoying it, calling her a ‘good girl’ in the process. He rubbed her neck and found she was wearing a collar. It had a name tag.

“Greta, huh?” The name suited her. He patted her on the neck and stood. “I’ve got to tend to the birds now, girl. Go on and eat.” He gestured to the feed bowls again. She looked over, then looked back at him and bleated. Ace shrugged and went on with the task, he still had to check the water and feed the chickens. The water bowls for the goats were all around the pump, mostly full and clean, but it was a hot day, so he topped them all off anyway. Greta was still lingering, only a step away.

She followed him to the chicken pen, but he managed to keep her outside the gate. He topped off the two gravity-fed water jugs and gave the fifty-five gallon blue barrel in the center of the pen a couple kicks. It had four PVC fittings sticking out at even intervals near the bottom, allowing food to drop down as they ate, but the lawyer had told him that hollows tended to form, and a couple kicks made everything drop into place. He took off the lid and took some feed with the scoop that was left inside for the ducks.

He had to squeeze through the barely-open gate just to keep Greta from going in. He latched the gate back and looked at her. She looked at him, then to the scoop of feed in his hand, then back to him and stomped her front hoof. Ace couldn’t help himself, he smiled, just a little. He poured out some of the feed for her, and she wasted no time gobbling it up. There were only a few ducks anyway, they probably didn’t need a full scoop. With Greta distracted, it was easy entry to the duck pen.

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The feeding part was easy, just pour the feed into a bowl, easy as pie, but the water was a different story. Ducks are waterfowl, and their instinct whenever there’s water is to go for a swim, which is why they had a little kiddie pool in addition to their water bowl. That was all well and good, aside from the fact that ducks also use both of them as toilets. He dumped out the bowl, and it was at least half duck shit. The pool was even worse. He rinsed them both out and refilled them, knowing perfectly well he would have to do it all again tomorrow just so they don’t die of dysentery. Ace had learned early in life the importance of not shitting where you ate, but the ducks clearly had no such education. He could already tell this would always be his least favorite part of feeding time.

With everyone fed, the only thing left was to collect the eggs. He had no idea what he was going to do with them, but he couldn't let them build up or else they’d start to hatch, leaving him with even more birds to deal with. It was free breakfast, he supposed, but fried eggs would get old quick, and he usually skipped breakfast in any case. The idea of finding someone to sell them to sickened him; the only saving grace of this place was how far removed it was.

He had no idea what he would do with the farm. He could sell it and the animals and float around for a few years until he found someplace that suited him, someplace away from people where he wouldn’t have to rely on anyone but himself. A place a lot like the farm, for that matter. Maybe he could just stay there, find a way to make a meager living. Maybe try to get some part time work at that antique shop, just to earn enough to pay the bills and keep himself and the animals fed. Ace didn’t have expensive tastes, and there were worse places to settle down. He might get away with talking to as few as five people a week. The only time he had ever been able to do better than that was when he ran away when he was fourteen, camping in the woods for two months before getting sick of eating squirrel. He had come home and sat at the dinner table as if nothing was wrong, and his mother never said a word about it. He still wasn’t sure if she even noticed he left.

A sharp peck to his hand snapped Ace out of his introspection. One of the hens was exceptionally broody, defending eggs she sat on with rage and fervor. She was still a chicken, and didn’t have much force behind her even with all her strength, but even still there was a red mark where she landed her strike. He decided then he liked this chicken. She had shiny black feathers and glared at him with beady red eyes, hatred burning behind them. Ace had a small smirk on his face as he distracted her with one hand and scooped the eggs out from under her with the other, deftly stealing her eggs and depositing them into the bucket. The chicken gave a sharp bok and gave him a dirty look as he exited the coop, his smirk growing just a touch wider.

Greta greeted him outside the door, the rest of the goats having finished their feed and moved on to grazing the field. Ace felt that smirk grow even wider, dangerously close to evolving into a smile. He knelt down and scratched her behind the ears as she stuck her head into the egg bucket, hoping to find more food. “You’re a funny one, Greta. Maybe I’ll stick around just for your sake.” Her head popped out of the bucket and she looked him in the eye for a breathless moment. She bleated, then nudged her head against his hand, commanding him to keep scratching her. He obliged.