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The Fence

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Lupe was staring at the fence. "The enemy of all goats, for many generations," she told Ferdinand grandly, when he asked why.

Ferdinand shook his head, puzzled. "You can jump it. I've seen you." Besides which, this particular arrangement of fence poles and planks could not possibly have been Lupe's enemy for generations, not directly. Unlike Ferdinand, she had not grown up on the farm, nor had her parents.

"Bullfighters are my ancestral enemies, I think," Ferdinand said. He leaned downwards to rub his chin on Lupe's nose, trying to be soothing. Lupe nuzzled at Ferdinand companionably enough, but continued to watch the fence.

"I am not going to fight the fence," she said, reassuring him in a way that wasn't particularly. "Probably. I shall observe it for signs of treachery."

Ferdinand fell into silence with her. The fence didn't do anything, of course. But since he wasn't concerned that the fence would, he found the time standing with Lupe was peaceful. She might not agree. But Lupe having been a calming goat did not in fact require that she herself was a calm one.