On Roses, Fences, and Human Feelings

by the Goat

I eat the roses by the fence.

I know they matter. I learned that from how my human reacts every time I reach for them.  She calls my name differently. She tells me to stop in a high-pitched voice.

The roses were her dad’s. He’s gone. The plants are still here.

They are planted close enough for my mouth to reach through the fence. That feels like permission.

I take one bite at a time. I chew slowly. I watch.

Eventually she pulls me away. She checks the rose bush. She stands there for a minute. I move on to something else.

The roses grow back.