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of the woods toward the truck. The neighbor carried a rope he’d tied in a loop — like he was going to lasso the goat like a cowboy. She wasn’t having it. She escaped every time we got close to her, and herding her wasn’t as easy as we had thought it was going to be. We chased her all over the woods, and an hour later, the four of us were tired, wet with sweat and no closer to capturing her.

“I give up,” the neighbor finally said.

“You can’t give up! You’ve got to catch her. She can’t live in our woods,” I said.

“Well, I give up for now,” he said. “Gretchen [the other goat] is taking a nap on a lady’s front porch up the road. We’ll go get her and then maybe try again later. Can you keep an eye on her?”

They left around dinnertime, and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of them since.

As for Regina, she wandered away and onto another neighbor’s property. Is that neighbor now keeping an eye on her? Or is she just wandering around in circles alone? Is she scared? I wonder. I’m worried sick about her.