The goat turned around. All the dogs jumped instinctively back. It took a few slow steps east, heading toward the highway and away from the tall, bipedal ape. The dogs watched for a few seconds, still barking, posturing, circling. The tall, bipedal ape didn’t move.

“I need you to stop right now,” the tall, bipedal ape said.

The goat kept walking and the dogs kept circling, snapping. A few darted in close and darted back out without making any physical contact. The dogs got closer. The goat kept walking, undeterred.

It was midafternoon. The only sounds emitted from the whole forest were the chorus of bugs and the occasional chattering of unseen birds. The lighting was overall pretty pleasant and unspecific. The sun had craned down just under the leaves and swept horizontally through the woods. It was cast on all things. Ten dogs were barking and acting like they were going to kill a lone, uncaring goat, while a tall, bipedal ape watched worriedly.

As the dogs circled and snapped closer and closer, one, emboldened, enraged, decided to make contact. A beautiful golden retriever, immaculate in teeth and coat minus the soft red tinge of blood on his chest. The dog sprinted toward the goat, did a quick hop, planted all four feet on the ground about a foot away from the goat, and lunged its sharp teeth toward the goat’s throat, aiming to tear in and drag it to the ground, suffocating and killing it.

In the moment that the dog made contact with the goat’s throat, a shockwave of energy burst out, raising the dirt from the ground and blasting it outward, painting it against the bark of the nearby trees. The tall, bipedal ape cried instantly. As the dust cleared, the goat remained unscathed. The goat was surrounded by eleven dead dogs, their eyeballs all dislodged from their heads, with blood oozing out of their ears.

“There’s easier ways of going about life. You’re just wallowing in it. I don’t quite know what your problem is. You’re obsessed with your own misery. It don’t mean anything,” the goat said.

The tall, bipedal ape cried.

“I wash my hands of you, then,” the goat said.

The tall, bipedal ape groaned.

“FUCK. YOU.”

•••

Lulu whined.

“You ain’t going outside again, Lulu, you’re an inside dog now,” Emery said, chuckling to himself.

Lulu whined.

“If you go outside, honey, you get the leash,” Emery said.

Lulu kept scratching at the door with one paw and looking backward at Emery, who was smiling to himself in his recliner watching cable television, one hand on the remote, the other balancing a soda can on his stomach. Next to the recliner was Emery’s walker. All the tennis balls at the bottom had been chewed in half.